Eh, "week or so"… "month or so"… Same diff, right?
*…..crickets*
*sheepish* Sorry, my dear readers. I had terrible trouble with the pacing and focus in this chapter, which meant I spent way longer than I wanted to ironing out the smaller details. I'm pretty pleased with how it all turned out, though – there's sunshine on the way, folks!
Wanderingidealism: I had heard of "Much, the miller's son" from the classic Robin Hood stories, but that was all – I'll have to go find that book by McKinley! I liked the series Much from the start mostly because he spent most of his on-screen time bringing Robin back down to earth, making him seem human instead of some shining Errol Flynn type character (which Robin probably sees himself as, actually). I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Lady Chekov: Your point about Robin's pride made me laugh! It could definitely be a character unto itself on the show… But then, Robin would probably be best friends with it, and then the gang would have to keep both of them in check… *wince* Thanks so much for reading and taking the time to review!
Robin stayed where he was next to Much, studying the fire, until Will and John together succeeded in turning a brace of pheasants into an edible supper. Though he gave no sign, he noticed the sidelong glances Will cast his way when he thought his leader was not looking, and heard the doubt in the young man's murmur to the burly man beside him. If Will Scarlett was uneasy, the rest of the gang would be harboring their own worries as well, probably wondering when and how they'd venture out again, and waiting on their leader for answers. Time to provide some answers, then, and remind his men that this had been a victory, not a defeat.
"All right, lads," he began briskly into the quiet after they'd finished eating, collecting all five gazes up from their plates. "I've been thinking. We're going to be running a bit short-handed for a while, at least until Allan's back on his feet properly. That leaves only three of us making the trips into town and the villages, though, and I don't care for those odds when Gisborne's this watchful. That's not enough if we run into trouble out there." Allan scowled and put his plate aside roughly, probably guessing what Robin had in mind, and John's sigh bent the flames aside briefly, but Will spoke up first.
"What are we going to do, then?" His serious tone held no argument, but a natural impatience gleamed in his dark eyes behind the firelight's glint, and Robin's own frustration echoed the sentiment. Speaking more calmly than he felt, he replied, "We wait. We lie low while Much and Allan recover, and start up again in a fortnight or so."
Little John's discontented grumble came as no surprise; Robin hadn't expected his men to simply nod and agree with him over such a significant decision. Marian's warning words lay heavily on his mind, though, and the simple fact was that they could not go on as if nothing had happened. The solution wasn't ideal, necessary though it was. The gang had never gone more than a week without making an appearance in one of the villages, at least to check in on the families even if they had nothing more than words to offer. Shaking his head, the older man leaned forward to frown across the fire, the flecks of silver in his beard standing out in the light, and said, "We can't afford to wait that long, Robin. The people need our help now."
"I don't see what other choice we have, John. We couldn't give the silver out yet, anyway, with the Sheriff watching for it changing hands in the markets and villages. If all it does is send people to the dungeons, we might as well have left it in the castle to begin with." He was pleased to see a brief nod and a reluctant twitch of the lips or two among the group. They would come to see his reasoning in the end, or at least trust him to make it work out, whether they agreed completely with him or not. "We can turn this delay into an advantage. Waiting until the Sheriff's guard is down will help the people in the long run."
"An' what are we supposed to do in the meantime?" asked Allan, glancing around at the others. "We just up an' disappear, an' the Sheriff'll think he's run us off. He'll be laughin' himself hoarse. We're just s'posed sit here an' do nothin', an' let everybody believe that?" Under the bite in the thief's tone lay a hint of genuine curiosity, as if questioning whether the Sheriff's assumption might not be accurate, and Robin moved to crush that doubt before it could grow any larger, replying firmly, "We're not running scared, Allan. We're not hiding."
Allan's answering scoff was bitter, but Djaq spoke before Robin could, her confident voice at odds with her size, dwarfed as she was between Little John and Will.
"Have you never retreated from a fight, Allan A Dale?" The tilt of her dark head waited for response, but she received none from the man staring moodily into the glowing branches at the base of the fire, and she looked to Robin instead. "This is a good plan, Robin." She settled back between the two men with an encouraging smile, and Robin nodded decisively.
"Let Vasey think what he likes," Robin said. "He'll be overconfident, start to leave gaps and holes we can slip through. And he'll find out the truth soon enough once we're back at it again, when Much is ready, and then we can-"
"An' what if he doesn't want to?"
Robin turned an annoyed glare on Allan, who met Robin's eye for a casual moment as he stretched his leg out gingerly, shrugging off the others' sudden attention like rain off his cloak. His voice was carefully light and conversational when he continued, "He's just had the livin' daylights beat out of him, hasn't he? I mean, 'm not bein' funny, but I'd think twice about it, if it was me there." He nodded over his shoulder at the blanket-covered last member of the gang, shadows playing tug-o'-war with the warm firelight across Much's features as he slept. The strawberry-flavored potion Djaq reserved for the night hours guaranteed him a few solid hours of rest, and also meant there was no worry of their discussion waking him. The sight of his servant resting peacefully suddenly gave Robin no comfort, however, because Allan's question was a valid one with no easy answer. Suppose Much got his strength back, took stock of things, and decided he'd had enough?
"That's his choice," Robin replied a moment later, voice firm despite the uncertainty that darted through his mind like a bird in twilight. "In the meantime, we'll train up a bit, stock our larder for the winter, and keep an ear out for whatever the Sheriff might be planning next. If you get bored," he said, returning his gaze solicitously to Allan, "I'm sure we've got some mending to be done, or you could help neaten the place up. When was the last time we swept, eh?" His spread arms took in the leaf-strewn ground reaching to the back of the shadowy cavern, barely keeping a straight face. "I mean, look at all these leaves!" Allan's overly-cheerful suggestion of what Robin could do with all those leaves marked the end of any serious discussion that night, but there was a more settled feeling among the lads as they all drifted to sleep. They might not like the plan, but at least there was one, and they would come to terms with it soon enough.
Robin said nothing to the others of his personal mission regarding Much, the quiet penance his heart urged him to perform for Much's sake. Apart from the practical need for someone to be near Much while he was unable to sit up or call for one of them, he knew how poorly solitude sat with his manservant. Given the choice, Much would probably choose companionship over air itself, at least until someone spelled out the consequences for him. On an ordinary day, a half-hour of enforced silence would make him fidget. A straight hour or two would see him coming out of his skin with the need to share the chatter building up inside him. So after days, not to mention the injured ribs that had kept him nearly mute since his rescue, Much should have been beside himself, and yet he passed most of his waking hours gazing listlessly into the middle distance, drifting in and out of sleep. Some men needed their space after an ordeal like this, but Much was not in their number, and this was no mere battle-wound that would heal and leave a story he could tell.
So, when Robin came in from the watch at dawn shaking dew from his cloak, he went straight across to sit beside Much again… and instead found John there waving him on to get breakfast with the others. Later in the day, when Robin reluctantly rose to see if he could find some game for supper, a soft sound made him look round to see Djaq settling cross-legged into his place before he'd gone more than a handful of steps. Between the extra tasks they took on to accommodate two fewer able-bodied members, a new routine emerged without Robin saying a word, and whoever had a spare moment or something to work over soon found their way to the fire where Much lay, ensuring that each time he woke he would not find himself alone.
At first, during the collective vigil their days seemed to have become, Much was only sometimes aware of their presence, either dozing or too wrapped up in weathering what pain Djaq's medicine could not dull, only the carefully measured cadence of his breathing giving away the times when he was reluctantly, miserably conscious. The first time or two Much heard the quiet sounds of someone taking their place nearby, he blinked up at them in dull-eyed confusion until Robin ordered him slowly and clearly to go back to sleep, but for the most part, they were left to fill the hours in their own ways. John tended to sit in thoughtful silence, broad back half-blocking their view of his charge, watching for the restless movement that would prompt him to reach for the mug of Djaq's tea warming by the fire. Will filled their sudden abundance of free time with a spate of new projects – a fresh set of arrow shafts, a handful of tags to replenish their supply, small pieces of whittling – all of which he worked on untiringly by the firelight beside Much. Bored to tears with the rain and inactivity, Allan often wound up joining him, striking up a conversation or just watching his friend work. Robin did his best to keep the chatter running lightly along whenever the gang was together for a meal, however frivolous the topic became, because he could see from the corner of his eye how the frown carved into Much's features lessened so long as he had something else to focus on.
Djaq kept up her physician's duties with no sign of tiring. Her father had clearly taught her well, but her dark, guarded eyes hid a surprisingly tender heart that suited her perfectly for her chosen profession, and she had a knack for both putting her patients at ease and gaining their cooperation. Allan's complaints and banter met a worthy opponent in the Saracen woman, and their verbal battles every time she sat to check the taller man's arrow-wound became a regular source of amusement for the gang.
Her care for Much was a softer, more subtle thing than the way she returned Allan's quips and threatened him, turning it all into a game. Perhaps knowing Much would not take advantage of her openness like Allan might have, even if Much had been in perfect health and spirits, her sympathy was often clearly evident on her sun-browned face. Yet it always stopped well short of pity or the motherly attitude Much somehow always managed to evoke from even women younger than the manservant. He had always blamed it on Robin's presence, grousing about "suffering by comparison" and shaking his head so grimly Robin couldn't help but laugh. Right now, though, pity was the last thing Much would want or need, and it was a boon to have someone like Djaq there who understood that.
Between the dreary weather, the monotony, and the persistent flare of guilt every time he let himself dwell on the talk he owed Much sometime soon, the strain was beginning to wear on Robin, though. Had the days dragged on so unbearably for Much when he was left sitting by Robin's bedside in Acre?
But after an interminable handful of days, Robin glanced across the cave, seeking distraction from an awkward attempt to mend a tear in his own tunic, to see Much half-awake, watching the quick flicks of Will's whittling, pale curves of wood fluttering down as his knife coaxed a shape from a chunk of smooth oak. After a moment, Much asked quietly, "What are you making?", his voice hoarse and small. Slowing his blade's movements and blowing away the clinging sawdust, Will tilted the palm-sized object for Much to see and replied sheepishly, "A bear, if I don't botch it too badly trying. I'm good with making keys and useful stuff like that, but I thought I could try an animal or two. Maybe for the kids, when we make deliveries in the villages."
A soft "hmm" of agreement was Much's only response at first, and Will smiled, sending another feather-thin slice of wood into the fire as Robin reluctantly turned back to his mending. Then he heard Much's voice again, barely audible above the flames' merry devouring of the tinder.
"You know Rose, in Locksley?"
Will nodded, hands poised around the figurine. Robin knew her as well; the farrier's wife was only a few years older than Will, one of the more cheerful souls they encountered on their regular trips, and more than once she had generously offered a few cakes for the gang to share on the walk back.
Much went on, "Her daughter, Molly, told me… she told me, last visit, her favorite animal was a donkey." A breathy laugh, tentative and gradual, as Much gingerly rubbed his face with his good hand, as if trying to fend off the growing ache from speaking so long – more than they'd heard from him in days. The memory was a pleasant one, though, far better than the ones evoked by the blush of lavender still staining the side of Much's face and jaw, now greening at the edges. Much had coaxed the golden-haired three-year-old from behind her mother's skirts by offering her the very important job of holding onto the pouch of money for her mum, and when Robin had glanced round next, Much was crouched at the child's level, unable to get a word in edgewise as Molly prattled happily on. He'd had to practically pry Molly's arms from his leg before he could join them as they left Locksley.
Will's smile broadened as he remembered the same scene, but he winced thoughtfully when he looked back down at the lumpy bear-to-be in his hand, saying, "I can try. I just hope they aren't as stubborn to carve as they are to work with." Much's reply was brief and indistinct to Robin's ears, but even after Robin had painstakingly worked a half-dozen crooked stitches into the fabric and pulled his tunic back over his head, Much was still awake with his splinted hand cradled carefully against his chest, watching Will carve.
That was the beginning of brighter days. Though Djaq was still prompt in giving Much his doses of herbs, which by now had perfumed the entire cave, clinging to their clothing until they hardly noticed the scent anymore, the draught no longer trapped Much in a never-ending drowse. Robin was as likely to find him awake as asleep now, and the dull glaze had finally faded from his eyes; he still looked as if he'd just come through a bad fever or illness, and was asleep well before the rest of them at night, but he answered readily when John consulted him on the trickier points of roasting a rabbit, and quite deliberately and pointedly pulled his cap down over his eyes when Allan kept pestering him to try the cups-and-stone game.
Robin filled Much in on the gang's plans (or rather, the lack thereof) for the fortnight, and when a guilty sort of gratitude began to form on his manservant's face, quickly changed topics to how Little John had nearly set off one of Will's traps while the pair of them had been checking the snares that morning. Conversation helped to pass the time, and while carrying along the bulk of conversation between himself and Much was a new sort of experience, he was aided by the fact that whenever Much thought better of commenting aloud, his animated expression let Robin guess nearly enough what the other man had been about to say. Much would have been annoyed to realize he was so transparent, but that fact made their talks far less one-sided as the days went on. Whenever Robin misread Much's expression and replied to the wrong topic or question, Much just rolled his eyes and took a resigned breath to clarify, a comfortable exchange of exasperation and banter like the rambling talks they used to have before the Holy Land. Every now and then, guilt would nudge Robin's mind and heart again, but he wasn't ready to simply bare his heart, and Much, drained and healing by meager increments each day, wasn't ready for that conversation either, not when his loudest tones so far had been barely above a whisper, and no more than a sentence or two at a time.
The unnatural quiet in the cave was soon replaced with talk and jests as before. Much's strength began to rally thanks to Djaq and Little John taking turns at playing the mother hen, making sure he cleaned his plate at each meal, despite his initial, uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm. As the rain passed, giving way to cool, overcast days that heralded winter's approach, Robin took the opportunity to start sparring with the lads again, training two-on-one in the clearing below the cave while Allan stuck to bow-work in deference to his still-healing leg. Robin hadn't reckoned on how badly the days of confinement might have been grating against his men as well, however, and as he scrubbed wet mulch from his jaw, picking himself up after a particularly vehement blow from Will's stick-sword, he decided a short trip to Nottingham would be good for them all.
With a mental apology to Marian, Robin took Will along with him the next afternoon. The town held the feel of an enormous prison, a tingle of warning running along Robin's spine at the sight of the doubled guard at the gates and patrolling the streets. People walked with eyes down and children kept close, too caught up in their cares to pay him and Will a second glance as they strode quietly along with hoods pulled low and cloaks wrapped close against the wet chill. When he eventually slipped between market stalls and hanging lines of linen to greet silver-haired Mary with a peck on the cheek, she clasped his hand in both of hers with relief, the lace-thin wrinkles around her eyes tightening with her bright smile.
"Oh, the sight of you's an answer to my prayers. Bless you for coming, Robin." Her voice was fervent, and Robin shook his head, chagrined, saying, "I'm sorry, but we've got no money this time, Mary. Soon, I promise." At his words, the little woman started tutting, one hand fluttering dismissively between them.
"I'm not quite so penniless as that. I'll get by for a while yet. It's what's being said in the market, all that commotion before the Sheriff returned. They're saying one of your fine lads is up there in the dungeons-" A superstitious glance over her shoulder indicated Nottingham Castle, "-or that it was you yourself, and nobody had seen hide nor hair of Robin Hood for near on a fortnight." Will remained silent beside him, waiting to see how forthcoming Robin intended them to be, and Robin laughed aloud, replying, "It's nice to know you have such confidence in me." He dodged a motherly swat at his head, still chuckling, and Mary tightened her lips sternly, unable to entirely hide her smile.
"I take it this was all one of your capers, then, m'lord?" Despite the honorific, her tone was nothing less than skeptical. "Givin' us all a fright for nothin' but your fun and games."
Behind the scolding lay genuine concern, Robin knew; Mary had seen and lived too much to be sincere in calling what they did a game. With no children left of her own, her only son buried before his twenty-third year, she took a maternal sort of satisfaction in scolding him and the gang whenever they stopped by. So rather than explaining, he just shrugged, flashing a roguish grin that would have set Marian tossing her hair in charming exasperation, and said, "I just thought we'd liven things up a bit."
Mary tutted again, shaking her head with a tolerant smile, and turned to Will, saying, "It's nice to see you here, Master Scarlett, keeping this young ruffian in line. Usually it's Master Much, though, isn't it?" She gave an affectionate scoff, eyeing the sparsely arranged vegetables she'd come to sell. "Thought I'd have to throw a sheet over my vegetables here when I caught sight of you – do you never feed the poor boy? Back with the rest of your lads fading away to skin and bones, I expect."
The easy banter faltered slightly as Robin hesitated, unexpectedly tongue-tied. He hadn't expected anyone to ask after Much directly; few enough people knew them by sight, let alone were able to put names to his men. And seriously as he took his policy of honesty with the townspeople, the plain truth of Much's state right now was nothing he cared to share with the merrily shining eyes waiting for his response. Before he could come up with an answer, though, Will stepped into the lengthening pause with a smile and said, "It was John's turn to cook last night, and Much hasn't been out of bed since. Sticks us with John again tonight, sounds like." He grimaced, and Mary chuckled sympathetically.
"Lucky us," Robin quipped, glancing around at the flow of people around them and noting a definite shift in the placement of the feathered helmets he'd noted before. "We'll be back, Mary," he said, pulling his hood up again and flashing a cheery grin. Will murmured, "Take care," and fell into step with him as they slipped between the patrolling guards' paths and out the gates. Once out of sight, on their way through the forest, Robin glanced over at Will, who looked unusually serious. The younger man glanced back, then said defensively, "I didn't lie. She's just got enough to worry about without knowing about this, too." Robin only nodded, clapping him on the shoulder as they walked on, a breeze sailing through the tree trunks to snap their cloaks briskly in its wake. Evening shade filtered slowly down through the leaves, rose like fog from the damp leaves underfoot, and despite their steady pace, night had nearly fallen by the time they reached camp.
Allan's distinctive whistle greeted them from his hidden perch up the hillside as they trudged up the slope, and Will called, "We're back," ensuring Allan wouldn't mistake them for a pair of intruders bumbling along through the dark. As they entered the rocky opening, Robin's eyes swung to Much's bed out of habit, knowing he would enjoy hearing that Mary had asked after him, even if was only for the sake of protecting her carrots. But the pallet lay unoccupied, the blankets stripped away, and Robin stopped so suddenly that Will's confused huff of surprise came inches from the back of his head.
His alarmed gaze found Much only a moment later. Splinted hand resting securely in a sling, Much was sitting up against John's sturdy shoulder by the fire, satisfaction lighting up his tired face. His other hand fiddled with the edge of the grey blanket wrapped around his shoulders, all his attention on something Djaq was bent over across the fire. As Robin stepped forward into the light, chill and aches starting to fade already, Djaq held up a slice of carrot for Much to see, saying, "Like this?"
"Bit thicker," Much advised, gaze catching and returning to Robin as he entered, Will passing in the edge of Robin's vision to set his weapons by the wall.
"What's all this?" Robin asked, his own grin bolstering Much's uncertain smile, his servant's face ruddy with the warmth of the fire.
"This is supper," Much replied, nodding toward the steaming pot hung over the fire. "And that is a thick, savory rabbit stew." A good-natured harrumph rode on the heels of Much's words, and Little John said, "I've been doing it wrong, apparently." Much pulled a face and swatted vaguely at the man behind him, oblivious to the rolling eyes. John just shook his head and let Robin take his place, their support making sure Much didn't have to depend solely on his healing ribs to stay upright, and the older man strode out into the night to fetch Allan in from the watch. Will took up the knife to finish the carrots, sharing a grin with the Saracen woman beside him, and she murmured something that made the carpenter chuckle suddenly.
The extra-careful breaths and occasional flinch tensing Much's back against Robin's arm told him their newly-reinstated cook was less comfortable than he let on. Djaq wouldn't have let him up if it wasn't all right, but still… He turned to say something, but the glance Much gave in return when he sensed his master's eye on him was so brimful of pride and contentment that Robin only gave a warm smile, hoping Much would speak up if the strain became too great.
By the time the brace of rabbits had been successfully turned into stew and they were all tucking into their meal, Much's face was pinched with pain, but he stayed stubbornly put until Djaq came over with two mugs for him: one of stew, and one of her tea. Even then, no amount of discomfort was able to dissuade him from taking over his usual role as cook the next day. Breakfast was still a matter of rummaging an apple or piece of bread from their stores before setting out, but Much steadfastly supervised the two later meals, watching every move of his volunteer assistants and insisting on taste-testing each stage of the meal's preparation, un-splinted hand restless and obviously itching to take up the cooking utensils himself.
After a week abed with strained muscles left to grow tight, Much's steps the next day were as stumbling and unsteady as a newborn calf's, even leaning on Robin. Allan's cheerful call of, "Aw, look at that – he's takin' his first steps, Will! Gonna be toddlin' around all on his own before you know it…" echoed around the cave behind them as Much concentrated on a few more limping steps toward the glow of light at the cave mouth, and Robin shook his head in annoyance as Allan's never-ending need to jest.
"You know, master," Much said thoughtfully, pausing to look speculatively over at Allan. "Djaq did say not to over-exert myself… and I must say cooking for five would be far easier than for six…" Ignoring the thief's offended exclamation, Robin hid a smile and nodded seriously, saying, "That she did. I'm sure Allan won't mind – maybe he can eat tomorrow." As they navigated the narrow turn of the rock out onto the hill, he could hear Allan announce carelessly, "S'fine. Doesn't matter. Will'll give me his, won't he?" A snort, then Will's voice, laughing, "No."
As they stood a few feet outside the entrance, the autumn-clad expanse of Sherwood unfurled in all its splendor around them, Robin heard a quiet sigh from the man beside him. Surely Much hadn't let Allan's teasing wound him so easily? But when he looked over at his friend, he saw Much's face tipped up to the hesitant sunshine for the first time in nearly a fortnight, his expression one of utter contentment. There was just enough of a breeze to make the sun's warmth noticeable, and Much just stood and let the sunlight rest on his head and shoulders like a benediction until he noticed Robin watching, gave a self-conscious laugh, and said, "It's silly, but I missed this. The sun." Another laugh. "Never thought I'd say that, not after getting half-roasted in Acre."
Much managed a complete circuit of the cave that day, left hand against the stone like a blind man finding his way by touch. When faced with the considerable gap that formed the cave entrance, however, he realized rather comically after a few moments that he was stuck, unless he was willing to turn around and lean on his splinted hand for balance on the way back. Robin finally took pity on him when it was clear Much was not "just resting" as he claimed, eyeing the far side of the gap as if simply glaring could force it to close.
A day or so later, Djaq unwrapped the tight bandages around his ribs – a decision that puzzled them all, Much included. Taking away support for the healing bones would be the same as throwing away the splints and bindings still protecting Much's hand, wouldn't it? Faced with such a range of reluctance and hesitation, Djaq sighed and laced her fingers together to demonstrate as she said, "The bandages restrict your ribs' movement, which helps with the pain, yes, but at the same time, you cannot breathe deeply." Much's expression stated clearly that he had no desire to breath any more deeply than he had to right now, and Robin was inclined to agree, until Djaq continued firmly, "Shallow breathing means it is far easier to become ill, and for the sickness to move into your chest. You will need to start taking several deep breaths each day, so that…"
The rest of Djaq's lesson was lost on her patient. Going by the incredulity in Much's expression alone, anyone would have thought she had just told him to beat himself in the head with a rock every hour to heal more swiftly. Only after she bluntly explained to him that catching cold and spending weeks suffering agony with every sneeze and coughing fit would be far, far worse than a simple breath every few hours did Much grudgingly agree to cooperate. Even then, their definitions of a "deep" breath were drastically different at first, but the Saracen woman's sheer determination finally won out.
"How can this possibly be good for me?" Much croaked out, good arm wrapped around his midsection as Djaq gave him a bracing pat on the shoulder and stood.
Based on Robin's short quests out to the forest's border and another visit to Knighton, the Sheriff seemed to have gone from raging at what had transpired in his absence to sulking, the bulk of his petulance falling on his Master-at-Arms. There had been a few more incursions than usual into Sherwood of late, but the men on those scouting trips were reluctant and poorly organized, the result of vague orders shouted down through the ranks to do something useful. On the whole, the forest was safe, and with Allan back on his feet and Much now able to make little forays out with them, the gang began to return to the routines they'd all grown used to.
Much dealt wryly with the good-natured ribbing each day as he went out with Djaq on her herb-gathering errands, tasked with carrying the basket on their walk. With only one arm free and unable to bend over to collect firewood, there was plainly little else for him to do; Robin wasn't about to post him watching the road or scouting around when the trudge up the hill to the camp was enough to leave him sitting in thin-lipped silence for a quarter hour, but there was genuine wistfulness and a hint of shame in his face each morning now as the gang headed out. He paid John back neatly for a parting quip about bringing them back some flowers, though, when a spray of late-blooming wildflowers decorated the older man's plate at supper that night, Much only remarking innocently, "Well, you did ask for them particularly…"
Behind the return of Much's jovial spirits, Robin sometimes thought he saw a shadow, but only when Much was tired out or was weathering a more painful day, and the darkness did not linger long. Whatever might have been hidden in those quiet moments spent watching the fire, being left behind each day clearly bothered Much more, and as the days passed, more than once Robin saw his servant clamp his mouth shut on what was undoubtedly a request to come with them. And as even Djaq eased her protective watch, and Much's most significant obstacle each day was fighting to fasten his cloak one-handed, there seemed less and less reason to leave Much behind at all.
As he sat amidst the lingering conversation of a late supper one night, Robin set his plate aside, mind made up. After nearly two weeks, the Sheriff's guard was as relaxed as it would ever be, and it was time they started their missions out to the villages again. The people needed the money sitting uselessly in the chest at the back of the cave, as well as the reassurance their presence provided, the sight of those willing, and now finally able once again, to oppose the Sheriff.
"So," he began, "I thought we might make a trip to Locksley tomorrow." Satisfaction spread through the group in a brief rush of smiles, sighs, and a "Finally…" someone, most likely Allan, muttered under their breath. "Marian says the Sheriff's likely to keep Gisborne busy at the castle until nightfall, so we won't be in any hurry this time." He was secretly glad to see that Much's expression didn't falter at the lieutenant's name, though his face grew serious in the firelight.
Will was the first to ask what the rest of them were thinking. He glanced around when Robin didn't continue, and said, "Who's going?" It took effort for Robin to keep his voice nonchalant, but he managed to keep a straight face as he shrugged, replying, "All of us?"
Much's head came up immediately, surprise and eagerness lighting up his face, and Robin couldn't contain his grin any longer. His gang needed to be able to work together again, and a light-hearted mission like this one would be perfect to get them back in practice. And if it weren't for Much, they probably wouldn't still have the tax money to hand out – if anybody deserved to be present when it went to those who needed it most, it was Much.
Doubt lingered on a few faces, most noticeably Djaq's, but when she met Robin's eyes with caution already parting her lips, he looked to Much instead. The short nod Much gave in answer was a familiar one, firm and determined, and that was enough to satisfy Robin. The grins broadening the rest of the gang's faces as they patted Much on the back and started planning for the morrow was enough to make Djaq lift her hands in reluctant surrender to Robin, even her lingering concern unable to keep the smile from her face at the sight of how happily Much was collecting everybody's plates. Tomorrow would bring him the sight of his entire gang walking into Locksley together, and for just a minute or two, Robin let himself forget the rest of Nottinghamshire and enjoy the satisfaction of knowing all was as right within their echoing, firelit world.
One more chapter left, and we'll just have to see whether things go as smoothly as Robin thinks they will…
I'll have this next chapter for you all as soon as humanly possible - I know it's hard keeping track of a story that goes weeks or more between posting. I write every day, and appreciate every little upward tick of the numbers that tells me one of you read this story. You make all the frustrating moments and challenges worth the effort, you wonderful people, you!
For those of you in school, good luck in these last few weeks before finals! Hang in there! ;)
~Si