Fic: "A Life Less Ordinary" (Chapter 13)
Title: A Life Less Ordinary
Fandom: Robin Hood
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Outlaws, Marian, Carter, Guy, Sheriff. Canon pairings
Setting: Post-season 2
Spoilers: 2.13
Summary: They’d saved the King, but had they saved England? An alternate season 3 fic.
Disclaimer: The title comes from the Danny Boyle film, the rest belongs to the BBC
Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9 I Chapter 10 I Chapter 11 I Chapter 12
Chapter 13: Tuck In
Sherwood Forest
Night had fallen, and Marian had excused herself from the outlaw’s camp and taken a short walk, anxious for some solitude. Whilst she had been immensely pleased to be with her friends again, she was also grateful to escape for a few moments; to breathe in the cool night air and be alone with her thoughts. A few minutes was all she needed, and she relished the silence of the forest, save for the rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of owls roused to begin the night’s hunting.
It wasn’t long before she heard the crunch of boots against the leaves of the forest floor, and opened her eyes to see Much approaching, laden down with several bulging sacks.
“Marian,” he greeted her as he approached, and, with a small grunt, put down the sacks on the ground beside him. “What are you doing out here alone?”
“Alone?” she repeated and laughed. “Much, I am not a hundred yards from the Camp. No tragedy is going to befall me here.”
Much looked down, and kicked at the ground with his boot sheepishly. “You are right, of course,” he conceded. After several long moments, he looked up at her with a solemn expression on his face. “Marian,” he continued seriously, “I didn’t say before, but I…I am so glad that you’ve returned.
She thought back to the awkward hug they’d shared a few hours before and gave him an indulgent smile. Even though they’d grown up together, they’d always had the comfort of Robin as the common element of friendship between them, and had never really had to relate to one another outside of that. And yet, when they’d been children, it had been Much who had tended to her the time she’d fallen badly from a tree, that had often brought her and her father fresh fish caught from the streams in Sherwood, that had (albeit begrudgingly) acted as chaperone once she and Robin were of age so they could still spend time together. And of course, it had been Much who had stopped her wedding to Guy, who had inspired her with his faith and devotion to see what had been truly important.
Marian had never really noticed or appreciated the impact he’d had on her life before, but looking back she realised he had always been there, on the periphery, looking out for her as he had looked out for Robin. He was her superior in age, in goodness, in humility - in perhaps everything except birth and yet he felt bound to her. In a way, Marian realised, she was as much his charge as Robin was, except perhaps she seemed like more of a burden to him.
Much visibly hesitated for a few more moments, then took a step towards her. “I am going to hug you now,” he announced.
She looked at him quizzically. “Alright.”
“I’m just warning you,” he told her. “I don’t want to get stabbed in the eye by some concealed dagger or something. And I know, you and I…” he trailed off, clearly unable to articulate his point properly, but she ignored that. “So,” he added, “prepare yourself.”
“Alright,” she repeated, amused.
He stepped forward and put his arms around her. She was expecting a very brief hug as he had given her back at camp, but he held her tightly for several moments. Marian smiled and accepted it; she couldn’t remember the last time Much had embraced her at all, let alone with so much affection. At least, not since she had been a child, before (at least in his mind) they became rivals for Robin’s attention. She returned his brotherly embrace with an unexpected relief.
“I have to tell you something,” he said, still holding onto her tightly. “Ask you for something.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Your forgiveness.”
Marian pulled back to arm’s length. “Whatever for, Much?” she asked, confused.
Much took a deep breath and then proceeded to tell her about Robin’s surprise birthday party the year before in Nettlestone, that he’d concealing the plans from her even when she’d asked. She waited, puzzled, while he recounted the story with visible shame, eyes downcast.
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” she said once he’d finished. “I don’t see why it matters.”
“I needed you to know,” Much told her, and then looked up, resolute. “I promise, I will never lie to you again, Marian. Never,” he added emphatically. “Robin has forgiven me, but I can’t ever forgive myself - I’ve stolen a year from you both.”
She found his sincerity touching, but his guilt unnecessary and slightly ridiculous. But obviously it was weighing on his conscience and she wished only to alleviate that, rather than offend it.
“Think of it this way,” she told him, thinking quickly. “If you hadn’t lied to me, then I would have been there in Nettlestone. I never would have tried to kill the Sheriff, he wouldn’t have felt to need to gloat to me about Robin’s imminent death and therefore Allan would never have found out about it and come back and rescue you all. We probably would have all died in that barn.” She smiled at Much’s befuddled expression as he was working what she had said over in his mind. “So you see, your lie perhaps saved us all.”
“Well, yes, perhaps,” Much furrowed his brow, clearly unconvinced. “But still, my promise stands, I will not lie to you. Lying is bad.”
Sometimes, Marian envied the simplicity of his convictions. For Much, there was good and evil, right actions and wrong ones, and he did not understand people like herself who knew from experience that sometimes, one needed to commit small sins in order to achieve a greater good.
“Let’s go back to camp,” she suggested, and Much thankfully did not press the subject. They walked the short distance together in companionable silence. As they entered the camp, she could see that Allan and Will had already returned from their foraging mission at the Trip to Jerusalem Inn. Allan, lounging his bunk noticed them first.
“Here comes the party,” he called out to them.
Much retrieved several wineskins from his sacks and held them up. “I liberated these from Locksley,” he announced, clearly pleased with himself.
“Well done, Much,” Robin said, breaking from his quiet discussion with Carter. “Just what we need for a celebration.”
“Oh, do me a favour,” Allan spoke up. “Gisborne’s still in London, so by ‘liberated’ you mean you walked up to the kitchens and asked for them, right?”
Marian smiled, but Much scowled in obvious displeasure. “Isn’t that just what you did at the ‘Trip?” he questioned.
But Allan laughed and indicated the bread, pies and cheeses which lay beside him in a heap, and the barrel in the centre of the camp, which she assumed contained ale, that he and Will had somehow managed to procure.
“This? Took all of me charm to convince Suzie to part with.”
“So not very much charm, then?” Djaq added with a smile.
Allan only laughed again. “I think the spoils speak for themselves,” he continued. “That takes skill, mate.”
He and Much continued to bicker over who had acquired the better quality produce, whilst Robin located some silver goblets from their stash, filled them with wine and passed them around, except to Djaq, for whom he filled a goblet with water. He moved to Marian’s side, passing the last goblet to her and rested his other hand on her shoulder.
“To my dear friends,” Robin said, raising his goblet as the rest of them followed suit. Marian waited for him to continue with a speech, but he took only took a drink, squeezing her shoulder gently as he did so. The rest of them solemnly drank from their own goblets, and Marian noticed that the only Allan, John and Much did not seem surprised by Robin’s brevity. Marian looked up at him curiously, but after a few moments she gave her a wide grin and laughed as she remembered. “Come on then,” he addressed everyone jovially. “Let’s celebrate!”
*****************
Allan helped himself to his umpteenth goblet of ale (having always been more partial to it than wine), and leant against the barrel to drink it. It had been a feat for him and Will to get the thing to the camp from Nottingham, but when Suzie had offered it to them as a joke if they could carry it, he couldn’t let the challenge pass. Will had of course come up with a pulling mechanism using some rope and a wheelbarrow borrowed from a neighbouring stable - he was clever like that. Allan had used his charm to talk Suzie into letting them take it, promising he’d make it up to her. She’d also returned his lute, which he’d left there after Lardner had shown up. It was currently resting on his bunk, but Allan hadn’t quite felt up to playing it yet.
Instead, he enjoyed watching the camp - Robin and Marian tucked away in a corner, sharing a wineskin between them, for once being opening affectionate with one another; Much and Carter loudly talking over one another and from the looks of their ridiculous pantomime, discussing old war stories; Will and Djaq chatting and laughing with Little John. And Tuck - Tuck was talking to no one, but appearing to be listening and watching everyone. Allan filled up his goblet again, grabbed some food and crossed the camp to take a seat beside him.
“Allan A-Dale,” Tuck greeted him.
“Tuck,” Allan replied. “Is that a first name or a last name?” he chuckled to himself.
Tuck smiled enigmatically. “It is my name before God,” he said simply.
Allan tried to stop a laugh, and it came out as a snort. “Alright, Brother,” he told Tuck, shaking his head. “Whatever you say.” Then Allan regarded him for a few moments. “Is that your game then?” he asked. “Here to save our souls?”
“To say that a soul needs saving implies that it has been lost,” Tuck said, holding Allan’s gaze. “And if that happens, I believe that a man is responsible for saving his own soul. Although this does not mean he cannot seek help and guidance from others” he added with a smile.
It was not in Allan’s nature to think on such matters - he lived in the real world where there was not the time or the place for them. But he just couldn’t help himself from responding. “So what are you ‘ere for?” he questioned. “To provide guidance… or to save your own soul?”
Tuck looked away, and gazed into the fire. “Perhaps both,” he answered thoughtfully.
“Cheer up, mate,” Allan told him, “we ‘ave food and wine - this is no night for navel-gazing!” He picked up the pie he’d brought over and divided it into two, offering Tuck a half. The older man nodded in thanks, took the portion and bit into it.
“That’s it,” Allan roughly patted him on the back as he stood. “Tuck in!” he added, then laughed heartily at his own joke, took a bite of his own half and then moved to take a seat in his empty bunk.
He sat there for several moments, enjoying his food and drink, until Will appeared at his side and took a seat on the bunk next to him.
“Good night, eh?” Allan greeted him. “Good food, good ale, good friends.”
“Yes,” Will agreed. “It’s good to be back. I wasn’t sure I would ever see England again. Not that I didn’t like it in Acre,” he added quickly. “I was with Djaq.”
Allan nodded but did not reply. He had wanted Will and Djaq to be happy, and so had never questioned their decision to stay in the Holy Land, but if he was honest with himself it had felt almost like a betrayal - like they had abandoned him. And as much as he cared about Robin, John and Much, it hadn’t been the same - they were his friends, but they’d never understood him quite like Will and Djaq both had.
“I need to ask you, Allan,” Will said solemnly after a few moments. “And I’d like you to be honest. Are you really alright with me and Djaq?”
Allan shrugged. “Course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, I know that you liked her…” Will seemed uneasy.
Allan shrugged again and took a gulp of ale before answering. “Yeah,” he began. “I do like her, ‘course I do. But you love her, don’t ya?”
Will smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
“Then that’s all there is to it,” Allan said, smiling as Djaq appeared at Will’s shoulder and took a seat next to him. “Me two best mates,” he continued, raising his goblet to them. “What could be more perfect than that?”
“We’ve missed you, Allan,” Djaq said earnestly. “More than you probably know.”
Allan chuckled. “Everyone wants to be serious tonight,” he observed, “where’s the fun in that?” He picked up his lute from beside him on the bunk. “We need some music.”
*****************
“I didn’t know Allan was musical.”
“Hmmm?” Robin’s actions until that point had been directed towards nuzzling Marian’s neck, and he looked up to see her attention elsewhere.
“Allan is playing the lute,” she said, nodding her head towards the other side of the camp where Allan was indeed strumming a tune, and singing. “Didn’t you hear the music?”
Robin grinned at her, fortified by the wine and Marian’s presence. “I thought that was just my heart singing.”
Marian burst out laughing, which soon dissolved into amused sniggers. “Of all of the ridiculous things you’ve ever said to me…”
“What, it wasn’t that bad!” he argued. “Alright, it was pretty bad,” he agreed at her exaggerated expression. She giggled and did not seem to be able to stop herself - Robin could tell was not used to drinking so much wine and it had gone to her head slightly. In fact, he had more often than not abstained in the past year, unwilling to be drawn into revelry, and found that he was feeling somewhat lightheaded. And bold.
He rose to his feet and held out his hands to her, but she looked at him quizzically and took another sip from her goblet. “There is music and wine,” he explained. “There should be dancing.”
“You can’t dance,” Marian teased him. “You never wanted to learn.”
Robin shrugged in return. “But tonight is a night for miracles.”
She took his hands and he pulled her up and into his embrace. She laughed again, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Robin spun her around a little clumsily, knocking several pans off of the larder in the process. But he didn’t care, because his friends were back together, there was music in his ears and Marian was in his arms. All was right with the world.
*****************
The sound of Marian’s laugh and the clang of pots tumbling to the floor cut through the camp. John looked up from his conversation with Carter and Much, and the sight of Marian laughing brought a smile to his face. Much rose from his seat by the fire next to John and he expected an indignant comment regarding the state of the larder, but instead crossed the camp and offered a hand to Djaq. She smiled and took it, allowing Much to lead her in a friendly dance. Allan started playing a livelier tune on his lute, and Will began to clap in time with the music.
Carter grinned as he watched the dancing couples navigating the small space around the camp. “This is certainly an improvement over the Crusader camp,” he told John. “There was plenty of wine there also, but I don’t mind telling you that it did not always keep the men in the best of spirits.”
John nodded. He couldn’t speak to that - he only knew that he had never seen so much joy in the camp. “It is good to see Robin and Marian so happy,” he said simply, looking in the couple fondly. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Marian smile so much - she had always seemed a lonely creature to John, a woman raised by and around men but never fully able to enter their realm. John knew that kind of loneliness, the feeling that you inhabited a world which existed alongside the worlds of others, but never truly intersected with them. It was heartening to see Marian seem so easy and free, and not withdraw as she had been prone to do the last time she lived in the camp. “And Will and Djaq,” John added, seeing that Will had taken over Much’s position as Djaq’s dance partner. He noticed she wore that small secretive smile which was only present when Will was, and John was glad to see that their affection for one another had not diminished.
He was so happy for the two young couples, and yet the sight of them opened up the old, barely healed wounds in his heart. John wished, not for the first time, that he’d had the courage of any of his young friends, to fight to stay together with the person you loved despite all obstacles. With Alice, he had run, had chosen the easy way out by convincing himself she was better off without him.
“Everyone seemed happy,” Carter’s voice cut through his reverie. “It makes a nice change,” he added.
John again looked across the camp at Robin, Marian, Much, Will and Djaq, who had now formed a circle around Allan, still strumming on his lute as he appeared to be performing a jig of some kind. Laughter mixed with the sound of clapping hands, words of encouragement and appreciation, singing and a beat kept by Much banging a wooden spoon against the cooking pot.
“Yes,” John agreed with a smile. “Yes it does.”
*****************
Djaq woke up early, as was her habit. Everyone else was still asleep, even Will, based on his even breathing and the slack arm that rested across their shared bunk. She rose, careful not to wake anyone, although she realised that many of them were not so much asleep as passed out. Allan still had a goblet gripped in his hand. Although Djaq herself did not consume alcohol, she did not begrudge it of her friends, and was in fact rather amused by their drunken behaviour. At least, in the past, she had often enjoyed informing them of the things they had said and done under the influence which they had blocked from their memories.
She carefully picked up her pack from her designated cubbyhole and quietly left the camp, walking a few hundred metres into the forest until she came across a small clearing. This was her part of Sherwood; her small glade where she had always gone for a bit of privacy, which was much needed when sharing an outlaw’s camp with half a dozen dirty, shameless men.
With practiced ease, Djaq removed a mat from her pack, laid it down on the soft grass and knelt to begin her morning prayers. She took the small compass from the pack which had been a gift from Bassam. Djaq had always been able to judge the direction from the sun and stars, however Bassam had pressed it into her hand, telling her it was to always help her find the way home.
It comforted her to use it - some small keepsake of Palestine that she hadn’t had the last time, when she’d been brought to the country in chains. But now she had returned of her own free will, and had been able to bring some small items with her to ease the loss of her homeland. The compass rested on true north, and she judged the approximate direction of Mecca, and began her morning prayers.
When finished, she became acutely aware of a figure by the treeline. She rose and saw that it was Tuck, causing anger to bristle inside her.
“My apologies for intruding,” Tuck began in that disconcertingly mild tone of his.
“There would be no need to apologise had you simply not intruded in the first place,” Djaq told him.
Tuck gave her a strange sort of bow by ducking his head, and she had come to believe that it was his way of conceding the point, or at least choosing not to challenge it further.
“I confess that whilst I have fought against your people and religion for many years, I do esteem the frequency of your prayers,” Tuck told her. “It is a devotion many in our faith are lacking.”
Djaq sighed. She supposed it was only a matter of time before Tuck started preaching to her - to be honest she was surprised he had waited so long. Perhaps it was because he had been officially accepted into their band of outlaws.
“It is not my concern what Christians may be lacking in their devotions,” she said. “Or what your opinions are about my religion.”
“My observation was favourable to your religion, and kindly meant,” Tuck responded in that same even tone. He paused for a few moments, regarding her. “I think we have more in common than you realise, Mistress Djaq,” he added finally.
She bristled at the title. Tuck never seemed to allow himself the familiarity of addressing someone only by their name. It was always Mistress Djaq and Master Will and Captain Carter. Even with Marian, with whom he seemed to have formed the closest bond, he never deigned to address her informally, and more often than not simply called her My Lady.
“How much in common can a warrior priest have with a Turk?” she questioned, using the name his kind used to refer to her people.
“I believe it was your Prophet who wrote that we have a great deal in common,” he told her. “Would it surprise you to learn that I have read your Holy Book?” Tuck asked when she did not reply.
“Yes,” she replied curtly. “It would.”
“Say, People of the Book,” he recited, “let us arrive at a statement that is common to us all: we worship God alone.”
“Reading is one thing,” she said shortly. “Understanding is another.”
“This is true,” he agreed. “Yet surely we can agree that if there is one thing our people both share, is our devotion to our God.”
“Robin has also read the Qu’ran” Djaq told him. “He interprets such passages as proof that your God and mine are one in the same.”
Tuck tilted his head, openly studying her. “And you do not agree.”
“Robin is idealistic,” she told him. “He believes that we can all live together in harmony. That we are all…children of Abraham, regardless of denomination or race.”
“And so we are,” Tuck agreed. “But as Cain and Abel have taught us, children do not always get along.” He paused and studied her openly. “I sense you do not share Robin Hood’s view.”
“I am a realist,” she said shortly. “I have seen the hatred your people have for mine - I have seen the anger my people have for yours. If they were the same God, I cannot see how He could allow us to fight each other in His name. How He could allow us to remain on different sides, allow so much death.” Djaq’s mind went back, as it often did, to those days on the battlefield after she had assumed her brother’s identity. To the death and suffering she had seen there which time and distance could not erase. “At least if Allah and your God are different - if they are warring Gods as we are warring races… then at least it does not seem so futile.”
“And yet you align yourself with Englishmen and their cause,” Tuck pointed out. “With young Master Will.”
“I think you’ll find we are the exception rather than the rule,” she noted. “I hope for peace of course,” she added quickly. “But peace is most easily achieved by an invading army returning home.”
“And yet this work is done,” he reminded her. “The Third Crusade is all but over, and yet here you are in an English forest.”
Briefly, she recalled the Queen of Aquitaine making the same point and although time had passed, the answer had not changed. If anything, it was more true now than it had been then, for she had chosen to return. “In an English forest,” she agreed, “but doing good work, and alongside those I trust.”
“I hope one day, Mistress Djaq, that you will trust me.” With that Tuck gave another one of his small courteous bows and left the clearing without waiting for a response.
But Djaq knew that courtesy did not equal trustworthiness - only actions could prove that, and she had seen nothing from Tuck which had indicated he was worth her confidence. Robin and the rest of his men had earned such respect in less than a day - Marian over a few hours when she had tended to her first stabbing wound - Carter in his resolve to atone for the anger in his heart.
Djaq decided she would reserve judgement on Tuck until he had proved himself the equal to them.
Fandom: Robin Hood
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Outlaws, Marian, Carter, Guy, Sheriff. Canon pairings
Setting: Post-season 2
Spoilers: 2.13
Summary: They’d saved the King, but had they saved England? An alternate season 3 fic.
Disclaimer: The title comes from the Danny Boyle film, the rest belongs to the BBC
Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9 I Chapter 10 I Chapter 11 I Chapter 12
Chapter 13: Tuck In
Sherwood Forest
Night had fallen, and Marian had excused herself from the outlaw’s camp and taken a short walk, anxious for some solitude. Whilst she had been immensely pleased to be with her friends again, she was also grateful to escape for a few moments; to breathe in the cool night air and be alone with her thoughts. A few minutes was all she needed, and she relished the silence of the forest, save for the rustling of leaves and the occasional hoot of owls roused to begin the night’s hunting.
It wasn’t long before she heard the crunch of boots against the leaves of the forest floor, and opened her eyes to see Much approaching, laden down with several bulging sacks.
“Marian,” he greeted her as he approached, and, with a small grunt, put down the sacks on the ground beside him. “What are you doing out here alone?”
“Alone?” she repeated and laughed. “Much, I am not a hundred yards from the Camp. No tragedy is going to befall me here.”
Much looked down, and kicked at the ground with his boot sheepishly. “You are right, of course,” he conceded. After several long moments, he looked up at her with a solemn expression on his face. “Marian,” he continued seriously, “I didn’t say before, but I…I am so glad that you’ve returned.
She thought back to the awkward hug they’d shared a few hours before and gave him an indulgent smile. Even though they’d grown up together, they’d always had the comfort of Robin as the common element of friendship between them, and had never really had to relate to one another outside of that. And yet, when they’d been children, it had been Much who had tended to her the time she’d fallen badly from a tree, that had often brought her and her father fresh fish caught from the streams in Sherwood, that had (albeit begrudgingly) acted as chaperone once she and Robin were of age so they could still spend time together. And of course, it had been Much who had stopped her wedding to Guy, who had inspired her with his faith and devotion to see what had been truly important.
Marian had never really noticed or appreciated the impact he’d had on her life before, but looking back she realised he had always been there, on the periphery, looking out for her as he had looked out for Robin. He was her superior in age, in goodness, in humility - in perhaps everything except birth and yet he felt bound to her. In a way, Marian realised, she was as much his charge as Robin was, except perhaps she seemed like more of a burden to him.
Much visibly hesitated for a few more moments, then took a step towards her. “I am going to hug you now,” he announced.
She looked at him quizzically. “Alright.”
“I’m just warning you,” he told her. “I don’t want to get stabbed in the eye by some concealed dagger or something. And I know, you and I…” he trailed off, clearly unable to articulate his point properly, but she ignored that. “So,” he added, “prepare yourself.”
“Alright,” she repeated, amused.
He stepped forward and put his arms around her. She was expecting a very brief hug as he had given her back at camp, but he held her tightly for several moments. Marian smiled and accepted it; she couldn’t remember the last time Much had embraced her at all, let alone with so much affection. At least, not since she had been a child, before (at least in his mind) they became rivals for Robin’s attention. She returned his brotherly embrace with an unexpected relief.
“I have to tell you something,” he said, still holding onto her tightly. “Ask you for something.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Your forgiveness.”
Marian pulled back to arm’s length. “Whatever for, Much?” she asked, confused.
Much took a deep breath and then proceeded to tell her about Robin’s surprise birthday party the year before in Nettlestone, that he’d concealing the plans from her even when she’d asked. She waited, puzzled, while he recounted the story with visible shame, eyes downcast.
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” she said once he’d finished. “I don’t see why it matters.”
“I needed you to know,” Much told her, and then looked up, resolute. “I promise, I will never lie to you again, Marian. Never,” he added emphatically. “Robin has forgiven me, but I can’t ever forgive myself - I’ve stolen a year from you both.”
She found his sincerity touching, but his guilt unnecessary and slightly ridiculous. But obviously it was weighing on his conscience and she wished only to alleviate that, rather than offend it.
“Think of it this way,” she told him, thinking quickly. “If you hadn’t lied to me, then I would have been there in Nettlestone. I never would have tried to kill the Sheriff, he wouldn’t have felt to need to gloat to me about Robin’s imminent death and therefore Allan would never have found out about it and come back and rescue you all. We probably would have all died in that barn.” She smiled at Much’s befuddled expression as he was working what she had said over in his mind. “So you see, your lie perhaps saved us all.”
“Well, yes, perhaps,” Much furrowed his brow, clearly unconvinced. “But still, my promise stands, I will not lie to you. Lying is bad.”
Sometimes, Marian envied the simplicity of his convictions. For Much, there was good and evil, right actions and wrong ones, and he did not understand people like herself who knew from experience that sometimes, one needed to commit small sins in order to achieve a greater good.
“Let’s go back to camp,” she suggested, and Much thankfully did not press the subject. They walked the short distance together in companionable silence. As they entered the camp, she could see that Allan and Will had already returned from their foraging mission at the Trip to Jerusalem Inn. Allan, lounging his bunk noticed them first.
“Here comes the party,” he called out to them.
Much retrieved several wineskins from his sacks and held them up. “I liberated these from Locksley,” he announced, clearly pleased with himself.
“Well done, Much,” Robin said, breaking from his quiet discussion with Carter. “Just what we need for a celebration.”
“Oh, do me a favour,” Allan spoke up. “Gisborne’s still in London, so by ‘liberated’ you mean you walked up to the kitchens and asked for them, right?”
Marian smiled, but Much scowled in obvious displeasure. “Isn’t that just what you did at the ‘Trip?” he questioned.
But Allan laughed and indicated the bread, pies and cheeses which lay beside him in a heap, and the barrel in the centre of the camp, which she assumed contained ale, that he and Will had somehow managed to procure.
“This? Took all of me charm to convince Suzie to part with.”
“So not very much charm, then?” Djaq added with a smile.
Allan only laughed again. “I think the spoils speak for themselves,” he continued. “That takes skill, mate.”
He and Much continued to bicker over who had acquired the better quality produce, whilst Robin located some silver goblets from their stash, filled them with wine and passed them around, except to Djaq, for whom he filled a goblet with water. He moved to Marian’s side, passing the last goblet to her and rested his other hand on her shoulder.
“To my dear friends,” Robin said, raising his goblet as the rest of them followed suit. Marian waited for him to continue with a speech, but he took only took a drink, squeezing her shoulder gently as he did so. The rest of them solemnly drank from their own goblets, and Marian noticed that the only Allan, John and Much did not seem surprised by Robin’s brevity. Marian looked up at him curiously, but after a few moments she gave her a wide grin and laughed as she remembered. “Come on then,” he addressed everyone jovially. “Let’s celebrate!”
*****************
Allan helped himself to his umpteenth goblet of ale (having always been more partial to it than wine), and leant against the barrel to drink it. It had been a feat for him and Will to get the thing to the camp from Nottingham, but when Suzie had offered it to them as a joke if they could carry it, he couldn’t let the challenge pass. Will had of course come up with a pulling mechanism using some rope and a wheelbarrow borrowed from a neighbouring stable - he was clever like that. Allan had used his charm to talk Suzie into letting them take it, promising he’d make it up to her. She’d also returned his lute, which he’d left there after Lardner had shown up. It was currently resting on his bunk, but Allan hadn’t quite felt up to playing it yet.
Instead, he enjoyed watching the camp - Robin and Marian tucked away in a corner, sharing a wineskin between them, for once being opening affectionate with one another; Much and Carter loudly talking over one another and from the looks of their ridiculous pantomime, discussing old war stories; Will and Djaq chatting and laughing with Little John. And Tuck - Tuck was talking to no one, but appearing to be listening and watching everyone. Allan filled up his goblet again, grabbed some food and crossed the camp to take a seat beside him.
“Allan A-Dale,” Tuck greeted him.
“Tuck,” Allan replied. “Is that a first name or a last name?” he chuckled to himself.
Tuck smiled enigmatically. “It is my name before God,” he said simply.
Allan tried to stop a laugh, and it came out as a snort. “Alright, Brother,” he told Tuck, shaking his head. “Whatever you say.” Then Allan regarded him for a few moments. “Is that your game then?” he asked. “Here to save our souls?”
“To say that a soul needs saving implies that it has been lost,” Tuck said, holding Allan’s gaze. “And if that happens, I believe that a man is responsible for saving his own soul. Although this does not mean he cannot seek help and guidance from others” he added with a smile.
It was not in Allan’s nature to think on such matters - he lived in the real world where there was not the time or the place for them. But he just couldn’t help himself from responding. “So what are you ‘ere for?” he questioned. “To provide guidance… or to save your own soul?”
Tuck looked away, and gazed into the fire. “Perhaps both,” he answered thoughtfully.
“Cheer up, mate,” Allan told him, “we ‘ave food and wine - this is no night for navel-gazing!” He picked up the pie he’d brought over and divided it into two, offering Tuck a half. The older man nodded in thanks, took the portion and bit into it.
“That’s it,” Allan roughly patted him on the back as he stood. “Tuck in!” he added, then laughed heartily at his own joke, took a bite of his own half and then moved to take a seat in his empty bunk.
He sat there for several moments, enjoying his food and drink, until Will appeared at his side and took a seat on the bunk next to him.
“Good night, eh?” Allan greeted him. “Good food, good ale, good friends.”
“Yes,” Will agreed. “It’s good to be back. I wasn’t sure I would ever see England again. Not that I didn’t like it in Acre,” he added quickly. “I was with Djaq.”
Allan nodded but did not reply. He had wanted Will and Djaq to be happy, and so had never questioned their decision to stay in the Holy Land, but if he was honest with himself it had felt almost like a betrayal - like they had abandoned him. And as much as he cared about Robin, John and Much, it hadn’t been the same - they were his friends, but they’d never understood him quite like Will and Djaq both had.
“I need to ask you, Allan,” Will said solemnly after a few moments. “And I’d like you to be honest. Are you really alright with me and Djaq?”
Allan shrugged. “Course I am, why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, I know that you liked her…” Will seemed uneasy.
Allan shrugged again and took a gulp of ale before answering. “Yeah,” he began. “I do like her, ‘course I do. But you love her, don’t ya?”
Will smiled and nodded. “Yes.”
“Then that’s all there is to it,” Allan said, smiling as Djaq appeared at Will’s shoulder and took a seat next to him. “Me two best mates,” he continued, raising his goblet to them. “What could be more perfect than that?”
“We’ve missed you, Allan,” Djaq said earnestly. “More than you probably know.”
Allan chuckled. “Everyone wants to be serious tonight,” he observed, “where’s the fun in that?” He picked up his lute from beside him on the bunk. “We need some music.”
*****************
“I didn’t know Allan was musical.”
“Hmmm?” Robin’s actions until that point had been directed towards nuzzling Marian’s neck, and he looked up to see her attention elsewhere.
“Allan is playing the lute,” she said, nodding her head towards the other side of the camp where Allan was indeed strumming a tune, and singing. “Didn’t you hear the music?”
Robin grinned at her, fortified by the wine and Marian’s presence. “I thought that was just my heart singing.”
Marian burst out laughing, which soon dissolved into amused sniggers. “Of all of the ridiculous things you’ve ever said to me…”
“What, it wasn’t that bad!” he argued. “Alright, it was pretty bad,” he agreed at her exaggerated expression. She giggled and did not seem to be able to stop herself - Robin could tell was not used to drinking so much wine and it had gone to her head slightly. In fact, he had more often than not abstained in the past year, unwilling to be drawn into revelry, and found that he was feeling somewhat lightheaded. And bold.
He rose to his feet and held out his hands to her, but she looked at him quizzically and took another sip from her goblet. “There is music and wine,” he explained. “There should be dancing.”
“You can’t dance,” Marian teased him. “You never wanted to learn.”
Robin shrugged in return. “But tonight is a night for miracles.”
She took his hands and he pulled her up and into his embrace. She laughed again, and wrapped her arms around his neck. Robin spun her around a little clumsily, knocking several pans off of the larder in the process. But he didn’t care, because his friends were back together, there was music in his ears and Marian was in his arms. All was right with the world.
*****************
The sound of Marian’s laugh and the clang of pots tumbling to the floor cut through the camp. John looked up from his conversation with Carter and Much, and the sight of Marian laughing brought a smile to his face. Much rose from his seat by the fire next to John and he expected an indignant comment regarding the state of the larder, but instead crossed the camp and offered a hand to Djaq. She smiled and took it, allowing Much to lead her in a friendly dance. Allan started playing a livelier tune on his lute, and Will began to clap in time with the music.
Carter grinned as he watched the dancing couples navigating the small space around the camp. “This is certainly an improvement over the Crusader camp,” he told John. “There was plenty of wine there also, but I don’t mind telling you that it did not always keep the men in the best of spirits.”
John nodded. He couldn’t speak to that - he only knew that he had never seen so much joy in the camp. “It is good to see Robin and Marian so happy,” he said simply, looking in the couple fondly. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Marian smile so much - she had always seemed a lonely creature to John, a woman raised by and around men but never fully able to enter their realm. John knew that kind of loneliness, the feeling that you inhabited a world which existed alongside the worlds of others, but never truly intersected with them. It was heartening to see Marian seem so easy and free, and not withdraw as she had been prone to do the last time she lived in the camp. “And Will and Djaq,” John added, seeing that Will had taken over Much’s position as Djaq’s dance partner. He noticed she wore that small secretive smile which was only present when Will was, and John was glad to see that their affection for one another had not diminished.
He was so happy for the two young couples, and yet the sight of them opened up the old, barely healed wounds in his heart. John wished, not for the first time, that he’d had the courage of any of his young friends, to fight to stay together with the person you loved despite all obstacles. With Alice, he had run, had chosen the easy way out by convincing himself she was better off without him.
“Everyone seemed happy,” Carter’s voice cut through his reverie. “It makes a nice change,” he added.
John again looked across the camp at Robin, Marian, Much, Will and Djaq, who had now formed a circle around Allan, still strumming on his lute as he appeared to be performing a jig of some kind. Laughter mixed with the sound of clapping hands, words of encouragement and appreciation, singing and a beat kept by Much banging a wooden spoon against the cooking pot.
“Yes,” John agreed with a smile. “Yes it does.”
*****************
Djaq woke up early, as was her habit. Everyone else was still asleep, even Will, based on his even breathing and the slack arm that rested across their shared bunk. She rose, careful not to wake anyone, although she realised that many of them were not so much asleep as passed out. Allan still had a goblet gripped in his hand. Although Djaq herself did not consume alcohol, she did not begrudge it of her friends, and was in fact rather amused by their drunken behaviour. At least, in the past, she had often enjoyed informing them of the things they had said and done under the influence which they had blocked from their memories.
She carefully picked up her pack from her designated cubbyhole and quietly left the camp, walking a few hundred metres into the forest until she came across a small clearing. This was her part of Sherwood; her small glade where she had always gone for a bit of privacy, which was much needed when sharing an outlaw’s camp with half a dozen dirty, shameless men.
With practiced ease, Djaq removed a mat from her pack, laid it down on the soft grass and knelt to begin her morning prayers. She took the small compass from the pack which had been a gift from Bassam. Djaq had always been able to judge the direction from the sun and stars, however Bassam had pressed it into her hand, telling her it was to always help her find the way home.
It comforted her to use it - some small keepsake of Palestine that she hadn’t had the last time, when she’d been brought to the country in chains. But now she had returned of her own free will, and had been able to bring some small items with her to ease the loss of her homeland. The compass rested on true north, and she judged the approximate direction of Mecca, and began her morning prayers.
When finished, she became acutely aware of a figure by the treeline. She rose and saw that it was Tuck, causing anger to bristle inside her.
“My apologies for intruding,” Tuck began in that disconcertingly mild tone of his.
“There would be no need to apologise had you simply not intruded in the first place,” Djaq told him.
Tuck gave her a strange sort of bow by ducking his head, and she had come to believe that it was his way of conceding the point, or at least choosing not to challenge it further.
“I confess that whilst I have fought against your people and religion for many years, I do esteem the frequency of your prayers,” Tuck told her. “It is a devotion many in our faith are lacking.”
Djaq sighed. She supposed it was only a matter of time before Tuck started preaching to her - to be honest she was surprised he had waited so long. Perhaps it was because he had been officially accepted into their band of outlaws.
“It is not my concern what Christians may be lacking in their devotions,” she said. “Or what your opinions are about my religion.”
“My observation was favourable to your religion, and kindly meant,” Tuck responded in that same even tone. He paused for a few moments, regarding her. “I think we have more in common than you realise, Mistress Djaq,” he added finally.
She bristled at the title. Tuck never seemed to allow himself the familiarity of addressing someone only by their name. It was always Mistress Djaq and Master Will and Captain Carter. Even with Marian, with whom he seemed to have formed the closest bond, he never deigned to address her informally, and more often than not simply called her My Lady.
“How much in common can a warrior priest have with a Turk?” she questioned, using the name his kind used to refer to her people.
“I believe it was your Prophet who wrote that we have a great deal in common,” he told her. “Would it surprise you to learn that I have read your Holy Book?” Tuck asked when she did not reply.
“Yes,” she replied curtly. “It would.”
“Say, People of the Book,” he recited, “let us arrive at a statement that is common to us all: we worship God alone.”
“Reading is one thing,” she said shortly. “Understanding is another.”
“This is true,” he agreed. “Yet surely we can agree that if there is one thing our people both share, is our devotion to our God.”
“Robin has also read the Qu’ran” Djaq told him. “He interprets such passages as proof that your God and mine are one in the same.”
Tuck tilted his head, openly studying her. “And you do not agree.”
“Robin is idealistic,” she told him. “He believes that we can all live together in harmony. That we are all…children of Abraham, regardless of denomination or race.”
“And so we are,” Tuck agreed. “But as Cain and Abel have taught us, children do not always get along.” He paused and studied her openly. “I sense you do not share Robin Hood’s view.”
“I am a realist,” she said shortly. “I have seen the hatred your people have for mine - I have seen the anger my people have for yours. If they were the same God, I cannot see how He could allow us to fight each other in His name. How He could allow us to remain on different sides, allow so much death.” Djaq’s mind went back, as it often did, to those days on the battlefield after she had assumed her brother’s identity. To the death and suffering she had seen there which time and distance could not erase. “At least if Allah and your God are different - if they are warring Gods as we are warring races… then at least it does not seem so futile.”
“And yet you align yourself with Englishmen and their cause,” Tuck pointed out. “With young Master Will.”
“I think you’ll find we are the exception rather than the rule,” she noted. “I hope for peace of course,” she added quickly. “But peace is most easily achieved by an invading army returning home.”
“And yet this work is done,” he reminded her. “The Third Crusade is all but over, and yet here you are in an English forest.”
Briefly, she recalled the Queen of Aquitaine making the same point and although time had passed, the answer had not changed. If anything, it was more true now than it had been then, for she had chosen to return. “In an English forest,” she agreed, “but doing good work, and alongside those I trust.”
“I hope one day, Mistress Djaq, that you will trust me.” With that Tuck gave another one of his small courteous bows and left the clearing without waiting for a response.
But Djaq knew that courtesy did not equal trustworthiness - only actions could prove that, and she had seen nothing from Tuck which had indicated he was worth her confidence. Robin and the rest of his men had earned such respect in less than a day - Marian over a few hours when she had tended to her first stabbing wound - Carter in his resolve to atone for the anger in his heart.
Djaq decided she would reserve judgement on Tuck until he had proved himself the equal to them.