Just under the wire - kinda!
To: fisher_queen who wanted some angsty Will and wasn't averse to him getting hurt...
Warm wishes from: gregoria44
Rating: PG so far...
Word Count: 1,396 so far
Summary: Will wants Allan to tell him why.
Message for fisher_queen: This grew and grew and now it's become a bit of an epic. I didn't want to rush the ending, so for now, I hope you will accept this as a part one of probably two. More to follow very soon - it won't let me go!
Will had been sharply aware of Djaq's eyes on him since Robin had delivered the news of Allan's defection. Time was he'd have done almost anything to get her attention, but now it was an unwelcome intrusion.
It angered him that he was being watched like a hawk whilst everyone else steadfastly refused to discuss the matter.
It was true that he had been the closest to Allan of all the outlaws: Robin and Much were distanced by their war experiences and John had been a near fantasy character back in the Locksley of Will's childhood. Allan had treated Will as an equal, and their relationship replaced what Will had lost when he had left behind his father and brother.
Their history made the betrayal harder, but Will's fiercest loyalty lay with the gang and with Robin. Djaq's searching eyes constantly questioned that allegiance, and he was unwilling to admit even to himself that she might be right to do so.
Days passed and his anger and resentment grew until he was no longer sure whether his ire was directed at Allan for leaving, Robin for failing to bring him back or Djaq for being altogether too knowing.
Somewhere between his annoyance with her and the anger at his own weakness, he made the decision to go and see the newly uniformed Allan with his own eyes. He forced himself to believe that it was about laying the broken friendship to rest, and not about doubting Robin's judgement.
So it was that he found himself inside the castle precinct, surrounded by people and animals and smells and shouting and bustle and all around the bartering and bantering and the thump, thump, thump of the blood in his ears. Even as a small child he had disliked the town, dragged along at knee height by either his mother or father.
The relative solitude of the forest had only increased his discomfort amongst the throng, despite being an adult with his head well above most men's.
Trying to block out the noise, he moved steadily between trestles in the market place; making himself inconspicuous in ways he had picked up from his ex-friend.
"Confidence is the trick," Allan had told him, voice light and full of pride that he knew something worth learning. Will had enjoyed watching him work, gaining more from Allan's pleasure than from his teaching.
He had always thought his father's hands were the most talented in the shire until he saw the smoothness with which Allan removed a purse or untied a horse. He had thought nothing could match the charm of his mother's voice until he heard Allan turning a woman's mind from her husband long enough to lift her jewellery.
How easily he had been awed.
Shaking his head with a scowl, Will slid through the crowds, aiming his steps in the general direction of the Trip. Allan was a creature of habit if nothing else. It would be easy enough to melt into the darkness of the inn and wait for him to turn up.
A barrage of barking and shouting broke out behind a row of stalls in the direction that Will had not wanted to take. Fingers twitching towards his tool belt, carved tag heavy against his heart, he faltered from his course and rounded the stalls.
On the clear and familiar stretch of cobbles in front of the gatehouse, two dogs snarled and bit at each other as their masters hauled them apart. The spat was quickly replaced with the jeers and laughter of onlookers, but the sound slid away from Will like a stone skipped on ice.
The echoes boomed in his skull, refracting and reforming into something older, something fixed in time: a shout of dissent, a display of defiance, the shocked silence of a crowd who knew what would come next.
The market goers surging about their business faded from Will's eyes. He could only see the stained cobbles in front of him, stretching into infinity, and the endless crumpling of his father's body to the filthy floor.
He felt again the pressure of John's chest against his own and his leaden arms remembered thrusting against the restraining bulk. Frozen in memory, his fingers strained in futile attempts to reach someone he could not touch or save or be held by ever again.
Trapped in his own head, unable to stop the images forming over and over, he was unaware of a woman stall-holder tugging at his elbow. More than once, her rent had been paid by the gang's hoard and she was troubled by the sight of him standing so still and alone.
She saw movement towards them and her tugging took on a new insistency, "Will? Will! You need to go. You need to go now."
The two guards sauntering in their direction were intelligent, and bored to a fault. They had seen action in Jerusalem as mercenaries, returning only when the money began to run out. Work in England had been hard to come by, and the only man rich enough to employ them in their home town was the Sheriff. While he was just about prepared to pay the going rate, they were just about prepared to watch his back.
Working in the castle meant lodgings and regular ale money, but it lacked the cut and thrust and drama of holy war. They knew things that Will's kind could only guess at, and the dreams they dreamt were not ones that had ever troubled him at night.
Noting his overgrown form and his lack of response to the woman at his side, they first presumed him a dolt. Sensing the possibility of sport, they headed towards him with silent, spiteful intent. As they neared, however, and the woman melted away, they spotted the outline of the axe's haft beneath his cloak.
Simpletons were rarely seen unaccompanied; it was rarer still for them to carry heavy weaponry.
Will remained oblivious to the danger he was in until he was thrown up against a stall, the edge of his own blade forcing his chin up.
Disorientated and winded, trapped by the weight of iron against his throat, he struggled to get a grip on what had happened. The smell of metal and rust and leather cut into his senses, a harsh contrast to the subdued scents of wood and smoke that he was more used to.
Steel eyes bored into his from the darkness below the helmet of the man holding him. He found that he couldn't look away, couldn't even look at the other guard to weigh up his chances. There was a cold light in the eyes, flickering between displeasure and triumph, and it chilled him to his soul.
Dampness trickled down his neck and spread across his back. The uncomfortable press of wood against his spine wasn't enough for him to risk shifting, but his awareness of it grew with every passing second.
He could smell the man holding him too; the sweat of a hardened body, the odour of well-worn uniform, the heat of his breath. Will could feel the man's superior strength without needing to test it. An ugly leer twisted up from either side of a nose-guard, contorting the stubbled face into lines of distaste.
No words had been exchanged. Will knew that the men were waiting for him to panic, to babble out excuses for his presence, give himself away without needing to make any effort on their part. Inside, he fought against the instinct to react physically. While he kept quiet and still, they had to keep thinking. While their minds were occupied, he was afforded more time to choose a course of action.
The leer before him diminished to a hard line, "Got owt to say for yerself?"
Will shook his head in a slight and gradual movement, feeling the axe head creating an indented line in his skin, "No."
Cold eyes flicked sideways to seek out the other guard, "Got a clever one here."
The other guard sniffed noisily, "What you thinking?"
"I'm thinking we take him in…" he paused, eyes briefly sliding down Will's body before flicking back up, "…been a while since we did any interrogating."
There was an inflection in the word that Will couldn't fathom. The other guard sniggered; a hacking, unpleasant noise.
"Yeah, it's bin a while."
***
(TBC)
Warm wishes from: gregoria44
Rating: PG so far...
Word Count: 1,396 so far
Summary: Will wants Allan to tell him why.
Message for fisher_queen: This grew and grew and now it's become a bit of an epic. I didn't want to rush the ending, so for now, I hope you will accept this as a part one of probably two. More to follow very soon - it won't let me go!
Will had been sharply aware of Djaq's eyes on him since Robin had delivered the news of Allan's defection. Time was he'd have done almost anything to get her attention, but now it was an unwelcome intrusion.
It angered him that he was being watched like a hawk whilst everyone else steadfastly refused to discuss the matter.
It was true that he had been the closest to Allan of all the outlaws: Robin and Much were distanced by their war experiences and John had been a near fantasy character back in the Locksley of Will's childhood. Allan had treated Will as an equal, and their relationship replaced what Will had lost when he had left behind his father and brother.
Their history made the betrayal harder, but Will's fiercest loyalty lay with the gang and with Robin. Djaq's searching eyes constantly questioned that allegiance, and he was unwilling to admit even to himself that she might be right to do so.
Days passed and his anger and resentment grew until he was no longer sure whether his ire was directed at Allan for leaving, Robin for failing to bring him back or Djaq for being altogether too knowing.
Somewhere between his annoyance with her and the anger at his own weakness, he made the decision to go and see the newly uniformed Allan with his own eyes. He forced himself to believe that it was about laying the broken friendship to rest, and not about doubting Robin's judgement.
So it was that he found himself inside the castle precinct, surrounded by people and animals and smells and shouting and bustle and all around the bartering and bantering and the thump, thump, thump of the blood in his ears. Even as a small child he had disliked the town, dragged along at knee height by either his mother or father.
The relative solitude of the forest had only increased his discomfort amongst the throng, despite being an adult with his head well above most men's.
Trying to block out the noise, he moved steadily between trestles in the market place; making himself inconspicuous in ways he had picked up from his ex-friend.
"Confidence is the trick," Allan had told him, voice light and full of pride that he knew something worth learning. Will had enjoyed watching him work, gaining more from Allan's pleasure than from his teaching.
He had always thought his father's hands were the most talented in the shire until he saw the smoothness with which Allan removed a purse or untied a horse. He had thought nothing could match the charm of his mother's voice until he heard Allan turning a woman's mind from her husband long enough to lift her jewellery.
How easily he had been awed.
Shaking his head with a scowl, Will slid through the crowds, aiming his steps in the general direction of the Trip. Allan was a creature of habit if nothing else. It would be easy enough to melt into the darkness of the inn and wait for him to turn up.
A barrage of barking and shouting broke out behind a row of stalls in the direction that Will had not wanted to take. Fingers twitching towards his tool belt, carved tag heavy against his heart, he faltered from his course and rounded the stalls.
On the clear and familiar stretch of cobbles in front of the gatehouse, two dogs snarled and bit at each other as their masters hauled them apart. The spat was quickly replaced with the jeers and laughter of onlookers, but the sound slid away from Will like a stone skipped on ice.
The echoes boomed in his skull, refracting and reforming into something older, something fixed in time: a shout of dissent, a display of defiance, the shocked silence of a crowd who knew what would come next.
The market goers surging about their business faded from Will's eyes. He could only see the stained cobbles in front of him, stretching into infinity, and the endless crumpling of his father's body to the filthy floor.
He felt again the pressure of John's chest against his own and his leaden arms remembered thrusting against the restraining bulk. Frozen in memory, his fingers strained in futile attempts to reach someone he could not touch or save or be held by ever again.
Trapped in his own head, unable to stop the images forming over and over, he was unaware of a woman stall-holder tugging at his elbow. More than once, her rent had been paid by the gang's hoard and she was troubled by the sight of him standing so still and alone.
She saw movement towards them and her tugging took on a new insistency, "Will? Will! You need to go. You need to go now."
The two guards sauntering in their direction were intelligent, and bored to a fault. They had seen action in Jerusalem as mercenaries, returning only when the money began to run out. Work in England had been hard to come by, and the only man rich enough to employ them in their home town was the Sheriff. While he was just about prepared to pay the going rate, they were just about prepared to watch his back.
Working in the castle meant lodgings and regular ale money, but it lacked the cut and thrust and drama of holy war. They knew things that Will's kind could only guess at, and the dreams they dreamt were not ones that had ever troubled him at night.
Noting his overgrown form and his lack of response to the woman at his side, they first presumed him a dolt. Sensing the possibility of sport, they headed towards him with silent, spiteful intent. As they neared, however, and the woman melted away, they spotted the outline of the axe's haft beneath his cloak.
Simpletons were rarely seen unaccompanied; it was rarer still for them to carry heavy weaponry.
Will remained oblivious to the danger he was in until he was thrown up against a stall, the edge of his own blade forcing his chin up.
Disorientated and winded, trapped by the weight of iron against his throat, he struggled to get a grip on what had happened. The smell of metal and rust and leather cut into his senses, a harsh contrast to the subdued scents of wood and smoke that he was more used to.
Steel eyes bored into his from the darkness below the helmet of the man holding him. He found that he couldn't look away, couldn't even look at the other guard to weigh up his chances. There was a cold light in the eyes, flickering between displeasure and triumph, and it chilled him to his soul.
Dampness trickled down his neck and spread across his back. The uncomfortable press of wood against his spine wasn't enough for him to risk shifting, but his awareness of it grew with every passing second.
He could smell the man holding him too; the sweat of a hardened body, the odour of well-worn uniform, the heat of his breath. Will could feel the man's superior strength without needing to test it. An ugly leer twisted up from either side of a nose-guard, contorting the stubbled face into lines of distaste.
No words had been exchanged. Will knew that the men were waiting for him to panic, to babble out excuses for his presence, give himself away without needing to make any effort on their part. Inside, he fought against the instinct to react physically. While he kept quiet and still, they had to keep thinking. While their minds were occupied, he was afforded more time to choose a course of action.
The leer before him diminished to a hard line, "Got owt to say for yerself?"
Will shook his head in a slight and gradual movement, feeling the axe head creating an indented line in his skin, "No."
Cold eyes flicked sideways to seek out the other guard, "Got a clever one here."
The other guard sniffed noisily, "What you thinking?"
"I'm thinking we take him in…" he paused, eyes briefly sliding down Will's body before flicking back up, "…been a while since we did any interrogating."
There was an inflection in the word that Will couldn't fathom. The other guard sniggered; a hacking, unpleasant noise.
"Yeah, it's bin a while."
***
(TBC)