Repairs
Author: ctquill
Title: Repairs
Words: 7332 (you did say no limit)
Genre: gen
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Characters owned by BBC and Tiger Aspect.
Summary: After the Holy Land, Allan feels like he still needs to prove himself, but Robin isn't the only one wanting revenge for a murder.
Author's Note: First fic I've ever posted: you have been warned! AU, set soon after 2x13. If I've been too nasty to Allan in places, feel free to disqualify.
Much remembered the last time he had returned to Nottingham. Singing, tired and starving. So happy to be home. This time, the same roads led to a different future. Dreams and certainties had been buried in the desert sands.
He ached for Robin. For himself as well.
Even the forest felt empty, as if it were in mourning too.
*
The chapel backed onto a tiny graveyard. Robin had been here before, to watch Marian place flowers on her mother's grave. They had buried Sir Edward beside his wife. Marian should lie here, not in a raw hole in the earth of a distant land. He still felt the stark shape of it, as if it had been hacked out of his own body.
He knelt beside Edward's headstone. “My friend,” he whispered. “My … father. I am so sorry I couldn't bring her back to you.”
He tipped his head to the sky. His tears blurred it to a pale mist.
“She - she died protecting the King. As you did. And before she died, we were wed. She is my wife, Edward. Was. For a second ...”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Robin of Locksley?”
He went for his knife, on his feet before he had time to notice it was a woman's voice.
A nun. He sheathed the knife quickly. “I'm - I'm sorry, sister.”
She came closer, peering at his face with a strange excitement. “It is you. I don't know if you'll remember me. You were a friend of my brother's.”
He hadn't the energy for this. He didn't speak, so she continued. “Roger of Stoke. He's been missing for months. Do you - have you heard anything -?”
Her voice shook. Robin felt his chest tighten. Roger.
“I think - it's Mary, isn't it? - I'm afraid something may have happened to him on the way to the Holy Land. He was carrying a message for me.”
“Oh. I thought -”
She gestured helplessly at the headstones. She'd been crying too, and was starting to again. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.
“Please, Robin. Please tell me what you know.”
The truth had to be better than searching graveyards.
“I think he may have been killed by enemies of the King. Look, come back with me to my camp, I'll explain everything I can.”
For a moment he thought she might faint. Then she nodded, and took his arm when he offered it.
“And you can tell me about your loss,” she said softly.
Robin swallowed hard. He turned his back on Edward's grave and led her towards Sherwood.
“Please don't take this the wrong way.” He managed to sound almost normal. “But for your own safety, I'm going to have to blindfold you ...”
*
By the time he'd finished telling her his story and her brother's part in it, she seemed drained of everything, even her tears.
“Sit.” He guided her gently to the fire.
“I'm sorry.” She knotted her hands together to still their trembling. “I knew I wouldn't find him. I knew … and yet, I hoped ...”
Robin nodded.
“Robin?” John called. Mary jumped.
“It's just my men,” Robin said quickly. “John! It's fine.”
The others came in.
“Who's she?” Allan said, dropping his load of firewood.
“This is Mary. Roger of Stoke's sister. She's come looking for answers about what happened to her brother.”
Allan was good at hiding his reactions, but not so good that Robin didn't see the colour leave his face. Once Mary was settled at the fire, he went over to lean against a tree, watching him sidelong.
“It was you, wasn't it?” He felt nothing. Perhaps he would be angry later, but he didn't think he had space for any more rage. Allan tensed and started to protest. He talked over him. “I suspected as much, when I heard he hadn't reached the King.”
Much and John turned from their own desultory conversation.
“What?” Much gasped. “He killed him?”
Allan took a step back. “No! Course not!”
Robin folded his arms. “But -?”
“Well, I told Gu - Gisbourne about the letter. That's all.”
“He was killed for it!” Much spoke too loudly. Mary glanced over at them, frowning.
“Gisbourne killed him! I didn't know he would. That wasn't my fault.”
Allan's voice was rough with the force of his conviction. But they had all heard him lie before, as easily as breathing.
“Look, lads, how many times do we have to go through this? I did things, you know I did, that I'm sorry for. But I came back. I've apologised, again and again! When is it going to be enough?”
“It won't bring back the dead,” John said quietly.
“You were all best mates with that Carter bloke, and he was a murderer! What have I done that's worse than that?”
“We have accepted your apologies, Allan,” Robin said. “You're one of us again, but it will take time to rebuild trust.”
“So what do I have to do, then?” Allan's voice rose angrily, drawing Mary's attention again. “What hoops do you want me to jump through?”
Robin just shook his head, tired, so tired and wishing he'd never even started this discussion. He stared at the fire, wanting to lose himself in the pulse of the flames.
Allan moved, forcing him to face him. “Come on! If I have to prove myself to you - what do you want me to do?”
“Just leave it, Allan.” Robin pushed past him and walked away, rubbing his forehead.
John said, gently but not inviting any argument, “It will take time.”
*
Mary didn't stay long. If she appeared wary and troubled when she left, the men were too preoccupied to notice.
“I am going to Nottingham,” Robin said abruptly.
He received the looks he'd been getting so often lately. As if he were made of black powder and standing too close to a flame.
“What?” He couldn't help the belligerence. They were his men, and yet they seemed determined to treat him like a child. “I want to know what Vaisey's next move will be. He's been far too quiet since getting back. One of us needs to sneak into the castle and listen at doors.”
Much shook his head vehemently. “I do not like this. We should all go.”
“That would hardly be sensible. All of us, gathered outside the Sheriff's war room, peering through the keyhole?”
Even his most scornful tone didn't deter Much this time. “Master -”
Robin ignored him, started to walk away.
Allan's voice stopped him.
“You just want an excuse - an opportunity to kill Gisbourne.”
Robin spun round and grabbed him by the collar, almost jerking him off his feet. “I do not need an excuse to kill Gisbourne!”
He released Allan, who backed away.
“Alright,” he said, softer, and Robin couldn't cope with hearing compassion from him. “All I'm saying is there'll be plenty of chances to get to him. No need to risk it like this.”
“This is not about Gisbourne! This is about the Sheriff's plans. Without Ma -”
He broke off, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. The others looked away.
He needed a few shaky breaths before he could speak again. “Without a spy in the castle, we do not know how he will next move against the King.”
John was watching him, too closely. “Yes. But you should not be the one to go. Not yet.”
“Who is the leader here, John?”
“You are. But a leader must send the best man for the job. Right now, that is not you.”
Robin glared at him, trying to think of some argument he could make against the truth.
“I'll go.”
Startled, they all turned to Allan.
“Don't give me that! What, do you think I want to go running back to Gisbourne, after what he's done? I'm just saying I know my way around the castle blindfolded now. I know where they have their little conferences. I'm the best qualified, is all.”
Much began to speak, suspicion thick on his face, but John and Robin both gave him warning looks. They all knew Allan was trying to prove himself - and testing them. Maybe it was too soon to prod at the fragile threads tying them together. Maybe, after everything they'd been through in the Holy Land, he was right and it needed to be done.
Robin nodded.
“Be careful.”
*
It was strange being back in the castle, especially at night. As if the last terrible weeks hadn't been real and he was just on his way to bed after a day of traipsing after Guy and dodging the Sheriff. Except that this wasn't home anymore and he really shouldn't be here.
This is insane. If I get caught, I'm dead.
Worse than dead, if what Guy did to Marian were anything to go by. But, while it had seemed for a time that his apologies were working, they hadn't mended anything. He was good with words. Too good. They wanted actions. Like coming back and facing down a horde of mercenaries, then travelling halfway across the world to nearly die of heat and thirst hadn't been enough for them.
He tried to silence the thought that maybe nothing would be enough.
He felt oddly reluctant to pass Marian's room, but it was the least exposed route to take. He slowed when he saw that the door was open, and couldn't help glancing in.
A cloak and leather mask lay on the bed in the moonlight. Charred but intact. He'd thrown them on the fire, but hadn't stayed to watch them burn.
“You sly little -” he muttered, with a bit of a smile.
Then he realised he had been stopped by the sight and this was wrong, so wrong, and he was moving again, but it was too late.
“Allan?”
A shadow stirred deeper in the room. He ran.
Heavy footsteps followed him. He bolted down the stairs, round a corner, and slammed into the guard loitering there. Hands grabbed him, the man called out, a second guard appeared and he was held fast.
Guy came round the corner. He looked awful, unwashed and dead-eyed, but he wasn't armed. He studied Allan expressionlessly, while the outlaw's heart pounded.
“Allan. You came back. Did Hood send you? I thought he'd come himself.”
“Uh - no, I came to see - to see how you were. After … I'm not even with Robin, he threw me out.”
Guy resembled a corpse, with the torchlight hollowing his cheeks and his eyes lost in shadow. “Then why did you run?”
“Realised you might not be in the mood for visitors. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, seeing as - where you were - what you were doing.”
It could have been a lot smoother, but it was plausible, wasn't it? He wished he'd thought of something better, but too late now.
Guy passed a hand over his face. He looked unsteady on his feet.
“Sir?” one of the guards said. “What should we do with him?”
“Guy, come on. I just thought you might need - to talk, or something.”
Light cut across the passage.
“What's all this, then?”
The Sheriff stood in the doorway opposite. Allan's breath snagged in his throat. He might have been able to talk Guy down, but Vaisey was a hopeless cause.
He pulled sharply against the guards, one desperate attempt, hoping they were distracted enough by the Sheriff's arrival …
They weren't.
Vaisey strolled up to them. “So, Gisbourne, I see your boy has returned.”
He stopped in front of Allan. “Tired of the forest already, are we? Thought we might be willing to forgive you and take you back?”
He leaned in close. Allan turned his face from the man's rancid breath. “Did Hood think he could send you here to worm your way back in, brush off the fact that you WENT BACK TO HIM -” Allan flinched “- and take over little Missy Marian's job of spying for him?”
Allan had learned to keep his mouth shut around the Sheriff. Especially after his last slip of the tongue that had cost Marian, cost all of them, so much.
The Sheriff drew back. “Well - a clue: no! Take him to the dungeons.”
“Guy -” Allan felt himself falling, and there was no-one to catch him, there never was. Guy turned his head away.
The last thing Allan saw before the guards dragged him off was the Sheriff going over to Guy. He patted his cheek. There was nothing gentle about the gesture. He examined Guy's gaunt face and bagged eyes critically.
“Get some sleep, Gisbourne. You're frightening the guards.”
*
It was closer to dawn than midnight, but there was always someone available to torture prisoners. Allan had never asked, but he supposed they worked shifts.
He thought this must be his punishment. Back here, just as he had been all those months ago, like he'd never left. Last time he had made the wrong choice. Now he'd come full circle, so it could turn out the way it should have in the first place.
I never left this place.
I'll never leave this place.
Guy came in. Sleep evidently hadn't been co-operative. Allan wasn't sure which of them looked worse.
“Tell us everything you know about Hood, his men and his plans and the pain will stop.”
He sounded like he was reciting the words. He stood there, arms hanging at his sides. Vacant.
Allan forced his bruised lips apart. “You already know everything I know.”
Guy just stared past him at the wall.
“Guy … I was your right-hand man -”
“You left me!”
Allan was silenced, his mouth still open.
“You left me for Hood. All that time, you were never loyal to me. It was all a lie. The first sign of trouble and you went scampering back to him. You were always his, weren't you?”
He realised that Guy wasn't talking to him anymore.
There would be no reasoning with him now. His eyes had lost all focus as he raged at the memories. Allan slumped back against the wall, feeling the cold of the stones seep into him.
The door banged open. The Sheriff. A guard with a whip followed at his heels. Vaisey came right up to Allan and grabbed his jaw.
“Is he singing? No? Do you know what happens to little birdies in cages who won't sing?” He leaned in, his nose almost touching Allan's cheek.
“They get their necks wrung!”
Allan closed his eyes. The Sheriff's breath was hot on his skin as the man chuckled.
He felt the rope around his neck again, the sensation had never left him, never faded.
He considered praying, but couldn't really be bothered. God hadn't shown any interest in him before.
The Sheriff took the whip from his guard. Guy folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, detached and distant.
Allan had managed not to scream last time - not much, anyway. He feared that this time would be different.
*
Guy was pacing, prowling, wearing a strange, disquieted look. The Sheriff bored easily, praise be for small mercies. With a flick of the whip he snapped, “Enough. This one isn't worth the time or the rope to hang him with. Finish him off, Gisbourne, there's a good boy.”
Guy froze, looking at Allan uncertainly.
“Your sword, Gisbourne. Come on, come on. You've had plenty of practise with it lately.”
Guy paled, but he drew his sword. Allan implored him silently, aware as acutely as ever that he wasn't done yet. He wasn't ready for this. Guy hesitated, but the Sheriff clapped his hands. “Get on with it!”
“My lord ...”
Allan couldn't tell if it was acquiescence or protest. His eyes were locked with Guy's now, and he saw the ghosts rise up. Guy held the sword at hip height and again, Allan knew it wasn't him he was seeing.
Guy's hand shook. His eyes were desperate, as if he were begging Allan for something.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, too softly for the Sheriff to hear.
Allan braced himself. But the sword jerked, then dipped. He saw the grief that cut through Guy, raw as sand in blood. The sword tip touched the floor.
“Gisbourne?” The Sheriff sounded snappish. Dangerous. “What are you doing?”
Guy twisted slowly to face his lord, but stared straight through him.
“My lord?”
They all started at the sound of the guard's voice.
“What?”
“My - my lord, there's a woman here demanding to see you. She says it's about a murder.”
“Yes, well, how prescient - there is about to be a murder, and if you don't go and get rid of her, there may well be two!”
This guard was braver than most. Or just new. “My lord, I really think you should come. She says she's been told you ordered her brother's death. She says he was close to the King. Roger of Stoke?”
Vaisey's fury was gone as quickly as it had come. “Roger of Stoke?” He glanced back at Guy. “Told? By whom?”
“She says Robin Hood, my lord.”
“Really.” The Sheriff was starting to smile, in that way that Allan had learned meant you should find a good place to hide. He started towards the door, calling over his shoulder, “I expect him to be dead when I get back.”
The door slammed.
Guy was breathing hard, clenching and releasing his hand on the sword hilt. After a few minutes, Allan swallowed and ventured to speak.
“Guy … I did leave Robin. I really did. And … she … she cared enough about you to keep trying to - make you better.”
Guy shuddered. Then, sighing, he lowered his sword completely.
“I can't do this,” he said heavily. “She was wrong. I can't be better than a murderer. But not like this. Not again ...”
He made a noise - a sobbing grunt that could have been laughter. “I think you were the closest thing I ever had to a friend, Allan. Isn't that pathetic?”
Allan remembered all the times Guy had lashed out at him, turned from indulgence of his insubordination to icy authority in the space of a breath.
“No.” He forced a weak smile. “No, it isn't.”
Guy sighed again. “You'd say anything to save your life.”
He sank to his haunches, propped on his sword, and visibly went … elsewhere.
After a while, long enough for Allan's abused body to start to cramp and tremble, the Sheriff swept back in. He had Mary in tow. He ushered her through the door, all courtesy, making solicitous noises about the damp and the smell and her terrible loss.
“... but this is your lucky day, my dear. You see, this is the man who killed your brother.”
Guy's head whipped round; but the Sheriff was pointing at Allan.
Just when he'd thought things couldn't get worse.
“What?”
She peered at him - perhaps having trouble recognising him under the blood and bruises.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes! Robin and the others, they near as accused him and he practically admitted it!”
Allan shook his head, shooting pain down his neck. “No, no, I didn't, I swear -”
“Oh.” The Sheriff opened his eyes wide in feigned shock. “So Hood knew about it, did he?”
“I don't think Robin knew until that moment.”
“Well, we can't be certain of that, can we? It would explain why he tried to place the blame on me. But the point is, one of Robin Hood's men murdered your brother. I assure you, dear lady, I will see to it that justice is done.”
“I didn't kill him! He's lying -”
The Sheriff hit Allan hard enough to fill his mouth with blood. Mary flinched.
“What - what will you do with him?”
“Oh …” Vaisey's twisted grin unfolded slowly. “I think we'll have a hanging after all.”
Allan tipped his head back against the wall.
The Sheriff saw Mary out. As he passed Guy he hissed, “And I'll deal with you later.”
*
Much was preparing breakfast when the alarm went off. He dropped his spoon, gasped as boiling water splashed him, scrambled for his sword. Robin rolled out of bed, already armed and running for the traps.
Much had never seen a nun so angry. Even after they cut her down, Mary shoved Robin hard enough to make him stumble back.
“Your man!” Her face was flushed and wet with tears. “Your man murdered my brother! Did you know, Robin? When I begged you for help, for answers, did you know?”
“What are you talking about? Did - Allan.” Robin went very still. “Where is he? John! Has Allan come back?”
John shook his head.
“Yes, that one! How could you, Robin? You really are no better than a criminal now, aren't you?”
Robin grabbed her arms roughly. “No! Listen to me. I knew nothing about Roger's death until last night. Allan did play a part in it, but he did not kill him.”
“Then why -”
Robin let her go. “Roger is dead because I gave him that letter for the King. Allan was working for the Sheriff's lieutenant at the time and he told him about the letter. That is the man who killed your brother: Guy of Gisbourne.”
She backed away. “I don't believe you. Why would you take on a man who used to work for your enemy?”
“Allan … Allan was one of us, but he … turned traitor.”
“But he's back with you now? After what he's done? When he was on the side of men you claim are evil?”
“Well … Allan is always on Allan's side.” Robin looked to the others for help, but they had none to offer. “He made a mistake.”
He couldn't believe he was repeating Allan's own pathetic excuse.
“I haven't forgiven him, I don't know if I ever will, but I have accepted what he has done and that he is truly sorry for -”
“Sorry? Sorry is not enough! My brother is dead!”
“We've all done things that are wrong, Mary! I have killed. I have killed so many - but I am a soldier. I killed in the King's name and, even knowing all I do now, if I were faced with those same moments, those decisions, I would have to take those lives. I do not believe that Allan would make his choices the same if he had to do it over again.” Quieter, he said, “Your brother was a soldier, too. He knew what that meant. I am sorry he is dead, so sorry he died that way. He deserved better. But he still gave his life for the King.”
She barely seemed to hear him. “What does it say about you, Robin of Locksley, that you can brush aside what this man has done?” Her voice was low and raw.
“I can accept him back because … “ Robin searched Much and Little John's faces, the cloister of trees and sky. He hadn't been prepared for this, for defending Allan. “Because Allan a Dale is the most selfish man I have ever met, but I have seen him risk his life countless times for me, my men and the people of Nottingham. Because he is one of the greediest men I have ever known, but he happily gives away bags of coins to the poor. He is a liar and an opportunist and a thief … but he gave his word to protect the woman I -” He broke there, but forced himself on. “- I loved, and he did. He has done bad things, but he has done so much good as well. And he did not kill your brother.”
Mary pressed her hands to her face. “I - I no longer know what to believe,” she whispered. “I just want justice for Roger.”
“As long as Vaisey is sheriff, there will be no justice in Nottingham.”
She was no longer crying. She met Robin's eyes, and the searing coldness he saw frightened him. It was like looking in a mirror.
“I want to see my brother's murderer hang. If you are telling the truth, if you have not been lied to, then for now I will have be satisfied with the man who helped to kill him.”
Robin caught her wrist before she could leave.
“What - wait! Allan is to hang? When?”
“At noon.” She shook him off, picked up her skirts and ran.
*
The Sheriff's speeches always drew a crowd, especially when he was announcing a hanging. Whatever you thought of him, the man knew how to put on a show.
“Today, my dear people of Nottingham, we have caught a murderer. One of Robin Hood's own men! He killed a knight!”
A few gasps, on cue. Time to raise the stakes.
“Not only that, he also murdered the sorely-missed, much-loved Lady Marian Fitzwalter!”
Guy, standing behind him, swayed as if he'd been struck. Vaisey watched him out the corner of his eye as shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd, wondering if he would actually faint like a maiden.
“On our recent trip, he stabbed the poor girl. It seems Hood had placed him in Lord Gisbourne's employ as a spy. We believe Lady Marian may have found him out and he cruelly snuffed her young life to silence her.”
Hand on heart, Vaisey bowed his head as if overcome with sorrow. In the brief silence he heard Gisbourne's ragged breathing.
“Today we will see justice done! For Roger of Stoke,” he nodded to the nun standing at the front of the crowd, “and for the late lamented Marian. Allan a Dale will hang at noon. Now, we all know that Robin Hood always comes to rescue his men.”
He lowered his voice, leaning forward, forcing a conspiratorial intimacy as the crowd hushed to listen.
“If he comes to snatch this man from the righteous fist of the law, we know once and for all that Hood has no morality, no decency, no respect for innocent life. He is, in fact, a common outlaw, a thief and a killer - or at least a man who harbours thieves and killers. The image he has created for himself, oh so noble, so heroic … lies, all of it. Proven, if he prevents justice from being carried out today. Who knows,” he widened his eyes as if the thought had just occurred to him, “he may even have ordered Lady Marian's death. He held her hostage once before, threatened her life … perhaps his lackey killed her on his orders. An innocent girl ...”
He wiped away a false tear.
“If he does not come - well, he's condemning this man's crimes, his dubious integrity may be intact, but it's not such a safe proposition to be one of Hood's men, is it?”
He swept a fierce stare across the crowd.
“I'm sure someone will ensure Hood hears about the hanging and explain the implications of his actions to him. So, see you all back here at noon - and we'll see if Hood comes or not, yes?”
He chuckled and sauntered back into the castle. With a firm hand he pushed Gisbourne in front of him, forcing the stunned man to stumble and move through the door.
One of the guards at the foot of the stairs released his grip on the arm of his companion, who was still rigid and shaking.
“Or maybe,” he said grimly, “he's already here.”
*
They found a quiet corridor on the upper level of the castle. Robin ached being here, feeling the absence of her laughter, her candlelit smiles. The walls echoed with the lack of her.
Much pulled off his helmet, leaving his hair as wild as his eyes. “What do we do, Master?”
Robin's hands were trembling. Focus. Her killer will be punished, no matter what tricks the Sheriff pulls. He took a few breaths, forcing himself into the familiar, deadened clarity of the battlefield.
It kept hitting him, though, the cascading pain and anger, making it hard to think.
“They were believing his lies, some of them at least. How could they, Master, surely they know better - after all we've done for them!”
“Many of them know Allan as Gisbourne's man,” John said. “He has given them cause to think the worst of him.”
“But Robin! They can't believe Robin would -”
Robin rested his head against the wall, trying to still the pounding in his skull. “If we rescue him, it looks like we condone murder. We have no proof of Gisbourne's guilt other than our word.”
“And that of the King!”
“The King is not here.” Robin straightened up. “If we save Allan, it looks like … it looks like we are protecting Marian's killer.”
The last words shuddered out of him.
“If?” Much looked shocked.
“Some people will think that,” John said carefully. “Some know better. Others will not care about a knight and a noblewoman. We know the truth. That is all that matters.”
“I should have put an arrow through Gisbourne, right there in the courtyard. Ended this.”
“Then we would all be dead. That is not what she would have wanted.”
“Master, surely what people think of us cannot be more important than a man's life.”
“No, of course not!”
He let out a frustrated breath. So much easier to loose an arrow, so much simpler not to think, just shoot …
“So what do we do?” Much was so worried he had gone quiet. “We can't just - even if it is Allan, even with everything he's done - we can't let him hang. No-one who knows you could ever believe you would - not her.”
“Much, be quiet.” Robin pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. “I'm trying to think.”
*
They had left Allan in a cell with his hands chained above him so that with each breath fire hissed down his body. It was an effort to raise his head when footsteps approached and black boots appeared on the other side of the bars.
Guy wouldn't look at him. Leather creaked as he shifted uncomfortably.
“Not long now,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“The Sheriff has formally accused you of murdering Roger of Stoke. And - another.”
“What? Who?”
Guy cleared his throat, but his voice still came out rough. “He - has told everyone … Marian.” He choked out her name. “He has said that you murdered Marian.”
It hit harder than any blow he'd suffered in the past hours, more intense than he would have expected. It cut off his breath as surely as the noose would. The cell blurred around him.
“No! No ...”
“I'm sorry, Allan. If I could take your place ...”
Guy broke off. They both knew he was too weak to mean that. He lifted his hand, as if to reach out, through the bars, then let it drop back to his side.
In the breathless, spinning silence, they stared at each other. Then Guy started to back away.
“There's nothing I can do.”
Allan watched in helpless desperation as he reached the door. He turned back, real sorrow and guilt, not just for her, dark in his eyes.
“I'm so sorry,” he said unsteadily. Then he was gone.
Alone in the dark, Allan began to shake, exhaustion, pain and fear raking through him. He'd done so many things that could have seen him hang. But not this, he didn't want to be remembered for this.
He felt it again, his own terrible weight, the rope chafing his throat, the airless agony, the drumming darkness rising up ... He gasped. In the quiet cell it sounded like an explosion.
*
“Open up. We've come to fetch the prisoner.”
Two guards. One jerked a thumb in Allan's direction.
“Not time yet,” he protested. “Can't be too eager, lads.”
In truth, he'd lost all sense of time. But it couldn't be noon yet, it just couldn't. Despite the aching cinder that was his body, despite the dread, he wanted so badly for these hours and minutes to last forever.
Not yet, please not yet.
“He's right,” the jailer said curtly. “You're early.”
“Sheriff wants a proper show. We're to bring him now.”
“That's not what I was told.”
“Sheriff tell you everything, does he? Gets your permission?” The guard sounded mocking and hostile. Allan tried to place his voice. He'd made some enemies during his stay at the castle.
“You know how he is,” the other guard said, an attempt to placate. “Every little whim …”
The jailer hesitated, and Allan urged him on silently, but all the castle employees knew what happened if you disobeyed the Sheriff.
In a rattle of keys and chains he was hauled from his cell. He nearly blacked out from the sudden forced movement. Still, he struggled and kicked until one of the guards cuffed him hard enough to stun him. There was no point in fighting them; he could barely walk, let alone run. It just wasn't in him to go quietly.
They half dragged, half carried him out of the dungeon. Daylight lashed tears from his eyes. Blinded, all he could see was an etched memory, a cloth-wrapped body swaying in the wind.
Not long now, Tom.
“Look, I know you're just doing your jobs, but I also know you don't get paid near enough for your time. How about we talk about this?” They ignored him. “Come on, I could make it worth your while to just … let me get the better of you and escape. Happens all the time, no skin off your nose. I'd see to it you were well paid … Oi, where we going? Courtyard's that way.”
“Shut up, Allan,” the guard on his left hissed, wrenching his arm. And now, without the rough accent, it was a very familiar voice.
He squinted into the light. Under the helmet, sure enough …
“Oh, thank God,” he breathed, sagging in their grip. “I didn't think you'd come.”
“Of course we came, you idiot. It's leaving that's going to be tricky.”
Little John stepped out of the storeroom at the end of the corridor, beckoning them in. He closed the door behind them. Robin tossed his helmet aside and produced a lock pick. Allan sank down on a wooden chest and held out his hands. Robin bent to work at his shackles.
“Alright, lads, get yourselves out past the kitchens and find horses,” he said. “I don't think Allan's up for the walk back to Sherwood.”
“What about you?”
Much, vibrating with worry as usual. Right then Allan could have kissed him.
“I think we'll need a diversion to get through the gates.” Robin pulled the shackles off Allan's wrists.
“Master -”
With a grin that looked almost back to its old wickedness, Robin ducked out into the corridor.
Much threw up his hands.
“Just don't get yourself killed,” he called after him.
*
Robin rubbed his thumb over the blackened stitches of the mask. It was the logical thing to do. The Night Watchman was dead and gone. Robin Hood still needed the people's trust to do his work. But he'd known from the moment he saw the mask lying on the bed in her old room that her memory, even that of her anonymous alter ego, meant more to him than his own reputation.
Anyway, it wouldn't be right. He couldn't save Allan from the Sheriff's accusations; but he could take a share of their weight.
“For you, my love,” he murmured, slipping the mask safely under his shirt. He picked up his bow.
The crowd had all gathered. The Sheriff stood at the top of the steps, surveying them with his hands behind his back. Mary was at his side. Robin took aim.
He'd picked a good spot for the arrow to land, but the wood of the gallows was slow to light, so he sent a second arrow after the first, a streak of falling sun. Flames unfurled up the central post, spat tendrils along the gallows' arms, and screams sounded.
“Hood!” the Sheriff bellowed, spotting him up on the battlements. “You know what this means! For shame, Hood, the girl you were once betrothed to!”
Robin swallowed the fire that burned in him brighter than the gallows, and waved his bow in salute.
“Your word means nothing, Vaisey! I wouldn't believe you if you told me the sky was blue!”
The Sheriff shoved his guards into the panicking crowd. “Get him! Get him!”
Robin ran.
*
John gave Allan an old cloak to cover his blood-stained tunic. He flipped the hood up and limped towards the kitchens, glad of Much's arm to lean on. He was still dizzy from the speed with which his fate had changed.
Outside, it sounded like Robin had started a riot. Much muttered something under his breath. They dodged servants scurrying past with pails of water. John pushed ahead, clearing a path to the stables.
Allan struggled to keep up. A servant jostled him, and he stumbled against a tall figure also heading for the horses. An all-too-familiar bulk, heavy with the scent and feel of well-worn leather.
Guy turned and looked straight at him.
There was no space to escape. For a long moment the sound of the crowd pulsed in and out, keeping time with Allan's heartbeat.
“Sir Guy!” a guard shouted across the yard. “Could Hood or the prisoner have come this way?”
Guy called back, “I have no idea. I'll mount a search.”
He walked away.
Allan stood frozen in the midst of the bustle, trying to take in what had just happened.
“Allan!” Much ran back to him and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing? Come on, move!”
John led a horse over to them “Could only get one.”
They headed for the portcullis, Much on horseback, pretending to be one of the guards riding out to search for Robin. John guided Allan through the crowd streaming out of the castle grounds, all eager to be away from the burning platform and the servants working to douse the flames. The Sheriff seemed to be throwing a tantrum at the top of the stairs. Guy was nowhere to be seen.
Once out in the streets, they ducked into a quiet alley. Much was waiting with the horse. John helped Allan up, but he had to sit doubled over in the saddle for a few minutes until the pain and stitches of light across his vision subsided.
Much and John were watching him with concern, not yet out of their stolen uniforms.
He forced a smile. “Not rushing you or anything, but shouldn't we be getting out of here?”
*
“Poor Mary,” Robin said quietly.
“Poor Mary?” Much looked up from cleaning Allan's wounds.
“She doesn't even have a body to bury.” Robin poked at the fire with a stick.
“She nearly buried us,” Much said tartly.
Allan was watching Robin warily. “So … everyone thinks I killed Marian - and that you're alright with it?”
Robin shrugged, though he prodded the fire harder, raising sparks.
“It doesn't matter.”
The skeptical silence made him lift his head. “Really! We know the truth, and that's all that's important, right?”
He raised his eyebrows at John, who nodded, smiling.
“Anyway. It isn't everyone, and we'll find a way to put it right. ” He seemed to be talking to himself now. Or someone who wasn't there.
Allan pulled his shirt back on, wincing. “Thanks,” he said to Much. Then, to all of them, “I mean it - thanks. That was close.”
Robin rocked back on his heels, threading the charred stick through his fingers. “Allan,” he said in strange voice, as if trying to find an angle to approach something that had been bothering him, “did you really think we wouldn't come?”
“Not being funny, but you didn't last time.”
“I was a little busy hanging over a pit of snakes, last time! I didn't even know you were there.”
Allan tipped his head. “Fair enough.”
Then, in the same off-hand tone, he said, “You didn't wonder where I was, though?”
“You were at the tavern.” Much said. “We just thought you were enjoying yourself too much, which, you have to admit, was a reasonable assumption.”
“We didn't think you'd appreciate us prying,” John added.
“Yeah. Right.”
“Would you have wanted us to fuss?” Robin tossed the stick aside. “You do go off by yourself sometimes. Would you feel better if we worried every time about where you are and what you're doing?”
“No - no! I mean, I don't know.” In a matter-of-fact way, he said, “No-one's ever worried about me.”
Robin rose to his feet. With some force, he said, “Yes, they have. And will continue to.”
Allan blinked at him, startled.
“And this time we knew you could be in danger, so of course we were going to come!”
“Well, I just thought … after everything I've done …”
“I am not losing anyone else I care about if I can help it!”
The echoes of his shout dislodged birds from the trees, stirring the forest to bemused whispers.
“You -” Allan swallowed, his eyes wide, but found no words.
Robin lowered his voice. “You're family, Allan. Get used to it.”
If Allan's eyes were shining a little too brightly, it was probably the firelight, because he sounded perfectly normal when he said, “Alright, no need to get all soppy now.”
Robin smiled, and it was so good to see, even if it was still haunted. But then, their ghosts were welcome company. He tossed a lump of bread at Allan, who ducked, grinning.
“Excuse me!” Much snapped. “That is meant to be dinner!”
He scowled at both of them, his hands on his hips. Even Robin couldn't help laughing.
Allan felt the same engulfing relief he had when the door of that barn in Nettlestone had opened. It hadn't just meant that they were all still alive, or that he would no longer have to feel the mercenaries' hostile stares at his back.
It meant that he'd come home.
~
Title: Repairs
Words: 7332 (you did say no limit)
Genre: gen
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Characters owned by BBC and Tiger Aspect.
Summary: After the Holy Land, Allan feels like he still needs to prove himself, but Robin isn't the only one wanting revenge for a murder.
Author's Note: First fic I've ever posted: you have been warned! AU, set soon after 2x13. If I've been too nasty to Allan in places, feel free to disqualify.
Much remembered the last time he had returned to Nottingham. Singing, tired and starving. So happy to be home. This time, the same roads led to a different future. Dreams and certainties had been buried in the desert sands.
He ached for Robin. For himself as well.
Even the forest felt empty, as if it were in mourning too.
*
The chapel backed onto a tiny graveyard. Robin had been here before, to watch Marian place flowers on her mother's grave. They had buried Sir Edward beside his wife. Marian should lie here, not in a raw hole in the earth of a distant land. He still felt the stark shape of it, as if it had been hacked out of his own body.
He knelt beside Edward's headstone. “My friend,” he whispered. “My … father. I am so sorry I couldn't bring her back to you.”
He tipped his head to the sky. His tears blurred it to a pale mist.
“She - she died protecting the King. As you did. And before she died, we were wed. She is my wife, Edward. Was. For a second ...”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Robin of Locksley?”
He went for his knife, on his feet before he had time to notice it was a woman's voice.
A nun. He sheathed the knife quickly. “I'm - I'm sorry, sister.”
She came closer, peering at his face with a strange excitement. “It is you. I don't know if you'll remember me. You were a friend of my brother's.”
He hadn't the energy for this. He didn't speak, so she continued. “Roger of Stoke. He's been missing for months. Do you - have you heard anything -?”
Her voice shook. Robin felt his chest tighten. Roger.
“I think - it's Mary, isn't it? - I'm afraid something may have happened to him on the way to the Holy Land. He was carrying a message for me.”
“Oh. I thought -”
She gestured helplessly at the headstones. She'd been crying too, and was starting to again. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.
“Please, Robin. Please tell me what you know.”
The truth had to be better than searching graveyards.
“I think he may have been killed by enemies of the King. Look, come back with me to my camp, I'll explain everything I can.”
For a moment he thought she might faint. Then she nodded, and took his arm when he offered it.
“And you can tell me about your loss,” she said softly.
Robin swallowed hard. He turned his back on Edward's grave and led her towards Sherwood.
“Please don't take this the wrong way.” He managed to sound almost normal. “But for your own safety, I'm going to have to blindfold you ...”
*
By the time he'd finished telling her his story and her brother's part in it, she seemed drained of everything, even her tears.
“Sit.” He guided her gently to the fire.
“I'm sorry.” She knotted her hands together to still their trembling. “I knew I wouldn't find him. I knew … and yet, I hoped ...”
Robin nodded.
“Robin?” John called. Mary jumped.
“It's just my men,” Robin said quickly. “John! It's fine.”
The others came in.
“Who's she?” Allan said, dropping his load of firewood.
“This is Mary. Roger of Stoke's sister. She's come looking for answers about what happened to her brother.”
Allan was good at hiding his reactions, but not so good that Robin didn't see the colour leave his face. Once Mary was settled at the fire, he went over to lean against a tree, watching him sidelong.
“It was you, wasn't it?” He felt nothing. Perhaps he would be angry later, but he didn't think he had space for any more rage. Allan tensed and started to protest. He talked over him. “I suspected as much, when I heard he hadn't reached the King.”
Much and John turned from their own desultory conversation.
“What?” Much gasped. “He killed him?”
Allan took a step back. “No! Course not!”
Robin folded his arms. “But -?”
“Well, I told Gu - Gisbourne about the letter. That's all.”
“He was killed for it!” Much spoke too loudly. Mary glanced over at them, frowning.
“Gisbourne killed him! I didn't know he would. That wasn't my fault.”
Allan's voice was rough with the force of his conviction. But they had all heard him lie before, as easily as breathing.
“Look, lads, how many times do we have to go through this? I did things, you know I did, that I'm sorry for. But I came back. I've apologised, again and again! When is it going to be enough?”
“It won't bring back the dead,” John said quietly.
“You were all best mates with that Carter bloke, and he was a murderer! What have I done that's worse than that?”
“We have accepted your apologies, Allan,” Robin said. “You're one of us again, but it will take time to rebuild trust.”
“So what do I have to do, then?” Allan's voice rose angrily, drawing Mary's attention again. “What hoops do you want me to jump through?”
Robin just shook his head, tired, so tired and wishing he'd never even started this discussion. He stared at the fire, wanting to lose himself in the pulse of the flames.
Allan moved, forcing him to face him. “Come on! If I have to prove myself to you - what do you want me to do?”
“Just leave it, Allan.” Robin pushed past him and walked away, rubbing his forehead.
John said, gently but not inviting any argument, “It will take time.”
*
Mary didn't stay long. If she appeared wary and troubled when she left, the men were too preoccupied to notice.
“I am going to Nottingham,” Robin said abruptly.
He received the looks he'd been getting so often lately. As if he were made of black powder and standing too close to a flame.
“What?” He couldn't help the belligerence. They were his men, and yet they seemed determined to treat him like a child. “I want to know what Vaisey's next move will be. He's been far too quiet since getting back. One of us needs to sneak into the castle and listen at doors.”
Much shook his head vehemently. “I do not like this. We should all go.”
“That would hardly be sensible. All of us, gathered outside the Sheriff's war room, peering through the keyhole?”
Even his most scornful tone didn't deter Much this time. “Master -”
Robin ignored him, started to walk away.
Allan's voice stopped him.
“You just want an excuse - an opportunity to kill Gisbourne.”
Robin spun round and grabbed him by the collar, almost jerking him off his feet. “I do not need an excuse to kill Gisbourne!”
He released Allan, who backed away.
“Alright,” he said, softer, and Robin couldn't cope with hearing compassion from him. “All I'm saying is there'll be plenty of chances to get to him. No need to risk it like this.”
“This is not about Gisbourne! This is about the Sheriff's plans. Without Ma -”
He broke off, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. The others looked away.
He needed a few shaky breaths before he could speak again. “Without a spy in the castle, we do not know how he will next move against the King.”
John was watching him, too closely. “Yes. But you should not be the one to go. Not yet.”
“Who is the leader here, John?”
“You are. But a leader must send the best man for the job. Right now, that is not you.”
Robin glared at him, trying to think of some argument he could make against the truth.
“I'll go.”
Startled, they all turned to Allan.
“Don't give me that! What, do you think I want to go running back to Gisbourne, after what he's done? I'm just saying I know my way around the castle blindfolded now. I know where they have their little conferences. I'm the best qualified, is all.”
Much began to speak, suspicion thick on his face, but John and Robin both gave him warning looks. They all knew Allan was trying to prove himself - and testing them. Maybe it was too soon to prod at the fragile threads tying them together. Maybe, after everything they'd been through in the Holy Land, he was right and it needed to be done.
Robin nodded.
“Be careful.”
*
It was strange being back in the castle, especially at night. As if the last terrible weeks hadn't been real and he was just on his way to bed after a day of traipsing after Guy and dodging the Sheriff. Except that this wasn't home anymore and he really shouldn't be here.
This is insane. If I get caught, I'm dead.
Worse than dead, if what Guy did to Marian were anything to go by. But, while it had seemed for a time that his apologies were working, they hadn't mended anything. He was good with words. Too good. They wanted actions. Like coming back and facing down a horde of mercenaries, then travelling halfway across the world to nearly die of heat and thirst hadn't been enough for them.
He tried to silence the thought that maybe nothing would be enough.
He felt oddly reluctant to pass Marian's room, but it was the least exposed route to take. He slowed when he saw that the door was open, and couldn't help glancing in.
A cloak and leather mask lay on the bed in the moonlight. Charred but intact. He'd thrown them on the fire, but hadn't stayed to watch them burn.
“You sly little -” he muttered, with a bit of a smile.
Then he realised he had been stopped by the sight and this was wrong, so wrong, and he was moving again, but it was too late.
“Allan?”
A shadow stirred deeper in the room. He ran.
Heavy footsteps followed him. He bolted down the stairs, round a corner, and slammed into the guard loitering there. Hands grabbed him, the man called out, a second guard appeared and he was held fast.
Guy came round the corner. He looked awful, unwashed and dead-eyed, but he wasn't armed. He studied Allan expressionlessly, while the outlaw's heart pounded.
“Allan. You came back. Did Hood send you? I thought he'd come himself.”
“Uh - no, I came to see - to see how you were. After … I'm not even with Robin, he threw me out.”
Guy resembled a corpse, with the torchlight hollowing his cheeks and his eyes lost in shadow. “Then why did you run?”
“Realised you might not be in the mood for visitors. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, seeing as - where you were - what you were doing.”
It could have been a lot smoother, but it was plausible, wasn't it? He wished he'd thought of something better, but too late now.
Guy passed a hand over his face. He looked unsteady on his feet.
“Sir?” one of the guards said. “What should we do with him?”
“Guy, come on. I just thought you might need - to talk, or something.”
Light cut across the passage.
“What's all this, then?”
The Sheriff stood in the doorway opposite. Allan's breath snagged in his throat. He might have been able to talk Guy down, but Vaisey was a hopeless cause.
He pulled sharply against the guards, one desperate attempt, hoping they were distracted enough by the Sheriff's arrival …
They weren't.
Vaisey strolled up to them. “So, Gisbourne, I see your boy has returned.”
He stopped in front of Allan. “Tired of the forest already, are we? Thought we might be willing to forgive you and take you back?”
He leaned in close. Allan turned his face from the man's rancid breath. “Did Hood think he could send you here to worm your way back in, brush off the fact that you WENT BACK TO HIM -” Allan flinched “- and take over little Missy Marian's job of spying for him?”
Allan had learned to keep his mouth shut around the Sheriff. Especially after his last slip of the tongue that had cost Marian, cost all of them, so much.
The Sheriff drew back. “Well - a clue: no! Take him to the dungeons.”
“Guy -” Allan felt himself falling, and there was no-one to catch him, there never was. Guy turned his head away.
The last thing Allan saw before the guards dragged him off was the Sheriff going over to Guy. He patted his cheek. There was nothing gentle about the gesture. He examined Guy's gaunt face and bagged eyes critically.
“Get some sleep, Gisbourne. You're frightening the guards.”
*
It was closer to dawn than midnight, but there was always someone available to torture prisoners. Allan had never asked, but he supposed they worked shifts.
He thought this must be his punishment. Back here, just as he had been all those months ago, like he'd never left. Last time he had made the wrong choice. Now he'd come full circle, so it could turn out the way it should have in the first place.
I never left this place.
I'll never leave this place.
Guy came in. Sleep evidently hadn't been co-operative. Allan wasn't sure which of them looked worse.
“Tell us everything you know about Hood, his men and his plans and the pain will stop.”
He sounded like he was reciting the words. He stood there, arms hanging at his sides. Vacant.
Allan forced his bruised lips apart. “You already know everything I know.”
Guy just stared past him at the wall.
“Guy … I was your right-hand man -”
“You left me!”
Allan was silenced, his mouth still open.
“You left me for Hood. All that time, you were never loyal to me. It was all a lie. The first sign of trouble and you went scampering back to him. You were always his, weren't you?”
He realised that Guy wasn't talking to him anymore.
There would be no reasoning with him now. His eyes had lost all focus as he raged at the memories. Allan slumped back against the wall, feeling the cold of the stones seep into him.
The door banged open. The Sheriff. A guard with a whip followed at his heels. Vaisey came right up to Allan and grabbed his jaw.
“Is he singing? No? Do you know what happens to little birdies in cages who won't sing?” He leaned in, his nose almost touching Allan's cheek.
“They get their necks wrung!”
Allan closed his eyes. The Sheriff's breath was hot on his skin as the man chuckled.
He felt the rope around his neck again, the sensation had never left him, never faded.
He considered praying, but couldn't really be bothered. God hadn't shown any interest in him before.
The Sheriff took the whip from his guard. Guy folded his arms and leaned back against the wall, detached and distant.
Allan had managed not to scream last time - not much, anyway. He feared that this time would be different.
*
Guy was pacing, prowling, wearing a strange, disquieted look. The Sheriff bored easily, praise be for small mercies. With a flick of the whip he snapped, “Enough. This one isn't worth the time or the rope to hang him with. Finish him off, Gisbourne, there's a good boy.”
Guy froze, looking at Allan uncertainly.
“Your sword, Gisbourne. Come on, come on. You've had plenty of practise with it lately.”
Guy paled, but he drew his sword. Allan implored him silently, aware as acutely as ever that he wasn't done yet. He wasn't ready for this. Guy hesitated, but the Sheriff clapped his hands. “Get on with it!”
“My lord ...”
Allan couldn't tell if it was acquiescence or protest. His eyes were locked with Guy's now, and he saw the ghosts rise up. Guy held the sword at hip height and again, Allan knew it wasn't him he was seeing.
Guy's hand shook. His eyes were desperate, as if he were begging Allan for something.
“Forgive me,” he whispered, too softly for the Sheriff to hear.
Allan braced himself. But the sword jerked, then dipped. He saw the grief that cut through Guy, raw as sand in blood. The sword tip touched the floor.
“Gisbourne?” The Sheriff sounded snappish. Dangerous. “What are you doing?”
Guy twisted slowly to face his lord, but stared straight through him.
“My lord?”
They all started at the sound of the guard's voice.
“What?”
“My - my lord, there's a woman here demanding to see you. She says it's about a murder.”
“Yes, well, how prescient - there is about to be a murder, and if you don't go and get rid of her, there may well be two!”
This guard was braver than most. Or just new. “My lord, I really think you should come. She says she's been told you ordered her brother's death. She says he was close to the King. Roger of Stoke?”
Vaisey's fury was gone as quickly as it had come. “Roger of Stoke?” He glanced back at Guy. “Told? By whom?”
“She says Robin Hood, my lord.”
“Really.” The Sheriff was starting to smile, in that way that Allan had learned meant you should find a good place to hide. He started towards the door, calling over his shoulder, “I expect him to be dead when I get back.”
The door slammed.
Guy was breathing hard, clenching and releasing his hand on the sword hilt. After a few minutes, Allan swallowed and ventured to speak.
“Guy … I did leave Robin. I really did. And … she … she cared enough about you to keep trying to - make you better.”
Guy shuddered. Then, sighing, he lowered his sword completely.
“I can't do this,” he said heavily. “She was wrong. I can't be better than a murderer. But not like this. Not again ...”
He made a noise - a sobbing grunt that could have been laughter. “I think you were the closest thing I ever had to a friend, Allan. Isn't that pathetic?”
Allan remembered all the times Guy had lashed out at him, turned from indulgence of his insubordination to icy authority in the space of a breath.
“No.” He forced a weak smile. “No, it isn't.”
Guy sighed again. “You'd say anything to save your life.”
He sank to his haunches, propped on his sword, and visibly went … elsewhere.
After a while, long enough for Allan's abused body to start to cramp and tremble, the Sheriff swept back in. He had Mary in tow. He ushered her through the door, all courtesy, making solicitous noises about the damp and the smell and her terrible loss.
“... but this is your lucky day, my dear. You see, this is the man who killed your brother.”
Guy's head whipped round; but the Sheriff was pointing at Allan.
Just when he'd thought things couldn't get worse.
“What?”
She peered at him - perhaps having trouble recognising him under the blood and bruises.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes! Robin and the others, they near as accused him and he practically admitted it!”
Allan shook his head, shooting pain down his neck. “No, no, I didn't, I swear -”
“Oh.” The Sheriff opened his eyes wide in feigned shock. “So Hood knew about it, did he?”
“I don't think Robin knew until that moment.”
“Well, we can't be certain of that, can we? It would explain why he tried to place the blame on me. But the point is, one of Robin Hood's men murdered your brother. I assure you, dear lady, I will see to it that justice is done.”
“I didn't kill him! He's lying -”
The Sheriff hit Allan hard enough to fill his mouth with blood. Mary flinched.
“What - what will you do with him?”
“Oh …” Vaisey's twisted grin unfolded slowly. “I think we'll have a hanging after all.”
Allan tipped his head back against the wall.
The Sheriff saw Mary out. As he passed Guy he hissed, “And I'll deal with you later.”
*
Much was preparing breakfast when the alarm went off. He dropped his spoon, gasped as boiling water splashed him, scrambled for his sword. Robin rolled out of bed, already armed and running for the traps.
Much had never seen a nun so angry. Even after they cut her down, Mary shoved Robin hard enough to make him stumble back.
“Your man!” Her face was flushed and wet with tears. “Your man murdered my brother! Did you know, Robin? When I begged you for help, for answers, did you know?”
“What are you talking about? Did - Allan.” Robin went very still. “Where is he? John! Has Allan come back?”
John shook his head.
“Yes, that one! How could you, Robin? You really are no better than a criminal now, aren't you?”
Robin grabbed her arms roughly. “No! Listen to me. I knew nothing about Roger's death until last night. Allan did play a part in it, but he did not kill him.”
“Then why -”
Robin let her go. “Roger is dead because I gave him that letter for the King. Allan was working for the Sheriff's lieutenant at the time and he told him about the letter. That is the man who killed your brother: Guy of Gisbourne.”
She backed away. “I don't believe you. Why would you take on a man who used to work for your enemy?”
“Allan … Allan was one of us, but he … turned traitor.”
“But he's back with you now? After what he's done? When he was on the side of men you claim are evil?”
“Well … Allan is always on Allan's side.” Robin looked to the others for help, but they had none to offer. “He made a mistake.”
He couldn't believe he was repeating Allan's own pathetic excuse.
“I haven't forgiven him, I don't know if I ever will, but I have accepted what he has done and that he is truly sorry for -”
“Sorry? Sorry is not enough! My brother is dead!”
“We've all done things that are wrong, Mary! I have killed. I have killed so many - but I am a soldier. I killed in the King's name and, even knowing all I do now, if I were faced with those same moments, those decisions, I would have to take those lives. I do not believe that Allan would make his choices the same if he had to do it over again.” Quieter, he said, “Your brother was a soldier, too. He knew what that meant. I am sorry he is dead, so sorry he died that way. He deserved better. But he still gave his life for the King.”
She barely seemed to hear him. “What does it say about you, Robin of Locksley, that you can brush aside what this man has done?” Her voice was low and raw.
“I can accept him back because … “ Robin searched Much and Little John's faces, the cloister of trees and sky. He hadn't been prepared for this, for defending Allan. “Because Allan a Dale is the most selfish man I have ever met, but I have seen him risk his life countless times for me, my men and the people of Nottingham. Because he is one of the greediest men I have ever known, but he happily gives away bags of coins to the poor. He is a liar and an opportunist and a thief … but he gave his word to protect the woman I -” He broke there, but forced himself on. “- I loved, and he did. He has done bad things, but he has done so much good as well. And he did not kill your brother.”
Mary pressed her hands to her face. “I - I no longer know what to believe,” she whispered. “I just want justice for Roger.”
“As long as Vaisey is sheriff, there will be no justice in Nottingham.”
She was no longer crying. She met Robin's eyes, and the searing coldness he saw frightened him. It was like looking in a mirror.
“I want to see my brother's murderer hang. If you are telling the truth, if you have not been lied to, then for now I will have be satisfied with the man who helped to kill him.”
Robin caught her wrist before she could leave.
“What - wait! Allan is to hang? When?”
“At noon.” She shook him off, picked up her skirts and ran.
*
The Sheriff's speeches always drew a crowd, especially when he was announcing a hanging. Whatever you thought of him, the man knew how to put on a show.
“Today, my dear people of Nottingham, we have caught a murderer. One of Robin Hood's own men! He killed a knight!”
A few gasps, on cue. Time to raise the stakes.
“Not only that, he also murdered the sorely-missed, much-loved Lady Marian Fitzwalter!”
Guy, standing behind him, swayed as if he'd been struck. Vaisey watched him out the corner of his eye as shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd, wondering if he would actually faint like a maiden.
“On our recent trip, he stabbed the poor girl. It seems Hood had placed him in Lord Gisbourne's employ as a spy. We believe Lady Marian may have found him out and he cruelly snuffed her young life to silence her.”
Hand on heart, Vaisey bowed his head as if overcome with sorrow. In the brief silence he heard Gisbourne's ragged breathing.
“Today we will see justice done! For Roger of Stoke,” he nodded to the nun standing at the front of the crowd, “and for the late lamented Marian. Allan a Dale will hang at noon. Now, we all know that Robin Hood always comes to rescue his men.”
He lowered his voice, leaning forward, forcing a conspiratorial intimacy as the crowd hushed to listen.
“If he comes to snatch this man from the righteous fist of the law, we know once and for all that Hood has no morality, no decency, no respect for innocent life. He is, in fact, a common outlaw, a thief and a killer - or at least a man who harbours thieves and killers. The image he has created for himself, oh so noble, so heroic … lies, all of it. Proven, if he prevents justice from being carried out today. Who knows,” he widened his eyes as if the thought had just occurred to him, “he may even have ordered Lady Marian's death. He held her hostage once before, threatened her life … perhaps his lackey killed her on his orders. An innocent girl ...”
He wiped away a false tear.
“If he does not come - well, he's condemning this man's crimes, his dubious integrity may be intact, but it's not such a safe proposition to be one of Hood's men, is it?”
He swept a fierce stare across the crowd.
“I'm sure someone will ensure Hood hears about the hanging and explain the implications of his actions to him. So, see you all back here at noon - and we'll see if Hood comes or not, yes?”
He chuckled and sauntered back into the castle. With a firm hand he pushed Gisbourne in front of him, forcing the stunned man to stumble and move through the door.
One of the guards at the foot of the stairs released his grip on the arm of his companion, who was still rigid and shaking.
“Or maybe,” he said grimly, “he's already here.”
*
They found a quiet corridor on the upper level of the castle. Robin ached being here, feeling the absence of her laughter, her candlelit smiles. The walls echoed with the lack of her.
Much pulled off his helmet, leaving his hair as wild as his eyes. “What do we do, Master?”
Robin's hands were trembling. Focus. Her killer will be punished, no matter what tricks the Sheriff pulls. He took a few breaths, forcing himself into the familiar, deadened clarity of the battlefield.
It kept hitting him, though, the cascading pain and anger, making it hard to think.
“They were believing his lies, some of them at least. How could they, Master, surely they know better - after all we've done for them!”
“Many of them know Allan as Gisbourne's man,” John said. “He has given them cause to think the worst of him.”
“But Robin! They can't believe Robin would -”
Robin rested his head against the wall, trying to still the pounding in his skull. “If we rescue him, it looks like we condone murder. We have no proof of Gisbourne's guilt other than our word.”
“And that of the King!”
“The King is not here.” Robin straightened up. “If we save Allan, it looks like … it looks like we are protecting Marian's killer.”
The last words shuddered out of him.
“If?” Much looked shocked.
“Some people will think that,” John said carefully. “Some know better. Others will not care about a knight and a noblewoman. We know the truth. That is all that matters.”
“I should have put an arrow through Gisbourne, right there in the courtyard. Ended this.”
“Then we would all be dead. That is not what she would have wanted.”
“Master, surely what people think of us cannot be more important than a man's life.”
“No, of course not!”
He let out a frustrated breath. So much easier to loose an arrow, so much simpler not to think, just shoot …
“So what do we do?” Much was so worried he had gone quiet. “We can't just - even if it is Allan, even with everything he's done - we can't let him hang. No-one who knows you could ever believe you would - not her.”
“Much, be quiet.” Robin pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. “I'm trying to think.”
*
They had left Allan in a cell with his hands chained above him so that with each breath fire hissed down his body. It was an effort to raise his head when footsteps approached and black boots appeared on the other side of the bars.
Guy wouldn't look at him. Leather creaked as he shifted uncomfortably.
“Not long now,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“The Sheriff has formally accused you of murdering Roger of Stoke. And - another.”
“What? Who?”
Guy cleared his throat, but his voice still came out rough. “He - has told everyone … Marian.” He choked out her name. “He has said that you murdered Marian.”
It hit harder than any blow he'd suffered in the past hours, more intense than he would have expected. It cut off his breath as surely as the noose would. The cell blurred around him.
“No! No ...”
“I'm sorry, Allan. If I could take your place ...”
Guy broke off. They both knew he was too weak to mean that. He lifted his hand, as if to reach out, through the bars, then let it drop back to his side.
In the breathless, spinning silence, they stared at each other. Then Guy started to back away.
“There's nothing I can do.”
Allan watched in helpless desperation as he reached the door. He turned back, real sorrow and guilt, not just for her, dark in his eyes.
“I'm so sorry,” he said unsteadily. Then he was gone.
Alone in the dark, Allan began to shake, exhaustion, pain and fear raking through him. He'd done so many things that could have seen him hang. But not this, he didn't want to be remembered for this.
He felt it again, his own terrible weight, the rope chafing his throat, the airless agony, the drumming darkness rising up ... He gasped. In the quiet cell it sounded like an explosion.
*
“Open up. We've come to fetch the prisoner.”
Two guards. One jerked a thumb in Allan's direction.
“Not time yet,” he protested. “Can't be too eager, lads.”
In truth, he'd lost all sense of time. But it couldn't be noon yet, it just couldn't. Despite the aching cinder that was his body, despite the dread, he wanted so badly for these hours and minutes to last forever.
Not yet, please not yet.
“He's right,” the jailer said curtly. “You're early.”
“Sheriff wants a proper show. We're to bring him now.”
“That's not what I was told.”
“Sheriff tell you everything, does he? Gets your permission?” The guard sounded mocking and hostile. Allan tried to place his voice. He'd made some enemies during his stay at the castle.
“You know how he is,” the other guard said, an attempt to placate. “Every little whim …”
The jailer hesitated, and Allan urged him on silently, but all the castle employees knew what happened if you disobeyed the Sheriff.
In a rattle of keys and chains he was hauled from his cell. He nearly blacked out from the sudden forced movement. Still, he struggled and kicked until one of the guards cuffed him hard enough to stun him. There was no point in fighting them; he could barely walk, let alone run. It just wasn't in him to go quietly.
They half dragged, half carried him out of the dungeon. Daylight lashed tears from his eyes. Blinded, all he could see was an etched memory, a cloth-wrapped body swaying in the wind.
Not long now, Tom.
“Look, I know you're just doing your jobs, but I also know you don't get paid near enough for your time. How about we talk about this?” They ignored him. “Come on, I could make it worth your while to just … let me get the better of you and escape. Happens all the time, no skin off your nose. I'd see to it you were well paid … Oi, where we going? Courtyard's that way.”
“Shut up, Allan,” the guard on his left hissed, wrenching his arm. And now, without the rough accent, it was a very familiar voice.
He squinted into the light. Under the helmet, sure enough …
“Oh, thank God,” he breathed, sagging in their grip. “I didn't think you'd come.”
“Of course we came, you idiot. It's leaving that's going to be tricky.”
Little John stepped out of the storeroom at the end of the corridor, beckoning them in. He closed the door behind them. Robin tossed his helmet aside and produced a lock pick. Allan sank down on a wooden chest and held out his hands. Robin bent to work at his shackles.
“Alright, lads, get yourselves out past the kitchens and find horses,” he said. “I don't think Allan's up for the walk back to Sherwood.”
“What about you?”
Much, vibrating with worry as usual. Right then Allan could have kissed him.
“I think we'll need a diversion to get through the gates.” Robin pulled the shackles off Allan's wrists.
“Master -”
With a grin that looked almost back to its old wickedness, Robin ducked out into the corridor.
Much threw up his hands.
“Just don't get yourself killed,” he called after him.
*
Robin rubbed his thumb over the blackened stitches of the mask. It was the logical thing to do. The Night Watchman was dead and gone. Robin Hood still needed the people's trust to do his work. But he'd known from the moment he saw the mask lying on the bed in her old room that her memory, even that of her anonymous alter ego, meant more to him than his own reputation.
Anyway, it wouldn't be right. He couldn't save Allan from the Sheriff's accusations; but he could take a share of their weight.
“For you, my love,” he murmured, slipping the mask safely under his shirt. He picked up his bow.
The crowd had all gathered. The Sheriff stood at the top of the steps, surveying them with his hands behind his back. Mary was at his side. Robin took aim.
He'd picked a good spot for the arrow to land, but the wood of the gallows was slow to light, so he sent a second arrow after the first, a streak of falling sun. Flames unfurled up the central post, spat tendrils along the gallows' arms, and screams sounded.
“Hood!” the Sheriff bellowed, spotting him up on the battlements. “You know what this means! For shame, Hood, the girl you were once betrothed to!”
Robin swallowed the fire that burned in him brighter than the gallows, and waved his bow in salute.
“Your word means nothing, Vaisey! I wouldn't believe you if you told me the sky was blue!”
The Sheriff shoved his guards into the panicking crowd. “Get him! Get him!”
Robin ran.
*
John gave Allan an old cloak to cover his blood-stained tunic. He flipped the hood up and limped towards the kitchens, glad of Much's arm to lean on. He was still dizzy from the speed with which his fate had changed.
Outside, it sounded like Robin had started a riot. Much muttered something under his breath. They dodged servants scurrying past with pails of water. John pushed ahead, clearing a path to the stables.
Allan struggled to keep up. A servant jostled him, and he stumbled against a tall figure also heading for the horses. An all-too-familiar bulk, heavy with the scent and feel of well-worn leather.
Guy turned and looked straight at him.
There was no space to escape. For a long moment the sound of the crowd pulsed in and out, keeping time with Allan's heartbeat.
“Sir Guy!” a guard shouted across the yard. “Could Hood or the prisoner have come this way?”
Guy called back, “I have no idea. I'll mount a search.”
He walked away.
Allan stood frozen in the midst of the bustle, trying to take in what had just happened.
“Allan!” Much ran back to him and grabbed his arm. “What are you doing? Come on, move!”
John led a horse over to them “Could only get one.”
They headed for the portcullis, Much on horseback, pretending to be one of the guards riding out to search for Robin. John guided Allan through the crowd streaming out of the castle grounds, all eager to be away from the burning platform and the servants working to douse the flames. The Sheriff seemed to be throwing a tantrum at the top of the stairs. Guy was nowhere to be seen.
Once out in the streets, they ducked into a quiet alley. Much was waiting with the horse. John helped Allan up, but he had to sit doubled over in the saddle for a few minutes until the pain and stitches of light across his vision subsided.
Much and John were watching him with concern, not yet out of their stolen uniforms.
He forced a smile. “Not rushing you or anything, but shouldn't we be getting out of here?”
*
“Poor Mary,” Robin said quietly.
“Poor Mary?” Much looked up from cleaning Allan's wounds.
“She doesn't even have a body to bury.” Robin poked at the fire with a stick.
“She nearly buried us,” Much said tartly.
Allan was watching Robin warily. “So … everyone thinks I killed Marian - and that you're alright with it?”
Robin shrugged, though he prodded the fire harder, raising sparks.
“It doesn't matter.”
The skeptical silence made him lift his head. “Really! We know the truth, and that's all that's important, right?”
He raised his eyebrows at John, who nodded, smiling.
“Anyway. It isn't everyone, and we'll find a way to put it right. ” He seemed to be talking to himself now. Or someone who wasn't there.
Allan pulled his shirt back on, wincing. “Thanks,” he said to Much. Then, to all of them, “I mean it - thanks. That was close.”
Robin rocked back on his heels, threading the charred stick through his fingers. “Allan,” he said in strange voice, as if trying to find an angle to approach something that had been bothering him, “did you really think we wouldn't come?”
“Not being funny, but you didn't last time.”
“I was a little busy hanging over a pit of snakes, last time! I didn't even know you were there.”
Allan tipped his head. “Fair enough.”
Then, in the same off-hand tone, he said, “You didn't wonder where I was, though?”
“You were at the tavern.” Much said. “We just thought you were enjoying yourself too much, which, you have to admit, was a reasonable assumption.”
“We didn't think you'd appreciate us prying,” John added.
“Yeah. Right.”
“Would you have wanted us to fuss?” Robin tossed the stick aside. “You do go off by yourself sometimes. Would you feel better if we worried every time about where you are and what you're doing?”
“No - no! I mean, I don't know.” In a matter-of-fact way, he said, “No-one's ever worried about me.”
Robin rose to his feet. With some force, he said, “Yes, they have. And will continue to.”
Allan blinked at him, startled.
“And this time we knew you could be in danger, so of course we were going to come!”
“Well, I just thought … after everything I've done …”
“I am not losing anyone else I care about if I can help it!”
The echoes of his shout dislodged birds from the trees, stirring the forest to bemused whispers.
“You -” Allan swallowed, his eyes wide, but found no words.
Robin lowered his voice. “You're family, Allan. Get used to it.”
If Allan's eyes were shining a little too brightly, it was probably the firelight, because he sounded perfectly normal when he said, “Alright, no need to get all soppy now.”
Robin smiled, and it was so good to see, even if it was still haunted. But then, their ghosts were welcome company. He tossed a lump of bread at Allan, who ducked, grinning.
“Excuse me!” Much snapped. “That is meant to be dinner!”
He scowled at both of them, his hands on his hips. Even Robin couldn't help laughing.
Allan felt the same engulfing relief he had when the door of that barn in Nettlestone had opened. It hadn't just meant that they were all still alive, or that he would no longer have to feel the mercenaries' hostile stares at his back.
It meant that he'd come home.
~