Light and Dark
Title: Light and Dark
Author: Rochvelleth
Rating: PG
Category: Written for the Back story category of the Much/Allan competition
Notes: This is a little story set during the trip back to the Holy Land - just something I needed to explore.
Word count: 1000 words (phew!)
Disclaimer: Aw, go on, let me own them a little bit!
“Shut up, Much,” Robin whispered, and Much retreated quietly to the other side of the ship’s lower deck to sit on the floor, alone and worried. At least when Robin used to tell him to shut up, it usually made sense, because he had been thinking stupid thoughts aloud, or complaining about something. But this time Much hadn’t even said anything, just handed him a plate of food silently.
Robin had said very little since Marian died, and what he did say was usually an outburst of some sort. Most of the time he spent sitting in a corner, silent, gazing intently at the floor, or at the barrels and coils of rope in front of him. Much longed to know what thoughts and images were running through his master’s mind: memories, plans, self-pity, despair. He wanted to share Robin’s darkness.
But had these long years of fighting and hardship not taught him that darkness is something you suffer alone? Perhaps Robin’s heart would heal quicker if he did not fuss over him too much and keep annoying him.
Much picked himself up from the deck, brushed the dust off his breeches and cast Robin a concerned glance. But Robin did not so much as look up. Much’s glance lingered a few moments longer, just in case his master showed some sign of needing him to stay, and then he hesitantly made his way to the upper deck.
It took a few moments to adjust to the brightness of the day, the white sun glinting on clear Mediterranean waters. The breeze was propelling them along at speed, but Much had long had his sea legs and the bobbing of the ship did not bother him. He made his way to the side where he could see Allan leaning over the railings, his shoulders hunched and tense.
“Are you alright?” Much asked, sensing that Allan had been sick.
“Yeah.” Allan did not sound his usual self, his voice hoarse and his accustomed wicked smile entirely absent. “How’s Robin?”
Much shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
They stood in silence for a few moments. There was no need to describe Robin’s mood, which was showing no sign of changing. The events of the Holy Land were too dark to speak of. And Much and Allan had never had much to say to each other, except for occasional insults.
“What’s that land?” Allan asked after a while, pointing towards the rocky shore that was coming into view. “Is it Italy?”
“No!” Much snorted. “It’s Cyprus. It’ll be a long time before we get back to Italy and start the land journey.”
Allan looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Oh yeah, you’ve done this before, haven’t you? What’s this Cyprus like then?”
For a few moments, Much’s mind drifted away to distant, happy times, when he had accompanied his master on his journey to the Holy Land. When they set off, Robin had hardly noticed him, just a manservant there to carry his belongings and make the fire ready, but during the long journey they had spent much time together, talking and laughing and becoming friends. Such a long time ago. On that journey, they had stopped in Cyprus for a whole month before the sea was calm enough to make the final crossing to meet King Richard’s army. Long days of warm sun and delightful company had filled their hearts, brought them happiness before the bloody horrors they were to witness.
“It’s beautiful,” Much whispered reverently after a while. “White beaches, mountains, palm trees... good food... You’d probably like the women.”
Allan smiled, and just gave a shrug as if to say Yeah, well they’d probably like me.
“I always thought...”
“What?” Allan asked, wondering why Much had trailed off.
Much was hesitant because what he had been about to say seemed too light a topic for this terrible voyage... but then, perhaps empty talk of happy things would help them to deal with the darkness. Or at least distract them. He looked at Allan.
“Go on!”
“Well,” Much said, “I picked up this way of cooking while we were here last time. You sort of skewer vegetables on a broken arrow and cook them over a fire. It’s nice.”
“Oh yeah, you cooked that a couple of times!” Allan said, thinking back to the old days when he had lived the outlaws’ life in the forest, before he had been tempted by pain and money to turn his back on his friends.
“Well, I thought if you set up a stall near a tavern... and baked some pies and made food like that... well, maybe men would buy them coming out.” He shook his head. “It’s a stupid idea, I know, it’s just that I thought of it and...”
But Allan clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Nah, it’s a brilliant idea! I could help you out. Or I could go into the tavern and do some tricks for the punters. We’d clean up!”
Much, who had almost been about to smile, suddenly became quiet and pulled back a little. “I’ll go and check on Robin,” he said evasively.
Allan put a hand on his arm, making him turn back towards him. “Say it. What you were going to say, just say it.”
Much sighed. “Alright, fine - the last time you went into a tavern as a trickster, you came out as a traitor.”
“Haven’t I told you how sorry I am?” Allan asked, exasperated.
“Yes, but that doesn’t explain it! I still don’t know why you betrayed us!”
“Then I’ll tell you.” And Allan explained everything to Much - the pain of torture, the desire for money, the excitement of it, the desperate corner he backed himself into by trying to earn Gisborne’s trust without betraying the gang too much. “I’m just not like you,” he concluded. “I’m not a good person.”
After a moment to ponder this, Much was finally grateful that he understood. “Well, I think maybe you can be.”
Author: Rochvelleth
Rating: PG
Category: Written for the Back story category of the Much/Allan competition
Notes: This is a little story set during the trip back to the Holy Land - just something I needed to explore.
Word count: 1000 words (phew!)
Disclaimer: Aw, go on, let me own them a little bit!
“Shut up, Much,” Robin whispered, and Much retreated quietly to the other side of the ship’s lower deck to sit on the floor, alone and worried. At least when Robin used to tell him to shut up, it usually made sense, because he had been thinking stupid thoughts aloud, or complaining about something. But this time Much hadn’t even said anything, just handed him a plate of food silently.
Robin had said very little since Marian died, and what he did say was usually an outburst of some sort. Most of the time he spent sitting in a corner, silent, gazing intently at the floor, or at the barrels and coils of rope in front of him. Much longed to know what thoughts and images were running through his master’s mind: memories, plans, self-pity, despair. He wanted to share Robin’s darkness.
But had these long years of fighting and hardship not taught him that darkness is something you suffer alone? Perhaps Robin’s heart would heal quicker if he did not fuss over him too much and keep annoying him.
Much picked himself up from the deck, brushed the dust off his breeches and cast Robin a concerned glance. But Robin did not so much as look up. Much’s glance lingered a few moments longer, just in case his master showed some sign of needing him to stay, and then he hesitantly made his way to the upper deck.
It took a few moments to adjust to the brightness of the day, the white sun glinting on clear Mediterranean waters. The breeze was propelling them along at speed, but Much had long had his sea legs and the bobbing of the ship did not bother him. He made his way to the side where he could see Allan leaning over the railings, his shoulders hunched and tense.
“Are you alright?” Much asked, sensing that Allan had been sick.
“Yeah.” Allan did not sound his usual self, his voice hoarse and his accustomed wicked smile entirely absent. “How’s Robin?”
Much shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
They stood in silence for a few moments. There was no need to describe Robin’s mood, which was showing no sign of changing. The events of the Holy Land were too dark to speak of. And Much and Allan had never had much to say to each other, except for occasional insults.
“What’s that land?” Allan asked after a while, pointing towards the rocky shore that was coming into view. “Is it Italy?”
“No!” Much snorted. “It’s Cyprus. It’ll be a long time before we get back to Italy and start the land journey.”
Allan looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Oh yeah, you’ve done this before, haven’t you? What’s this Cyprus like then?”
For a few moments, Much’s mind drifted away to distant, happy times, when he had accompanied his master on his journey to the Holy Land. When they set off, Robin had hardly noticed him, just a manservant there to carry his belongings and make the fire ready, but during the long journey they had spent much time together, talking and laughing and becoming friends. Such a long time ago. On that journey, they had stopped in Cyprus for a whole month before the sea was calm enough to make the final crossing to meet King Richard’s army. Long days of warm sun and delightful company had filled their hearts, brought them happiness before the bloody horrors they were to witness.
“It’s beautiful,” Much whispered reverently after a while. “White beaches, mountains, palm trees... good food... You’d probably like the women.”
Allan smiled, and just gave a shrug as if to say Yeah, well they’d probably like me.
“I always thought...”
“What?” Allan asked, wondering why Much had trailed off.
Much was hesitant because what he had been about to say seemed too light a topic for this terrible voyage... but then, perhaps empty talk of happy things would help them to deal with the darkness. Or at least distract them. He looked at Allan.
“Go on!”
“Well,” Much said, “I picked up this way of cooking while we were here last time. You sort of skewer vegetables on a broken arrow and cook them over a fire. It’s nice.”
“Oh yeah, you cooked that a couple of times!” Allan said, thinking back to the old days when he had lived the outlaws’ life in the forest, before he had been tempted by pain and money to turn his back on his friends.
“Well, I thought if you set up a stall near a tavern... and baked some pies and made food like that... well, maybe men would buy them coming out.” He shook his head. “It’s a stupid idea, I know, it’s just that I thought of it and...”
But Allan clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “Nah, it’s a brilliant idea! I could help you out. Or I could go into the tavern and do some tricks for the punters. We’d clean up!”
Much, who had almost been about to smile, suddenly became quiet and pulled back a little. “I’ll go and check on Robin,” he said evasively.
Allan put a hand on his arm, making him turn back towards him. “Say it. What you were going to say, just say it.”
Much sighed. “Alright, fine - the last time you went into a tavern as a trickster, you came out as a traitor.”
“Haven’t I told you how sorry I am?” Allan asked, exasperated.
“Yes, but that doesn’t explain it! I still don’t know why you betrayed us!”
“Then I’ll tell you.” And Allan explained everything to Much - the pain of torture, the desire for money, the excitement of it, the desperate corner he backed himself into by trying to earn Gisborne’s trust without betraying the gang too much. “I’m just not like you,” he concluded. “I’m not a good person.”
After a moment to ponder this, Much was finally grateful that he understood. “Well, I think maybe you can be.”