Intercomm - Ficlet - The Return
Title: The Return
Author: dollysgirl04
Word Count: 770
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Will, Djaq, tiny OC, Will/Djaq
Spoilers/Warnings: Mentions of character death. Set some years post the end of season three and AU burial.
Summary: Djaq and her family return to England.
Disclaimer: Don’t own.
The strong salt rich sea air, the soft crunch of sand beneath her feet, it feels exactly the same as she had left it, exactly the same as when she'd first arrived in England.
She had been a slave then, taken from her home, treated as though she were no better than the ground she walked on.
Somehow this is worse.
She clutches her husband’s hand tighter and Will smiles tensely back at her, his strained grin not reaching his grave eyes.
The forest that had once been their home now feels cold and unfamiliar; she feels more of a stranger now walking down the paths she knows so well than she did the first time she set foot in Sherwood.
Will looks as wary as she feels, when their eyes meet he pulls their intertwined hands to his lips, kissing the back of her hand tenderly, in his other arm their son stirs from his sleep, staring blearily at his parents. She feels her heartache ease as she leans in to brush her baby boy’s sweet forehead.
It isn’t long before he grows restless in his father’s arm and Will stops their gloomy procession to let him walk free. His warm brown eyes glow with curiosity as he explores the path ahead of them, joy radiating through his young face as he gazes wondrously at the greenery so different from their home.
She smiles for the first time since she set foot back on English soil and Will leans in to kiss her cheek, grinning softly, eyes bright.
Their cheerful moment is brought to an abrupt halt when they round a bend and her happy little family is confronted with the harsh reality of why they made this trip.
The stone doesn’t have any dates, no words of comfort or grief, only the names of three dead men who once roamed these lands as their proud and strong protectors, their bodies returned to place where they had been happiest.
Will looks on with one hand on their boy’s shoulder as she kneels to trace the names on the damp grey stone.
Robin of Locksley.
As her fingers slide over the moss covered name she can’t help feeling her heart sink in the same way it had when she had
first received the tear stained and almost illegibly scrawled letter informing them of the fate of their friends.
Guy of Gisborne.
She wishes that they had been here, thinks it might have turned out differently and yet feels burning hot guilt rise as she realises once more how glad she is that Will was safe with her, that they are both alive to see their son even on this mournful day.
She stops as she comes to the last name; fingertips faltering at the unforgiving letters that form a name she wishes with all heart wasn’t there.
They may have all been ‘Robin Hood’ but there had only ever been one Allan A Dale.
The tears that have been welling in her eyes begin to fall as she forces her hand to brush across the outline.
Allan A Dale.
Her heart beats painfully hard in her chest and she turns to find Will crying silently, weeping for the loss of the worst and best friend either of then had ever had.
Her sweet boy is gazing at the stone with a solemn pensive look on his face as he surveys his namesake’s final resting-place.
Eventually she pulls herself away from the small grief-inspiring memorial, bolting away from the grave with her two boys trailing behind her.
When Will catches up to her he wraps his arms around her and says nothing more than a hushed, “I know.” And she is thankful that he doesn’t barrage her with false reassurances.
She had known going back to England would be hard and yet still she had been unprepared for the gut wrenching sorrow it brought her.
She sobs into Will’s warm shoulders for what seems like an age before she is distracted by a flickering of movement she catches in the corner of her eyes.
“Allan?” She calls but he is already far ahead of his parents, ruining his fine clothes in the undergrowth as he rushes though it to scrabble after a meandering rabbit, beaming bright eyes making him look almost impossibly happy.
His wild laughter echoes through the long silent woods and she realises to her surprise she’s laughing too, despite it all she’s glad they came back.
He belongs here, her baby boy, this land, these woods; they’re in his blood, his name.
Allan belongs in Sherwood.