In This Strange Land (Robin of Sherwood/Robin Hood crossover)
A few days ago I stated firmly that I don't like fluff. The Gods obviously decided to punish me for hubris by sending me this story. Please take no notice of anything I say from here on in.
This is dedicated to anyone who had *that* Michael Praed poster on their bedroom wall 20-ish years ago. If you don't know who Michael Praed is, beg borrow or steal the first two Robin of Sherwood boxed sets and curl up with some white wine and your critical faculties set to minimum. Then come back and read this.
Title: In This Strange Land
Author: Unsentimental Fool
Fandom: Robin Hood BBC/Robin of Sherwood
Pairing: Robin/Guy (twice)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2871
Summary: Guy has a very strange day, twice.
Notes/Warnings: Crossover. Deeply not sensible.
Guy wakes up. Everything sounds, feels wrong.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Gisborne has a headache. He appears to have slept in his clothes, which suggests a really rough night before, one which he can't now remember at all. He drags himself out of bed, looks around. Someone else's clothes are lying on his clothes chest- shiny mail, blue cloak, ostentatious necklace. He ferverently hopes that doesn't mean what it might do; the wearer of the clothes at least thankfully absent.
Gisborne kicks the potential evidence of indiscretion to the floor and behind the chest, grabs his weapons from the chair, heads downstairs. The castle seems bigger this morning, more draughty. His steps echo, aggravating his headache. It's a long walk to the breakfast chamber.
The Sheriff is there already, of course. He glares at Guy, waves a parchment around in anger, probably faked, possibly genuine. His voice is shrill. Guy snatches the paper out of his hand, reads it. It says "Guy. Meet me at noon, on the Loxley Road. Robin."
"You won't go, of course. He'll kill you. Not even you would be that stupid." Gisborne looks at the Sheriff. Those bulging eyes, that snappish tone; is the man always this annoying? He snaps back,
"Of course I'll go. I'm not frightened of Loxley. It's a perfect opportunity to kill the bastard." The Sheriff argues, but Gisborne's mind is made up. This is about him, not his employer. For some reason the Sheriff seems less imposing today, or maybe his headache just makes him mulish.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"You'll go, of course. I can see this being useful. For both of us." Gisburne looks up in horror. "He'll kill me the moment I set foot in Sherwood!" There is something about the Sheriff's smooth tones that gives him the creeps. Why can't the man just yell, as usual? And why does he want Gisburne killed? The Sheriff knows what happens to soldiers riding into the forest.
Today the Sheriff seems more persuasive than usual, less insulting. Gisburne isn't sure how it happens, but he has agreed to go to the rendezvous, with no more than a token guard.
Gisburne leaves Nottingham with a handful of riders. His blue cloak stands out in the dark city streets; today everyone seems to be dull in keeping with his own sore head. His retinue are carrying longbows, an English weapon. He's not sure why he ordered that, or when, or if they even know how to use them. All too soon the dark mass of Sherwood approaches and he takes the barely used road to what is left of Loxley. This is suicidal, he thinks.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Gisborne rides out, through the bright, bustling crowd. His head still hurts, and that's making everything peculiar today. He nearly rides down a dozen geese and a couple of pigs; what are they doing in the road? His grey-cloaked guard flank him,. For some reason that he can't quite grasp they are carrying crossbows, an inferior weapon for trained men. He makes a note to increase longbow practices. As they leave the fortified town he takes the road for home. Let Robin try what he will.
Guy tops the crest of the hill, from where Loxley can be seen, and pulls his horse up, confused.
His manor, the village, all vanished. Nothing but a heap of stones, covered in grass. He turns to check the road behind him, but this is the right way. The soldiers with him show no surprise at the scene. This can't just be his continuing headache. Something is very wrong, and Hood is clearly involved. He draws his sword, ready to ride forward.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Where the remains of the deserted village had stood, someone had built a village, and not just that but a substantial manor house! Gisburne seethes with fury. Without his permission, the permission of the Sheriff? How dare they? He draws his sword, prepares to rain terror on these misplaced peasants, hunt down their insolent master. Let them see if the Sheriff's authority can be so easily overturned!
Before Guy can make a move, arrows fly from the forest on both sides. The thuds of flights hitting armour, of men tumbling from their horses, all around him. He raises his sword, snarls " Show yourself, cowards!". He knows it's futile but he wishes that just once the damn outlaws would fight like real men. Then he notices the condition of his men.
They are lying in the road, groaning, but all four are alive, if not much use. The wolfshead's aim seems to have left him; or is this purposeful? Gisburne smells the stench of conspiracy. He thought there was something odd about his escort; clearly he has been set up. He resists the temptation to run.
* * * * * * * * * * *
They are all dead. Arrows protrude from front and back, accurate and fatal. No attempt to render them harmless, wound them, knock them off their horses. It appears that Loxley has regained a taste for killing; either that or this attack was made by someone else. Gisborne pulls his horse in a tight circle, aware that he's a sitting duck for more arrows. He resists the temptation to run.
There are shouts from around him, and the shapes of outlaws appearing from the trees. Roughly dressed men surround his horse, calling to each other, mocking him. He pays them no attention, keeps his sword up. Their leader has not yet appeared.
A dark haired man, barely more than a boy, steps out into the road in front of him, leaning on his longbow. Guy suffers a sudden shock of disconnection. This is Robin, but not the man he knows. Robin is staring at him as if similarly confused. Then he steps forward.
"I wasn't sure you'd come." A quick satisfied grin, then all business again. "Come with me."
Gisborne dismounts. He watches the boy lope away. Something is very wrong. He pauses for a moment, and is pushed roughly in the back. "Get a move on, Gisburne." Something wrong with his name in that mouth. The man hits him again. "Move, you Norman pig." He turns and glares at the stocky, angry man. A name comes to mind; Will Scarlet, but the image with that name is young and pale. Confused but aware that his options are limited, he follows the wrong Robin into the trees.
* * * * * * * * * * *
The man in front of him is Robin Hood, he knows that, but he's never seen him before. Fair, not very young, a mercenary, maybe, by his movement. The bow over his shoulders is strangely shaped. With horror, Gisburne remembers past sorceries in this forest. He suddenly whips up his horse, gallops along the path to the incomprehensibly placed village, waiting for the arrow in his back. A judder, and his saddle slides sideways, its strap neatly severed by a striped- feather fletched arrow. Cursing, he falls to the ground as the horse keeps going. The new Robin runs up, bow still in hand. his men around him. He waits for the familiar jeers, kicks and thumps, but they merely surround him and hustle him into the trees.
His weapons are removed and he follows the strange man far into the forest, without speaking. Finally they reach a rough camp and they stop for food and drink. Guy is offered both but refuses, fearing that he has already been drugged.
"Now what?" The huge outlaw named Little John speaks. Robin looks at Guy. "Now I need to speak to him, alone." A rumble of discontent, quickly quelled.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Herne has commanded it." The dark haired man beckons him, walks away. Herne? Another leader? Might this explain where the real Robin has gone? Gisborne follows the boy, his eyes on the sword hanging at his side. The forest is strange, thicker than he expects, with dense undergrowth. Within minutes, he notices fog beginning to rise up from the ground. Soon they are almost completely obscured, and then the fog clears, despite the absence of breeze. A man stands in front of them, dressed in furs, a deer skull on his head. Gisborne stifles the urge to laugh.
The horned man speaks, and Robin listens with every appearance of respect. "Who have you brought me?"
Robin frowns. "Guy of Gis.." He tails off. The man shakes his head. "Tell me what this Guy of yours looks like."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Robin is patient with the odd question from the elderly Saracen visitor. "Dark haired, dark eyed. Tall, muscular. Might be handsome if he smiled." He turns to Gisburne, in shock and realisation. "Nothing like you, apparently. How the hell did you manage that?" He is smiling, but his hand is on his sword hilt. His eyes are piercing.
The Arab speaks, low and intense. "Something has happened. This man is a different version of the one you know, Robin. He comes from a different world, where even now the enemy you know is walking in his place. This is far more dangerous than you can imagine. Whole worlds are at risk while these men are out of their own places. You must put things right.
"At dawn on the day after tomorrow, you must come to the standing stones with Guy. Provided that both Guys desire it of their own free will, all can be corrected."
* * * * * * * * * * *
The furred man walks away, through the trees. Robin does not pursue him or attempt to question him. Instead he turns to Gisborne. Guy looks back, incredulously.
"You don't believe that rubbish, do you?"
Was this some haunt of devil worshippers? He wouldn't have imagined Hood - his Hood- as going in for this sort of cheap superstition. But the man next to him was clearly taking it very seriously.
The young man smiles. "If Herne says so, that's how it will be. The Powers of Light and Darkness are with him." He looks at Gisborne, curiously. Now I see what you are wearing; I can't believe I failed to notice it before. Tell me, do men all wear leather like that in your world?"
Gisborne ignores the question. There are more important things to discuss, like whether he will be allowed to return to Nottingham. It turns out that the answer is no. Robin is taking no risks on his failing to return on the appointed day.
* * * * * * * * * * *
There are arguments, name calling, some scuffles. In the end Gisburne resigns himself to being a prisoner, at least for the moment. The outlaws are finally convinced that he is not the Gisborne they know and something of the acrimony goes out of their treatment of him. Robin seems to believe that he will need to be talked around so that he would participate in this bizarre ceremony.
Over the next day Gisburne watches the outlaws, how they interact. There are definite differences from the band that he knew. They are led by a professional soldier, and the difference shows. No mystic superstitions, just a practical, efficient operation. When he finds out that Robin is titled nobility, and clearly Norman, he warms to the man. He too might defy the Sheriff that way, some day. For all this talk of feeding the poor, Robin clearly sees himself first and foremost as a fighter for the King. These men are no risk to the stability of Norman rule. They remind him more of the mercenaries that he fought with. He begins to feel almost at home.
* * * * * * * * * * *
This Robin might be young, and no soldier, but his men followed him with discipline. They were a far more hardened band than the one he'd fought, although just as disparate. The Saracen was deadly, Will and John were ruthless killers, and Robin himself acted with a quiet confidence that showed well when compared to the other Robin's arrogance. He could see why his counterpart had had no luck in capturing them. Even the odd members of the group- the Friar, the boy- were utilised with a calm efficiency that appealed to Gisborne's sense of soldiery. These men weren't playing at defiance, bit supporters to Locksley's pride and need to show off. They had a mission and carried it out with determination and efficiency. He could respect men like these.
His musings are interrupted when a woman walks into the camp. That strange half knowledge of his tells him that this is Marion, and he looks at her curiously, and with a sense of disappointment. She is pretty enough, but where is the fire of his Marian? He greets her politely when Robin introduces them, then forgets her. Later he catches her looking at him, but he's used to that.
* * * * * * * * * * *
They are all the same, these rebel women. How anyone could tolerate them for long, Gisburne doesn't know. This one seems even wilder than the one back home; he listens to the way she speaks to Robin, appalled. Clearly she is some sort of useful spy, which must be why Hood puts up with her; Gisburne would have put her over his knee by now and beat some respect into her. Introduced, they look at each other in mutual dislike, then she walks away.
Evening around the campfire. At dawn the next day they will have their rendezvous at the stones. Robin takes him aside, asks him, quietly, what his world is like. Gisburne begins to describe it; the fight to keep the English in their place, the devil worship in the forest, the near-mad cruelties of Prince John, the Crusades. He goes on to describe his constant ill-treatment at the hands of the Sheriff, his humiliation by Robin, the stories about him and de Rainault spread by malicious tongues, and he hints, without intending to, about the sting of truth in those tales. He talks to this quiet soldier with the piercing eyes for hours, sure that he is understood; this man too knows what it is like to fight, to suffer. Nottingham- God, he hates the place!
* * * * * * * * * * *
He talks as he has never done before. About Marian, his love, his frustration. About the insane, murderous Sheriff. About Robin; self righteous, naive, far too lucky. His ambitions, and how hollow they sometimes seemed. Locksley, the symbol of his success, with its servants and villagers still silently loyal to its previous owner. He talks to this dark eyed man, who almost seemed part of the forest itself, a symbol of the freedom he doesn't have. Nottingham- God, he hates the place!
He falls silent, then turns to Robin. "I could." He looks past the boy, stiffly, aware of the possibility of rejection, humiliation. "I could stay here. Join you."
Robin looks serious. "I would need to talk to the others. Wait."
* * * * * * * * * * *
"He's very creepy." Much, always direct. John nods. "Trouble, that one."
Robin gesticulates, intense. "But he's more trouble not with us. Or rather, the other Gisborne is." He is rather glad that Marian isn't with them, as he bends forward, conspiratorially. "Did you see the way he *didn't* look at Marian? Another world is the only safe place for our bastard Guy. Let him harass someone else's woman. "
Djaq nods. "This man, he is a good swordsman. And he likes you, Robin." She flashes a smile. "We do not want Gisborne back, no?"
Will laughs suddenly. They turn to him, surprised. "It won't please the Sheriff, to lose Gisborne to us. Worse than if we'd killed him."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Robin is aware of his own attraction to the man. Maybe it was just the contrast with the whines of Gisburne. And this man can at least shoot a long bow. And hasn't mentioned Saxons once. He wants to say yes. He is careful to canvass the views of the rest of the group.
Marian thinks he should stay. Practical, she points out that another good fighter, and one who knows the castle's defences, is just what they need. Robin suspects she has other reasons for wanting this tall, dark stranger to stay, but given his own conflicted feelings, he won't challenge her.
Will is suspicious, as ever. John points out that they can always kill him, if it doesn't work out. Tuck shrugs. Nasir has no comment. Much likes the man, is glad to get rid of Gisburne. In the end that is the deciding factor. Whatever this one turns out like, he can't be as nasty a piece of work as Gisburne.
Robin feels a twinge of conscience as he goes to inform Gisborne of their decision. Herne isn't going to like this...
* * * * * * * * * * *
Dawn.
In two worlds, two men stand and wait as the sun rises over the standing stones. No-one comes.
Two Sheriffs curse imaginatively as they sit opposite an empty seat at breakfast.
Wider and wider, space and time contorts.
A thousand worlds warp around the rip in reality.
A hundred IPR lawyers make ready for epic battle.
But as far as the men running free through two different forests are concerned, reality can go to hell. It's more fun this way.
This is dedicated to anyone who had *that* Michael Praed poster on their bedroom wall 20-ish years ago. If you don't know who Michael Praed is, beg borrow or steal the first two Robin of Sherwood boxed sets and curl up with some white wine and your critical faculties set to minimum. Then come back and read this.
Title: In This Strange Land
Author: Unsentimental Fool
Fandom: Robin Hood BBC/Robin of Sherwood
Pairing: Robin/Guy (twice)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 2871
Summary: Guy has a very strange day, twice.
Notes/Warnings: Crossover. Deeply not sensible.
Guy wakes up. Everything sounds, feels wrong.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Gisborne has a headache. He appears to have slept in his clothes, which suggests a really rough night before, one which he can't now remember at all. He drags himself out of bed, looks around. Someone else's clothes are lying on his clothes chest- shiny mail, blue cloak, ostentatious necklace. He ferverently hopes that doesn't mean what it might do; the wearer of the clothes at least thankfully absent.
Gisborne kicks the potential evidence of indiscretion to the floor and behind the chest, grabs his weapons from the chair, heads downstairs. The castle seems bigger this morning, more draughty. His steps echo, aggravating his headache. It's a long walk to the breakfast chamber.
The Sheriff is there already, of course. He glares at Guy, waves a parchment around in anger, probably faked, possibly genuine. His voice is shrill. Guy snatches the paper out of his hand, reads it. It says "Guy. Meet me at noon, on the Loxley Road. Robin."
"You won't go, of course. He'll kill you. Not even you would be that stupid." Gisborne looks at the Sheriff. Those bulging eyes, that snappish tone; is the man always this annoying? He snaps back,
"Of course I'll go. I'm not frightened of Loxley. It's a perfect opportunity to kill the bastard." The Sheriff argues, but Gisborne's mind is made up. This is about him, not his employer. For some reason the Sheriff seems less imposing today, or maybe his headache just makes him mulish.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"You'll go, of course. I can see this being useful. For both of us." Gisburne looks up in horror. "He'll kill me the moment I set foot in Sherwood!" There is something about the Sheriff's smooth tones that gives him the creeps. Why can't the man just yell, as usual? And why does he want Gisburne killed? The Sheriff knows what happens to soldiers riding into the forest.
Today the Sheriff seems more persuasive than usual, less insulting. Gisburne isn't sure how it happens, but he has agreed to go to the rendezvous, with no more than a token guard.
Gisburne leaves Nottingham with a handful of riders. His blue cloak stands out in the dark city streets; today everyone seems to be dull in keeping with his own sore head. His retinue are carrying longbows, an English weapon. He's not sure why he ordered that, or when, or if they even know how to use them. All too soon the dark mass of Sherwood approaches and he takes the barely used road to what is left of Loxley. This is suicidal, he thinks.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Gisborne rides out, through the bright, bustling crowd. His head still hurts, and that's making everything peculiar today. He nearly rides down a dozen geese and a couple of pigs; what are they doing in the road? His grey-cloaked guard flank him,. For some reason that he can't quite grasp they are carrying crossbows, an inferior weapon for trained men. He makes a note to increase longbow practices. As they leave the fortified town he takes the road for home. Let Robin try what he will.
Guy tops the crest of the hill, from where Loxley can be seen, and pulls his horse up, confused.
His manor, the village, all vanished. Nothing but a heap of stones, covered in grass. He turns to check the road behind him, but this is the right way. The soldiers with him show no surprise at the scene. This can't just be his continuing headache. Something is very wrong, and Hood is clearly involved. He draws his sword, ready to ride forward.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Where the remains of the deserted village had stood, someone had built a village, and not just that but a substantial manor house! Gisburne seethes with fury. Without his permission, the permission of the Sheriff? How dare they? He draws his sword, prepares to rain terror on these misplaced peasants, hunt down their insolent master. Let them see if the Sheriff's authority can be so easily overturned!
Before Guy can make a move, arrows fly from the forest on both sides. The thuds of flights hitting armour, of men tumbling from their horses, all around him. He raises his sword, snarls " Show yourself, cowards!". He knows it's futile but he wishes that just once the damn outlaws would fight like real men. Then he notices the condition of his men.
They are lying in the road, groaning, but all four are alive, if not much use. The wolfshead's aim seems to have left him; or is this purposeful? Gisburne smells the stench of conspiracy. He thought there was something odd about his escort; clearly he has been set up. He resists the temptation to run.
* * * * * * * * * * *
They are all dead. Arrows protrude from front and back, accurate and fatal. No attempt to render them harmless, wound them, knock them off their horses. It appears that Loxley has regained a taste for killing; either that or this attack was made by someone else. Gisborne pulls his horse in a tight circle, aware that he's a sitting duck for more arrows. He resists the temptation to run.
There are shouts from around him, and the shapes of outlaws appearing from the trees. Roughly dressed men surround his horse, calling to each other, mocking him. He pays them no attention, keeps his sword up. Their leader has not yet appeared.
A dark haired man, barely more than a boy, steps out into the road in front of him, leaning on his longbow. Guy suffers a sudden shock of disconnection. This is Robin, but not the man he knows. Robin is staring at him as if similarly confused. Then he steps forward.
"I wasn't sure you'd come." A quick satisfied grin, then all business again. "Come with me."
Gisborne dismounts. He watches the boy lope away. Something is very wrong. He pauses for a moment, and is pushed roughly in the back. "Get a move on, Gisburne." Something wrong with his name in that mouth. The man hits him again. "Move, you Norman pig." He turns and glares at the stocky, angry man. A name comes to mind; Will Scarlet, but the image with that name is young and pale. Confused but aware that his options are limited, he follows the wrong Robin into the trees.
* * * * * * * * * * *
The man in front of him is Robin Hood, he knows that, but he's never seen him before. Fair, not very young, a mercenary, maybe, by his movement. The bow over his shoulders is strangely shaped. With horror, Gisburne remembers past sorceries in this forest. He suddenly whips up his horse, gallops along the path to the incomprehensibly placed village, waiting for the arrow in his back. A judder, and his saddle slides sideways, its strap neatly severed by a striped- feather fletched arrow. Cursing, he falls to the ground as the horse keeps going. The new Robin runs up, bow still in hand. his men around him. He waits for the familiar jeers, kicks and thumps, but they merely surround him and hustle him into the trees.
His weapons are removed and he follows the strange man far into the forest, without speaking. Finally they reach a rough camp and they stop for food and drink. Guy is offered both but refuses, fearing that he has already been drugged.
"Now what?" The huge outlaw named Little John speaks. Robin looks at Guy. "Now I need to speak to him, alone." A rumble of discontent, quickly quelled.
* * * * * * * * * * *
"Herne has commanded it." The dark haired man beckons him, walks away. Herne? Another leader? Might this explain where the real Robin has gone? Gisborne follows the boy, his eyes on the sword hanging at his side. The forest is strange, thicker than he expects, with dense undergrowth. Within minutes, he notices fog beginning to rise up from the ground. Soon they are almost completely obscured, and then the fog clears, despite the absence of breeze. A man stands in front of them, dressed in furs, a deer skull on his head. Gisborne stifles the urge to laugh.
The horned man speaks, and Robin listens with every appearance of respect. "Who have you brought me?"
Robin frowns. "Guy of Gis.." He tails off. The man shakes his head. "Tell me what this Guy of yours looks like."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Robin is patient with the odd question from the elderly Saracen visitor. "Dark haired, dark eyed. Tall, muscular. Might be handsome if he smiled." He turns to Gisburne, in shock and realisation. "Nothing like you, apparently. How the hell did you manage that?" He is smiling, but his hand is on his sword hilt. His eyes are piercing.
The Arab speaks, low and intense. "Something has happened. This man is a different version of the one you know, Robin. He comes from a different world, where even now the enemy you know is walking in his place. This is far more dangerous than you can imagine. Whole worlds are at risk while these men are out of their own places. You must put things right.
"At dawn on the day after tomorrow, you must come to the standing stones with Guy. Provided that both Guys desire it of their own free will, all can be corrected."
* * * * * * * * * * *
The furred man walks away, through the trees. Robin does not pursue him or attempt to question him. Instead he turns to Gisborne. Guy looks back, incredulously.
"You don't believe that rubbish, do you?"
Was this some haunt of devil worshippers? He wouldn't have imagined Hood - his Hood- as going in for this sort of cheap superstition. But the man next to him was clearly taking it very seriously.
The young man smiles. "If Herne says so, that's how it will be. The Powers of Light and Darkness are with him." He looks at Gisborne, curiously. Now I see what you are wearing; I can't believe I failed to notice it before. Tell me, do men all wear leather like that in your world?"
Gisborne ignores the question. There are more important things to discuss, like whether he will be allowed to return to Nottingham. It turns out that the answer is no. Robin is taking no risks on his failing to return on the appointed day.
* * * * * * * * * * *
There are arguments, name calling, some scuffles. In the end Gisburne resigns himself to being a prisoner, at least for the moment. The outlaws are finally convinced that he is not the Gisborne they know and something of the acrimony goes out of their treatment of him. Robin seems to believe that he will need to be talked around so that he would participate in this bizarre ceremony.
Over the next day Gisburne watches the outlaws, how they interact. There are definite differences from the band that he knew. They are led by a professional soldier, and the difference shows. No mystic superstitions, just a practical, efficient operation. When he finds out that Robin is titled nobility, and clearly Norman, he warms to the man. He too might defy the Sheriff that way, some day. For all this talk of feeding the poor, Robin clearly sees himself first and foremost as a fighter for the King. These men are no risk to the stability of Norman rule. They remind him more of the mercenaries that he fought with. He begins to feel almost at home.
* * * * * * * * * * *
This Robin might be young, and no soldier, but his men followed him with discipline. They were a far more hardened band than the one he'd fought, although just as disparate. The Saracen was deadly, Will and John were ruthless killers, and Robin himself acted with a quiet confidence that showed well when compared to the other Robin's arrogance. He could see why his counterpart had had no luck in capturing them. Even the odd members of the group- the Friar, the boy- were utilised with a calm efficiency that appealed to Gisborne's sense of soldiery. These men weren't playing at defiance, bit supporters to Locksley's pride and need to show off. They had a mission and carried it out with determination and efficiency. He could respect men like these.
His musings are interrupted when a woman walks into the camp. That strange half knowledge of his tells him that this is Marion, and he looks at her curiously, and with a sense of disappointment. She is pretty enough, but where is the fire of his Marian? He greets her politely when Robin introduces them, then forgets her. Later he catches her looking at him, but he's used to that.
* * * * * * * * * * *
They are all the same, these rebel women. How anyone could tolerate them for long, Gisburne doesn't know. This one seems even wilder than the one back home; he listens to the way she speaks to Robin, appalled. Clearly she is some sort of useful spy, which must be why Hood puts up with her; Gisburne would have put her over his knee by now and beat some respect into her. Introduced, they look at each other in mutual dislike, then she walks away.
Evening around the campfire. At dawn the next day they will have their rendezvous at the stones. Robin takes him aside, asks him, quietly, what his world is like. Gisburne begins to describe it; the fight to keep the English in their place, the devil worship in the forest, the near-mad cruelties of Prince John, the Crusades. He goes on to describe his constant ill-treatment at the hands of the Sheriff, his humiliation by Robin, the stories about him and de Rainault spread by malicious tongues, and he hints, without intending to, about the sting of truth in those tales. He talks to this quiet soldier with the piercing eyes for hours, sure that he is understood; this man too knows what it is like to fight, to suffer. Nottingham- God, he hates the place!
* * * * * * * * * * *
He talks as he has never done before. About Marian, his love, his frustration. About the insane, murderous Sheriff. About Robin; self righteous, naive, far too lucky. His ambitions, and how hollow they sometimes seemed. Locksley, the symbol of his success, with its servants and villagers still silently loyal to its previous owner. He talks to this dark eyed man, who almost seemed part of the forest itself, a symbol of the freedom he doesn't have. Nottingham- God, he hates the place!
He falls silent, then turns to Robin. "I could." He looks past the boy, stiffly, aware of the possibility of rejection, humiliation. "I could stay here. Join you."
Robin looks serious. "I would need to talk to the others. Wait."
* * * * * * * * * * *
"He's very creepy." Much, always direct. John nods. "Trouble, that one."
Robin gesticulates, intense. "But he's more trouble not with us. Or rather, the other Gisborne is." He is rather glad that Marian isn't with them, as he bends forward, conspiratorially. "Did you see the way he *didn't* look at Marian? Another world is the only safe place for our bastard Guy. Let him harass someone else's woman. "
Djaq nods. "This man, he is a good swordsman. And he likes you, Robin." She flashes a smile. "We do not want Gisborne back, no?"
Will laughs suddenly. They turn to him, surprised. "It won't please the Sheriff, to lose Gisborne to us. Worse than if we'd killed him."
* * * * * * * * * * *
Robin is aware of his own attraction to the man. Maybe it was just the contrast with the whines of Gisburne. And this man can at least shoot a long bow. And hasn't mentioned Saxons once. He wants to say yes. He is careful to canvass the views of the rest of the group.
Marian thinks he should stay. Practical, she points out that another good fighter, and one who knows the castle's defences, is just what they need. Robin suspects she has other reasons for wanting this tall, dark stranger to stay, but given his own conflicted feelings, he won't challenge her.
Will is suspicious, as ever. John points out that they can always kill him, if it doesn't work out. Tuck shrugs. Nasir has no comment. Much likes the man, is glad to get rid of Gisburne. In the end that is the deciding factor. Whatever this one turns out like, he can't be as nasty a piece of work as Gisburne.
Robin feels a twinge of conscience as he goes to inform Gisborne of their decision. Herne isn't going to like this...
* * * * * * * * * * *
Dawn.
In two worlds, two men stand and wait as the sun rises over the standing stones. No-one comes.
Two Sheriffs curse imaginatively as they sit opposite an empty seat at breakfast.
Wider and wider, space and time contorts.
A thousand worlds warp around the rip in reality.
A hundred IPR lawyers make ready for epic battle.
But as far as the men running free through two different forests are concerned, reality can go to hell. It's more fun this way.