Zero to Sixty
Title: Zero to Sixty
Author: whytewytch4
Word Count: 881
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mention of a beating
Characters: Allan
Disclaimer: Tiger Aspect and the BBC own the rights to Robin Hood 2006. No copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made.
Summary: Allan, the Medieval “gear head”
A/N: Thought of this while watching a re-run of “Top Gear” the other night. Marc Wahlburg was the guest, and he spoke about how, as part of his misspent youth, he once stole this man’s car about ten times. I thought, “what an Allan thing to do!” So this is my version of that-hope you enjoy!
The mare was absolutely gorgeous-a deep brown bay, with a white stipe on her face than ended in a snip on her nose, and dark black stockings on all four of her legs. Her muzzle was velvety soft, her dark brown eyes lit with intelligence, her ears perfect points on her head. Her back was straight and strong, her chest deep, her mane and tail long and flowing. She was perfect. Allan knew he could not resist her when the lord of their shire brought her to his father for new shoes. He desperately wanted to take her out to try her shoes once they were on, but his father refused, telling him that he was being ridiculous-she was far too fine a steed for the likes of him to sit on. Allan subsided at his father’s harsh words, but the mare haunted his dreams, beckoning, calling him to ride her.
It was a full moon when he decided to answer the call, and stole off the lord’s manor, silently breaking into the stables. He stole down the hallway, peering into each stall at the sleeping horses until he found her; she came immediately to the door as though she had been waiting for him, whickering softly to him as he quietly unhooked the latch and slowly opened the stall door, holding out a small carrot in the palm of his hand that disappeared immediately. He gripped her mane to keep her from getting away from him as he led her to the barn doors, quickly peering out to make sure no one was about. He led her outside, quickly mounting her bare back and urging her to go with his legs; as the son of a blacksmith, he knew how to ride, but never had he wrapped his legs around such a powerful animal. She went from a standstill to a full blown run in mere heartbeats, her hooves pounding on the ground as the manor’s guards shouted the alarm.
Allan clung to the mare’s back as they flew along the night, the moon and star their only light, the mare’s instincts the only things keeping her from taking a misstep. Allan whooped in delight as he felt her legs churn beneath him, and she whinnied excitedly as if in response. Allan knew her old master never rode her like this-she was a treasure and deserved to be taken out and let loose now and again. After a time, the pair slowed, the warm summer air breathing over them as they walked along the tree line; dimly, Allan heard the sound of multiple hooves approaching, the shouts of men who were searching for them. He knew he would likely be strung up if they found him with her, although the brief thought of telling them he had found her crossed his mind before being dismissed-he was a lousy liar. Reluctantly, he dismounted; he stayed close by until he heard the guards closing in, and then melted into the forest.
Allan’s father looked at him sternly.
“Are you sure it wasn’t you what stole into His Lordship’s barn and took out his new bay mare?”
”Well, sure I’d love to ride ‘er, but you know I’m not a good sneak,” Allan replied, putting on his best innocent look.
Allan’s father raised an eyebrow at him and frowned, but said nothing more. The subject was dropped.
It was nearly ten days later that Allan headed for the stables and the mare again, unable to sleep for thinking of riding her, of how fast she had run and how powerful her body had felt between his legs. Once more, he stole into the barn and unhooked the latch; since it had been over a week with no attempted theft, the guards had relaxed, and were once more caught unawares as Allan and the mare thundered away into the night.
The following month when Allan went to go for his ride, the guards blocked their path, herding them toward the high fence that surrounded the barn, hoping to trap them. The mare gathered her body, coiling like a spring and soared over the fence as though it had been no more than a small flower. Allan had whooped like a madman when they landed-he loved that feeling of being airborne, however fleeting.
Seven more times in the next months, Allan stole into the lord’s barn, each time evading one more new trap or another-one time the mare’s stall door had been rigged so that pans strung together overhead made a loud clanging when the door opened. The final ride had been when Allan had come home to find his father awake and sitting by the fire; it had taken him weeks to fully recover from the beating, and by then the mare had been sold, His Lordship claiming she had become too much of a handful from being stolen and run so many nights. Allan soon left his father’s home, tired of the flying fists and the constant berating that had only increased in intensity since the incidents with the mare. Despite his father’s temper, Allan still smiled when he thought of the little bay mare who went from zero to sixty in the beat of a heart.