Fic: Passages
Mar. 22nd, 2012 08:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roh_ficsTitle: Passages (29/?)
Characters: Allan, Djaq, Robin, Will, Much, OCs (in approximate order of appearance)
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen, het
Warnings: None.
Notes: Many thanks, as always to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hippie_girl_31, beta-reader extraordinaire, cheerleader, and friend. Fair warning: events in this chapter may not necessarily be to every reader's liking. I plead artistic license.
Summary: Djaq and Will do stuff, and other stuff happens because of it. Also, I can't write summaries.
Chapter 29. North
She stood in the clearing, trying to ignore the world around her. There were others too—Robin, a few of his men, Little John and his travel companions, all standing around and shuffling their feet, trying not to make too much out of their farewells.
For her part, saying goodbye to Little John was difficult enough, but when it came to Allan, it was like losing a part of herself. Djaq struggled to keep her composure even as tears threatened at her eyes.
Allan's voice was low and soft. “So.”
“So.”
“Time to say goodbye.”
She shook her head, aching from the lump in her throat. “It is not goodbye. You will be back soon.”
He spoke, his voice halting and uncertain. “Will told me. That you might leave.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, “You know, for the baby's sake.”
She allowed herself a moment of surprise. “It is not decided. We may stay here after all.”
“I think Will's decided already though.”
“Has he?”
He put a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze. For once, there was no artifice to Allan, and seeing him like this was strange, but also reassuring.
“Listen, it's not for me to tell you what to do, yeah? But Will's right. You can't stay here. This is no place for a family.
“And yeah, I know this feels like home sometimes, but it's not the same. Not for you.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “Don't think you're getting away from me though. Wherever you two are, I'll find you.”
Djaq managed to return his smile, her despair forgotten for a fleeting moment. “I think you mean it.”
Allan laughed and reached for her hand. He pushed a soft shape into her palm, and it took a moment for Djaq to realize it was a purse.
“I thought you might need a bit of money. For when you leave.”
Djaq shoved the purse back at Allan reflexively. “I don't need—we don't need this.”
He looked stricken. “It's not stolen or nothing.” He offered the money again. “It's my wages from when I worked for the Sheriff. Or what's left of it.”
She said nothing, her mind still repulsed at the idea of taking Allan's blood money.
He chuckled. “I guess it's about the same as stolen. But in an honest way.”
Djaq acknowledged the irony with a smirk. “I still can't take it. You might need it yourself.”
Allan pondered that for a moment. “Fine. You take half, then.” He tipped the purse out, and stuffed some coins into his pocket, giving Djaq the rest. “Just take it, will you?”
She fought against the urge to refuse again, realizing that the others were still there, awkwardly trying not to hear or see.
“Fine.” Djaq pushed the purse deep into a pocket. “You should get going. The others will want to be on their way.”
She watched as Allan took stock of his travel companions. He clucked his tongue. “I'm off on this great adventure. And look at the people I'm going with.”
“I'm sure they will be fine, Allan.”
“It's not them I'm worried about. Not bein' funny--”
“You never are.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, the expression dissolving into his usual grin. “Don't miss me too much.”
“It will be difficult,” she added, only half in jest. “But I will try. Now go.”
They had said all the words that needed saying, and Djaq sent him on his way with a quick embrace, a peck on the cheek and a silent prayer to his God and hers to keep him safe. It wasn't until he'd walked off into the distance that the tears finally came.
--
Just like that, Allan was gone. It was inevitable in a way that things in the forest would change, that they would lose their friends, to war, to time, to life. But Allan was the reason she and Will had come back, even if they'd never spoken explicitly of it. All the while they'd been away, their thoughts had turned to their old friend, and they'd worried over his return to Robin's side and what temptation might throw in his path again. They'd been delighted to see him again, knowing that he was changed but still very much their Allan. And now he was gone.
It took her a long while to come back to herself, and Robin watched her now, his face a mask of concern. Djaq scrubbed at her eyes, embarrassed at the show of emotion. She brushed off Robin's attempt to console her. “I am alright.”
He nodded, looking uncertain. Djaq gave him an apologetic smile. “I am sorry. I did not mean to be...as I've been today.”
He scoffed, dismissing the apology. “So, are you headed back to Newstead now?”
“No,” she said, without hesitation. “I need to write those letters we spoke of before. And then, I may go to...” She stopped short, not wanting to flaunt her happiness and wound the man before her.
Robin guessed at the rest anyway. “Torloton?”
Djaq smiled, sheepish. “Am I that obvious?”
“No,” he chuckled. “Just making an educated guess.”
She shuffled her feet, the conversation as awkward as any she'd ever had with Robin, and with good reason. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to--”
He held up a hand and stopped her. “You don't have to be sorry for me. I don't grudge you—or Will—your happiness, you know.”
“I know.” They stared at each other for several minutes, and Djaq willed Robin to understand. At length, with no words left to say, he nodded in her direction and stepped away.
She called out to him and waited until he turned. “You'll find it again, you know.”
“What?”
“You may not find again exactly what you've lost. But there is still joy in this world, and I pray Allah will grant you your share.”
When he spoke, his eyes were sad, his voice weary. “Pray instead that we get our king back, that justice is done. That matters more to me than joy.”
–
Will heaved the wooden beam over his shoulder to pass it to Matthew, squinting to see better in the darkness of the cave. They were done with the coin chests Robin needed, and Matthew had since cut notches into an inner wall deep in the cave. Will had the idea of building a storeroom for the root crops, fruit and cheese the gang had accumulated over the summer months. This part of the cave was dry and out of sight, and it made a better hold for their food than the abandoned barns and storehouses Robin favored.
He was glad to have a task at hand, to keep his mind from turning to other things. But it was a struggle, and at length, he gave up and let his thoughts turn to Allan's departure. At first, he'd wanted to go with his friend, bid him a proper farewell with all the others, but when the time came, he changed his mind. What needed to be said had been said, and the rest would just be bluster on both their parts. More than that, Will could not say goodbye. It was too final, like the last nail in the coffin of his life with Allan. For all of the man's misdeeds, and for all his own anger, he was not ready to bury their friendship, not yet.
Still, Djaq will miss Allan too, and I should have been there for her. That sobered him, a reminder that he was not alone, either in joy or misery. He sighed, glad he was at least meeting her in the old camp later.
Matthew caught the sound and gave him an odd look. “Are you alright?”
Will frowned at him. “Yes. Never mind me. Are the shelves in?”
Matthew retreated, muttering about notches not cut deep enough. Chuckling, Will followed him into the cave. They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes before Matthew spoke.
“So, do you ever wonder?”
Will raised an eyebrow. “About what?”
“About whether we’re really helping people.” Matthew scratched his head. “What if we’re wrong? What if Robin's wrong?”
Will frowned, sensing a shadow of his own doubts in Matthew's words. “Wrong about what?”
“About everything. About...justice.” Matthew stood abruptly and began to pace the width of the cave. “How can we do justice, if we're just as bad as everyone else?”
“What?”
“We steal, just like the Sheriff does. Only difference is he calls it a tax, and we don't!”
“It's not the same. We don't do what the Sheriff does. We don't steal from the poor--”
“Don't we? When was the last time we asked a man if he was a peasant or a landlord?” Matthew's voice shook with his growing frustration. “Last month, Allan took a purse off a nun!”
Will snickered at that. It was true that Robin and his men were not very discriminating about the travelers they robbed. But they never kept any money for themselves; every last penny went to helping others, and was that not a good thing? Then again, things had changed for Robin's band of outlaws. Now they were the king's soldiers and the coin they raised would go straight to the king. His eyes fell on the wooden chests he and Matthew had made to collect the king's ransom. The poor won't be seeing any of the money...what are we still doing here?
He gave Matthew a frank look. “Listen. It doesn’t matter if Robin is right. Or if the king is right. What matters is that we help, that people are better off with us than without.” He pondered for a moment. “You don’t even have to be here to help, in the end.”
“We are Robin Hood and all that?”
Will laughed. “Yes. Just so”
–
Djaq watched Will peel off a long strip of dried bark from one of the wall posts of the old camp. They sat close, but his mind was miles away as he turned the wood over in his hands.
“What are you doing?”
He shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just thinking.” Will swung the bark out and it arced away from him gracefully. “My dad, he used to make angles out of bark like this. For me and Luke.” He chuckled as he threw the wood away. “Dad taught us to fish, but Luke always caught more than me.”
“I see.” It was odd to hear Will speak of his family. As long as Djaq had known him, as well as she knew him, his own stories remained hidden from her. “Tell me more.”
He gave her a blank look. “There's not much to tell.”
Djaq sighed and took a different tack. She brought his hand to her belly. “Maybe you can teach your own son one day.”
That got his attention. He colored a bit and then ducked his head, almost embarrassed. “That would be...” He arched an eyebrow at her. “You know we're having a boy?”
“No. But the child is either a girl or a boy. So I'm half-right.”
He laughed, a good sound that echoed through the camp and warmed her heart. “So. Have you thought of names yet?”
Djaq frowned. “You know, among my people, children are not named until after their birth.”
He knit his eyebrows, intently focused on her. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Some superstition. But the choosing is of no consequence anyway. A boy is named for his father's father, and a girl for her father's mother.” She took his hand and smiled. “So if this babe is a boy, he'll be called Dan.”
He grinned, but the expression fell away quickly. “And what about your father? Your mother? Don't you want to use their names?”
Djaq shook her head. “That is not the way of things.” She thought of her brother, of how it would have been his privilege to name his children after their parents, and how his life, his children, his bloodline, had been sacrificed to steel and fire. She felt a sharp pain her throat and had to swallow hard to dispel it. “They will have to be remembered in some other way.”
He wrapped his arms around but said nothing, and she was glad for his silence. This grief, the one lasting regret of her life, was hers alone, and Will seemed to understand that.
They sat that way, in companionable silence, watching the sun go down through the broken slats of the camp roof. At length, Will stretched out his long legs. “Do you want to just stay here tonight? I mean, if you're tired--”
“That would be good. But at first light, I have to go.” She shuffled her feet, rushes crackling under her boots. “I need to speak to Gisborne.”
Will stiffened. “Djaq, I don't think...” He didn't finish the sentence, but his meaning was clear enough.
She bristled. “I need to learn a few things, Will. Robin needs to.”
“Fine. I'll come with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
This time, there was no protest. Instead, Will drew her gently into his arms, and whispered into her hair. “Just be careful. Alright?”
“Alright.”
–
Djaq pulled the hood of her cloak low over her face and stuck as close to the walls of the tavern as possible. She had the odd sense of being followed, but she could not spot her pursuer. At length, Djaq decided she was imagining things. Will had put worry in her mind and it was beginning to prey on her better judgment. She ducked into the darkened tavern and cast an eye about for Gisborne. He was nowhere to be seen, but the cowled monk who was often in his company beckoned her over.
She hesitated, as wary of him as he might have been of a mullah. But his demeanor was polite, his smile welcoming. As she approached him, he rose and moved off into the shadows, beckoning her to follow. Confused, Djaq hesitated at first, but a pointed look from the tavern keeper convinced her to follow. The monk stopped short near a back wall, well out of sight of others in the room. Will's words of caution rang in her ears, and she bent her knee a little, until she felt the nudge of her dagger's leather sheath on her calf. Reassured, she nodded in his direction as she joined him.
“Brother Tuck.”
He inclined his head politely. “I apologize for the mystery. And the darkness. There’s a small problem.”
“Where is Gisborne?”
“That's the problem. Sir Guy believes he's been seen, and that compromises his plans.” He raised an eyebrow. “And perhaps yours as well?”
“My plans are of no consequence. I come because I was promised information.”
“And you shall have it.” He took in a deep breath and launched straight into it. “Longchamp is delayed.”
“Delayed.”
Brother Tuck nodded. “Aye, and not for pleasant reasons. Longchamp is a man of God, and a man of power. So he has enemies.”
“Like the Sheriff?”
“Yes, but also others who are less...worldly, but more capable. There are others in the Church who favor Prince John over the king, and they do not take kindly to Longchamp interfering with their plans.
“We believe he goes to France, and probably in disguise. At last count, he was in a party of monks traveling south from York.”
Djaq's mind began to spin. A wealthy man traveling with a retinue through the forest was easy enough to waylay, but a party of monks was a different story. And what if Longchamp changed his disguise along the way? Robin would need to have his men all over the forest, blocking every route and ambushing every traveler.
Djaq knitted her eyebrows together, trying to focus. “And what of the money? A man dressed as a monk but carrying a king's ransom would surely draw suspicion.”
“We believe he may have deposited elsewhere. In an abbey church, or perhaps as a promissory note with merchants. Perhaps even here in Nottingham.”
“With the idea of collecting it as he passes through?”
“Perhaps. I cannot say for certain. I only know that Robin, indeed anyone on the side of the king, must tread carefully.
“Robin must find Longchamp, take him into his custody and ensure his safe journey to France, ransom or not. The man is at least as important as the money.”
Djaq nodded, putting together the story as she'd present it to Robin. Perhaps the monks at Newstead would know this Longchamp's whereabouts, what he looks like, how to find him. Her mind began to spin, weaving possible solutions. What if he were not a monk? What if he were dressed as a different sort of man, or even a woman?
“I have to go. Is there anything else I should know?”
Tuck reached into the folds of his robe. “There is one thing. Sir Guy asked me to give you this.”
She hesitated, unsure, before holding out her hand. A small object dropped into her palm, a ring with a green stone set in silver. Djaq frowned. “What is it?”
“I believe it once belonged to Lady Marian.”
Djaq nearly dropped the ring in shock. It felt suddenly too heavy, too hot to hold on to. “Is this a joke? A cruel one?”
Tuck shook his head, his expression sad. “No. I think it's meant to be a gift. A token...of Sir Guy's remorse perhaps.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?” The words came unbidden, but she knew the answer even as she spoke them.
“Give it to Robin of Locksley. Not now. But one day, when the time is right.”
–
Robin paced the forest floor with such determination that he began to wear a rut in the dirt. Peter of Doncaster chuckled loudly enough to get his attention. “What are you so worried about anyhow?”
Robin glared at him and kept pacing, lost in his thoughts, which turned to king and country, but mostly to Longchamp and money. They'd find the man, of course. He was certain of that. But when Djaq had stopped by earlier and told him that Longchamp traveled in disguise, and perhaps with no money, a shadow of doubt fell on his plans. Even if they had the money, how would they manage to get it to France without being waylaid themselves? There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers. Men like Peter, who seemed more his shadow now than even Much, did not make things easier.
Peter persisted. “Are you worried we might not have all the right information?”
Robin stopped and narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you mean?”
“You know, like your Saracen, she's just telling you things she heard, listenin' in at keyholes.” Peter shuffled his feet. “Unless of course she's not.”
“What?”
“Don't you think it's strange? The way she just hears things?”
Robin shook his head. “If you're asking if I suspect Djaq, I don't.”
“Even if you knew where she'd been lately?”
Robin shrugged. “What my men do on their own time is their business.” Robin drew himself to full height. “Why? Why all these questions?”
Peter's shrug mirrored Robin's. “Just thought she was acting a bit odd, like. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t up to nothin’.” He gave Robin a pointed look. “Maybe just for my own sake.”
Robin crossed his arms in a show of silent defiance, but he could not deny his curiosity. Peter never said much, and if he was willing to take Robin down this crooked trail of thoughts, there had to be a reason for it.
“She's been going to this tavern, right? Out in Hartshead.”
Hartshead? That was outside the part of the forest Robin's men usually watched. Djaq could not have just chanced on the place. Still, this was Djaq. “So what?” Robin kept his voice measured, carefully indifferent.
“Do you care who she talks to?” Peter mirrored Robin's arm-crossing gesture, a smirk giving his scarred face a frightening twist. “I saw her. Not just once, but three times. With a man. A strange man, dressed all in black leather.”
The hair on the back of Robin's neck stood up. No. It could not be. He was dead! And even if he wasn’t, Djaq would never...
Peter shrugged, a gesture of innocence. “I didn't know who the man was, mind. I thought he looked... shifty, so I asked around.
“Turns out he used to live around these parts. Maybe you've heard of him. Goes by the name of Gisborne. Guy of Gisborne.”
–
Djaq clambered up the hill, rolls of parchment rustling in her hands as she climbed. She was already a bit late for the day's second rendezvous with Robin. She would have come sooner, if Much hadn't insisted on joining her. He'd gone on and on about not having seen Robin in days, and resigned, she'd accepted his company. But Much had surprised her by being an engaging, even humorous, companion and when they arrived at their rendezvous, she was almost sorry the trip was over.
Much grimaced. “Dead Man's Crossing. Never liked that name.”
She chuckled. “Why do they call it that?”
“I don't know. But I don't like it. Nothing good comes from names like that.” He shivered as if to confirm the bad omen, increasing Djaq's amusement.
Much railed on. “I'm sure Robin picked this place just to scare me. He likes to do that, you know.”
Djaq sighed. “Much.”
Much shuffled his feet and lapsed into silence. Around them, the leaves rustled for a few seconds before silence, an eerie stillness, fell on the place. The name of the clearing made perfect sense in that moment, and neither of them broke the pall with words.
At length, Much waved his hands towards a path from the north. “Here's Robin now. And that other one, Peter.”
Djaq smirked. “You don't like Peter?”
“No. And he has that scar. You shouldn't trust a man with a scar.”
She thought of the horrible gash across Will's stomach, the one that had bled so much when she'd tried to sew him back together. Djaq swallowed and added in a small voice, “Honest men have scars too.”
“Not on their faces they don't.”
As the two men neared, Peter's twisted face gave truth to Much's words, and Djaq cringed a little, despite the gruesome wounds she'd seen in battle. But it wasn't just the man's face. His manner, his deliberate gait conveyed a sense of purpose, of danger, she was not prepared for. She took in a deep breath and walked ahead, pulling a parchment scroll out of her pocket.
“Robin. It's good to see you.” Much's voice broke out over the clearing and the tension in the air eased somewhat.
Robin nodded a terse greeting in his direction and pinned his eyes on Djaq. His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed. He was clearly troubled, and that was hardly surprising given their circumstance.
She held out the scroll, meeting Robin's eyes evenly. “The monks at Newstead did not say they'd heard from Longchamp. But they did not say they hadn’t either. And they were not willing to tell me much else. The rest is here, I think.”
Robin took the scroll in silence and shoved it into a pocket, his eyes still on Djaq.
Much scowled. “Aren't you going to read that? It might be important.”
Robin ignored the question, his face a mask, prompting Djaq to speak. “Are you...alright?”
“How do you know these things, Djaq? The things you tell me.”
A sudden chill came over Djaq and she pulled her cloak tight around herself. “People talk. I listen.”
“What sort of people?” Peter's eyes were bright, his face a sneer as he spoke.
Djaq fixed him with a look of scorn. “It is not your concern, is it?”
“'Course it's my concern.”
“Who are you?”
Peter pulled himself to his full height and took a menacing step towards Djaq, but Robin stopped him, pushing the man back behind him.
“I think the better question is who you are, Djaq.” Robin's voice was even, but there was an edge to it, as sharp as new-forged steel.
“I don't know what—”
Robin waved the others away, and they dissolved into the forest, cowed by their leader’s anger. Only Much stayed, Robin’s silent and morose shadow.
Robin strode towards her, and took her arm. His words were spoken in a desperate whisper. “Tell me, Djaq. Tell me it's not true. Tell me anything, and I swear, on my honour, I will believe you.”
Djaq looked away, overcome with guilt she had not owned until that moment. She shook her head.
He let go of her arm, and in that small gesture, she felt the world tilt. Her bond with Robin had been marked by mutual respect and honesty, but now a rift had opened between them, a chasm of suspicion that could not be bridged without great effort.
"Robin, I can explain. I--"
He did not hear. "Gisborne?”
Much gasped. “Gisborne? Gisborne! No, it’s not possible.” But his disbelief fell on deaf ears. Robin ignored him, and turned his attention fully to Djaq. “Of all people, how could you even consider talking to him? Confiding in him?"
Djaq bristled. "Confiding? You have to know I'd never share a confidence with him. Indeed, if anything, he has shared his with me. With us."
Robin’s face conveyed nothing, but his voice was icy. “How can you trust that whatever he’s told you—these confidences—are true?”
Color rose in his face and lit his fury. “This is a man who tried to kill the king, and not just once. He killed…” His voice trailed off and he could not finish the thought, his face twisting in remembered agony.
The blood had drained out of Much’s face. “How could you, Djaq?” His voice was barely audible, not an accusation but a plea for an explanation. “Of all people, him?”
Djaq closed her eyes, willing the words to come to her. “I saw no reason not to trust him. Everything he’s said to me has been—“
Robin spat the words at her. “You forgive him so easily?”
She shook her head. “It is not for us to forgive, or condemn. That is for Allah alone.” She struggled with her thoughts, for words to explain the inexplicable. “But no man is wholly evil who once loved, and—“
“Loved? Have you lost your mind?”
To this, Djaq had no answer. She believed in reason, in the cold logic of her own mind, and yet, she had loved and knew there was no greater insanity in the world. Gisborne’s rage was that of the scorned lover, and Robin’s that of the grieving husband. They’d all come to this pass because of love, and yet, the word—so short, so trivial—was inadequate to the moment.
Dejected, she sighed. “What does it matter? You have information you needed, and others have proven its truth already. I don’t—“
“It matters, Djaq. It matters because you didn’t tell me. It matters because you were dishonest with me.” The implication of betrayal hung heavy in the air between them.
He turned away from her, a gesture of dismissal. A flash of insight came to Djaq, as white-hot and startling as a lightning bolt. “Are you sending me away?”
“What?”
“Are you banishing me? It is what you do to those who betray you, is it not?” She regretted the accusation, but the words were out of her lips, and they gave her the strength to stand before him, defiant and undefeated.
Much piped up, appalled. “No, of course not. You’re—“
She put a hand up to silence him. “Robin. Am I banished?”
He scowled at her. “I cannot have those around me consorting with the enemy. This I cannot—“
“Am I banished?”
"I have to know that I can still trust you, Djaq!"
“That is not the answer to my question. Am I banished?"
There was warning in Robin’s face, a sign that she’d pushed too far. But Djaq could not stop. She was impressing her will on his, and she was winning. So what if the victory was hollow and bitter. Again, she asked the question. This time, Robin wheeled on her.
"That—"
She persisted. "Am I banished? Tell me."
Exasperated, Robin flung the words at her. "Yes. Damn it, yes!"
"Very well." She gathered herself, moving with deliberate slowness, knowing their eyes were on her. "I wish you well, Robin." She lifted up her tag and smiled at him, even as her resolve weakened and her stomach threatened. "Never forget the outlaws."
Much's voice broke the tension. "Robin, do something! She's leaving. She’s really leaving." He was frantic, but when Robin turned and walked off into the clearing, Much panicked. "Master, you cannot let this happen. You can't—"
He ran after Djaq in the other direction. "Don't go. He's just angry. You know how Robin is. He'll come around, you'll see." He grabbed her arm and yanked, the gesture more powerful than he'd intended.
Djaq winced a little. "Much. Let me go."
He released her arm, horrified. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" He begged her. "You can't go. You just can't."
"I can’t stay, Much. Not after all that, not just yet. If you ever thought of me as a friend, then let me go. Let me have this last dignity."
He frowned at her, reluctant, but knowing he had to let her go. "Where will you go?"
Djaq shook her head sadly.
"Promise me you'll be careful." He smiled sadly. "You know. For Will's sake."
She was tempted to laugh, but the thought of Will made her want to weep at the same time, and she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. "May your Christian God bless you, Much, and your good heart."
He looked away, too moved to reply, and Djaq sighed and headed out into the murky darkness of the priory close.
–
Will set the chest down with a thunk, nodding at Matthew. They smiled at each other, acknowledgment of a job well done. Despite its hollow posts and side walls, the chest weighed enough to take two men to haul it. They’d set out early in the day from Torloton and made their way through the forest to the rendezvous point with Robin. They’d had to stop a few times to rest their shoulders and arms, and it was almost dusk by the time they reached their destination.
He was content with the quality of his work, and although he did not seek out praise for his craftsmanship, a tiny part of him relished the attention and took pride in it. More than that, he enjoyed the look on Djaq’s face when he unveiled a plan or a structure she had never contemplated. It allowed him to be, even if only for a moment, king of the world around him.
He was missing her more than usual too. The feel of her skin on his had lingered hours after they’d parted that morning, leaving him frustrated and distracted. Only the chest, the task of transporting it to Robin, had relieved some of the tension. Now he just wanted it all to be over so he could fall into her arms.
They picked up the chest again, Matthew grunting from the effort. Leaves rustled under their feet, and in the distance, Will could just make out one of Robin’s men stanching the campfire to avoid detection. As they neared the doused fire, Will whistled into the darkness, making his presence known.
Shapes came out of the shadows, ghosts at first, but after a moment, men with bows and arrows, Much in the lead. As they neared, Will could make out their faces, silent but worried.
He raised an eyebrow in Much’s direction. “Is Robin not here yet?”
Much winced. “He—he’s gone. I mean, not gone, really. He’s just off to Newstead.”
“Right. Well, here’s the chest he wanted.” He gave Matthew a quick smile and waited for a reaction, but none came. Stonefaced men stared blankly at the two of them, and for once, even Much was at a loss for words.
Matthew stepped into the silence. “It’s pretty clever, actually. See, we had to figure out how to fill it with coin, but make it look like it was still empty.” He flipped open the lid of the chest with a flourish, and then pulled out the plugs in the side wall and posts to reveal the hidden compartments inside. A murmur of interest went up, and Will could hear faint whispers, but nobody approached them. He scanned the faces of the men for clues, and belatedly, he noticed the one face he wanted to see was missing.
“Where’s Djaq?”
A pall fell over the clearing, sudden and eerie. He turned to Much. “Where is Djaq?”
Much looked stricken, the blood draining from his face. “Listen, Will—“
Will could barely hear his words over his own rising anger, a rush of blood beating against his eardrums. He pounced on Much, nearly knocking him over. “Where is she? What’s happened to her?”
Much scrambled out of his way, distraught. “Look, I’m trying to tell you. Robin…sent her away. They…they…had a row.”
It took several minutes for the words to make sense to Will. “What? He sent her…away?”
Peter’s chuckle broke out over the clearing. “Don’t be so coy, like you don’t know.” He stepped in front of Will, shielding Much with an arm. “He found out, didn’t he? About her and Guy of Gisborne.”
Will's heart sank. It was too much to expect that anyone—especially Robin—would understand about Gisborne. A niggling voice in the back of his head whispered that Djaq had been wrong to even talk to the man. But Will ignored the voice, even as a hard knot of resentment began to form in his mind. Who was Robin to judge? Indeed, who was this Peter to cast doubt on Djaq? He drew himself to his full height, and stared the man down. “You. You have no business even speaking of my wife.”
Peter did not back down. “It is my business, when it concerns the king. When it concerns fraternizing with the enemy.”
“Fraternizing? What do you think she was doing? Dancing for him?” Will balled his fists at his side, trying his best to control his temper.
Peter smirked. “Doesn’t matter what she was doing, only who.”
Will let go of his restraint and swung hard at Peter, catching him in the jaw. The man went sprawling in the dirt as Will gathered himself for the next blow. Peter scrambled to his feet and tried to hit back, but Much shoved him away and turned on Will.
“Listen. It’s not what you think.” He took his hat off and ran a tired hand through his hair. “It’s just…you know how Robin is about the king.”
“The king? She was trying to help the king!”
“Was Gisborne trying to help the king too?”
“Yes.” Will hesitated. “No. I don’t know what he’s up to. But Much, this isn’t about Gisborne. This is Djaq. She’s not a traitor. You know that!”
Much shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s not just about Djaq though. Robin worries about treason. He worries about the king. He—“
“The king? Think, Much! This is the king who left us in the desert to die.
“Do you know what the king’s done to Djaq’s home? What his men did to her family? To Bassam?” He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, the memory of acrid smoke and blood, the sight of Djaq’s attacker. He shook his head to banish the vision. “Do you know what they nearly did to Djaq?”
“Will—“
“But she’s always been loyal to Robin. Always.” His voice broke as he spoke, and he could not choke out any more words. “And this is how he repays her?”
He closed his eyes, his anger dissolving in a rush of grief. He could barely keep his feet, and overwhelmed, he staggered a bit until Matthew reached out to catch him. He shrugged off the gesture and leaned against a tree.
“How could you let him do this, Much? She was our friend. She was one of us. Don’t you see?
“And where is she going to go? She doesn’t know anyone. She doesn’t have any family here, no friends except us.”
Much walked up to him, and tapped him on the shoulder, a gesture of comfort. “Locksley,” he whispered. “She was headed that way.”
Will shoved Much away. He was beside himself with anger and the anguish of Djaq’s banishment. “I have to go.”
“What? No. You mean to come back, don’t you? You’re one of Robin’s men!”
“No, Much. No. I’m just Djaq’s man now.” There was only one thing left to do. Deliberately, and with as much strength as he could muster, he reached for the cord around his neck and yanked until it snapped.
“You tell Robin. He saved my life. More than once. And for that I’ll always be grateful.” He took one last look at his outlaw tags and then flung them at Much’s feet. “But this is Djaq. He let her down once, and now again. And for that, I can’t ever forgive him.”
He stood up, still unsteady and tried to regroup. Nobody said a word or moved to help him. Methodically, he tightened his tool belt, checked the blade of his axe, and walked away from Sherwood forest.
--
The tall green man and his minions had won. They chased her to the edge of the forest, and when she looked back to see if she’d escaped them, they threw their heads back and laughed, the sound ringing through the trees. The desert spirit held out his hand, a silent command to follow him. She resisted, but he pulled and as he dragged her away, the forest disappeared into the sands of the desert and she had to shield her eyes from the blinding light of the sun.
Djaq startled awake. Matilda’s shed was still dark, but outside, a new day was just beginning. Mist, she thought. In the forest, it covered everything, a ghostly veil shrouding the outlaws from the rest of the world. But here in the village, the mist was feeble as it rose, catching on the tops of thatched houses and low trees, and dissolving into the pale morning sky. Watching it, Djaq shivered, reminded of the tattered banners that had flown over the Sultan’s camp. That was a lifetime ago, when she’d been a soldier, when her life had been dedicated to a purpose. Now, she was nothing.
What was her life if she were no longer an outlaw? For so long, that word—despite its harsh meaning of being outside the law, of being less than alive—had defined her and given her a place of honor and respect she never could have won in this land otherwise. Despite her disappointment with Robin, despite her need to provoke an apology from the man, she’d already decided to go back, to be one of his men again. She had dedicated herself to serving others, whether as a soldier on a battlefield or as a healer in an English forest, and there was nothing else for her here. Am I to be nothing more than a villager, a peasant goodwife?
Even as the words passed through her mind, she regretted the derision she'd attached to them. There was no shame in being an ordinary peasant, and even the most ordinary man could help his fellow man, after all. Her fingers went to her belly. She was going to be a mother, and surely this was a worthy undertaking in itself. She'd have a child to raise, one with a good heart and a good mind. And she'd have Will.
The tight coil of bitterness in her chest unraveled into a shaky thread of remorse. She cast a glance outside, at the solitary figure at the edge of Locksley’s pond. Will had not spoken since they’d rowed the night before. She had thrown angry words at him, called him an impetuous child, and he had accused her of blind loyalty, reminding her that Robin would always care more about king and country and people like Gisborne than he ever did about them. When his anger ran out and when she’d shed all her tears, they’d had nothing left to say to each other, and Will had stormed out. Watching him now, she could feel his exhaustion, see the breaking strain in his body. He stood stock-still, shoulders squared in determination. She imagined the look on his face, the fire in his eyes, the set of his jaw, and she tried, from a distance, to discern his mind.
Why are you so angry? Certainly, he’d suffered, but so had she. So had they all. Why did Will hold on to his rage when the rest of them had let go? After all, she’d lost her entire family, her way of life, her world, but she had faith it could be remade. Allan had fallen off the right path, but he’d walked a twisted road and found his way back, with no ill will lingering in his wake…
The words pricked at her, pieces of a puzzle trying to come together. It was her first look at a page in the book of Will’s life she’d never read before, but it came to her now, a flash of unexpected insight. I’ve forgiven the world. Will has not.
In many ways, her life was so much smaller than it once was, but it had circled back on itself. She'd once been part of a family and lost it all to the cruelty and greed of mankind. But now, she had some semblance of that life back. She had hope again, for a better life, or at least a new one.
But Will's journey was a line that led ever forward. He did not look back because there was no solace in it, only pain at all he’d lost. He'd put distance--in time and place--between himself and the tragedies of his life, but the distance brought no peace, no resolution. He was still fighting, for them, for himself, for her. Will had given her all his hopes and dreams, but kept none for himself. It was time to return the favor. I promised once that you would not be less than you are, and I'll keep that promise, no matter what.
--
Will watched the pond, his eyes narrowed. Every now and then, the surface would stir, an insect landing on a reed and scattering the water. He tried to make his mind focus on just the water, mostly so he wouldn't have to think, about Djaq, about Robin, about all the things he'd done.
His first impulse was to apologize, to take it all back. If Djaq's happiness lay in going back to the gang, then he’d go back. Pride was nothing in comparison. His world had turned on its head the moment she'd first touched her lips to his, and there was no turning back. He was hers to command, to will to whatever she wanted. And if she wanted to be Robin’s man again, there was no other choice.
But doubt gnawed at him, complicating the simple, obvious answer. How could they go back to the forest now, when Robin suspected them—suspected Djaq? If he took back everything he'd said, what was the guarantee Robin could protect them? He hadn't saved Roy, he hadn't saved Dan, he hadn't even saved Marian. Will’s faith in Robin, in that entire way of life, was broken.
He felt a sudden rush of feeling for Allan. I wish you were here. You’d never let this happen. Is this what Allan had struggled with, being left alone with his choices, wanting to go home but not knowing how? Allan’s loyalty to Robin had defeated his fear of the unknown though, despite his knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. Will sighed. Maybe Allan was stronger, maybe he had less pride, or maybe he just had less to lose.
His thoughts wound their way painfully through his mind, and exhausted, Will dropped to his knees at the edge of the pond, making the water ripple and dance. His eyes caught Djaq's watery reflection, and it took a few seconds for his tired mind to catch up.
Will couldn't turn around, couldn't face her. A thousand words crowded on his tongue, but none of them were equal to the moment. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world so he could think only about her, say the things that needed to be said.
His eyes flew open when he felt her hand, so warm, so small, slide into the crook of his arm. Her touch compelled him to act, and when he finally met her eyes, he found no reproach, no disappointment, only concern. Will shook his head gently, dismissing her worry, and wrapped his arms around her, thankful that she understood, as she always did.
They stayed that way for a long time, until the village began to stir around them. Djaq let him go, and he laughed shakily. “So what now?”
She smiled. “Let's go.”
“Where?”
“I don't know. Home. Wherever that is.”
--
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Characters: Allan, Djaq, Robin, Will, Much, OCs (in approximate order of appearance)
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen, het
Warnings: None.
Notes: Many thanks, as always to
hippie_girl_31, beta-reader extraordinaire, cheerleader, and friend. Fair warning: events in this chapter may not necessarily be to every reader's liking. I plead artistic license. Summary: Djaq and Will do stuff, and other stuff happens because of it. Also, I can't write summaries.
Chapter 29. North
She stood in the clearing, trying to ignore the world around her. There were others too—Robin, a few of his men, Little John and his travel companions, all standing around and shuffling their feet, trying not to make too much out of their farewells.
For her part, saying goodbye to Little John was difficult enough, but when it came to Allan, it was like losing a part of herself. Djaq struggled to keep her composure even as tears threatened at her eyes.
Allan's voice was low and soft. “So.”
“So.”
“Time to say goodbye.”
She shook her head, aching from the lump in her throat. “It is not goodbye. You will be back soon.”
He spoke, his voice halting and uncertain. “Will told me. That you might leave.” He dropped his voice to a whisper, “You know, for the baby's sake.”
She allowed herself a moment of surprise. “It is not decided. We may stay here after all.”
“I think Will's decided already though.”
“Has he?”
He put a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to look up and meet his gaze. For once, there was no artifice to Allan, and seeing him like this was strange, but also reassuring.
“Listen, it's not for me to tell you what to do, yeah? But Will's right. You can't stay here. This is no place for a family.
“And yeah, I know this feels like home sometimes, but it's not the same. Not for you.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “Don't think you're getting away from me though. Wherever you two are, I'll find you.”
Djaq managed to return his smile, her despair forgotten for a fleeting moment. “I think you mean it.”
Allan laughed and reached for her hand. He pushed a soft shape into her palm, and it took a moment for Djaq to realize it was a purse.
“I thought you might need a bit of money. For when you leave.”
Djaq shoved the purse back at Allan reflexively. “I don't need—we don't need this.”
He looked stricken. “It's not stolen or nothing.” He offered the money again. “It's my wages from when I worked for the Sheriff. Or what's left of it.”
She said nothing, her mind still repulsed at the idea of taking Allan's blood money.
He chuckled. “I guess it's about the same as stolen. But in an honest way.”
Djaq acknowledged the irony with a smirk. “I still can't take it. You might need it yourself.”
Allan pondered that for a moment. “Fine. You take half, then.” He tipped the purse out, and stuffed some coins into his pocket, giving Djaq the rest. “Just take it, will you?”
She fought against the urge to refuse again, realizing that the others were still there, awkwardly trying not to hear or see.
“Fine.” Djaq pushed the purse deep into a pocket. “You should get going. The others will want to be on their way.”
She watched as Allan took stock of his travel companions. He clucked his tongue. “I'm off on this great adventure. And look at the people I'm going with.”
“I'm sure they will be fine, Allan.”
“It's not them I'm worried about. Not bein' funny--”
“You never are.”
He raised an eyebrow at her, the expression dissolving into his usual grin. “Don't miss me too much.”
“It will be difficult,” she added, only half in jest. “But I will try. Now go.”
They had said all the words that needed saying, and Djaq sent him on his way with a quick embrace, a peck on the cheek and a silent prayer to his God and hers to keep him safe. It wasn't until he'd walked off into the distance that the tears finally came.
--
Just like that, Allan was gone. It was inevitable in a way that things in the forest would change, that they would lose their friends, to war, to time, to life. But Allan was the reason she and Will had come back, even if they'd never spoken explicitly of it. All the while they'd been away, their thoughts had turned to their old friend, and they'd worried over his return to Robin's side and what temptation might throw in his path again. They'd been delighted to see him again, knowing that he was changed but still very much their Allan. And now he was gone.
It took her a long while to come back to herself, and Robin watched her now, his face a mask of concern. Djaq scrubbed at her eyes, embarrassed at the show of emotion. She brushed off Robin's attempt to console her. “I am alright.”
He nodded, looking uncertain. Djaq gave him an apologetic smile. “I am sorry. I did not mean to be...as I've been today.”
He scoffed, dismissing the apology. “So, are you headed back to Newstead now?”
“No,” she said, without hesitation. “I need to write those letters we spoke of before. And then, I may go to...” She stopped short, not wanting to flaunt her happiness and wound the man before her.
Robin guessed at the rest anyway. “Torloton?”
Djaq smiled, sheepish. “Am I that obvious?”
“No,” he chuckled. “Just making an educated guess.”
She shuffled her feet, the conversation as awkward as any she'd ever had with Robin, and with good reason. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to--”
He held up a hand and stopped her. “You don't have to be sorry for me. I don't grudge you—or Will—your happiness, you know.”
“I know.” They stared at each other for several minutes, and Djaq willed Robin to understand. At length, with no words left to say, he nodded in her direction and stepped away.
She called out to him and waited until he turned. “You'll find it again, you know.”
“What?”
“You may not find again exactly what you've lost. But there is still joy in this world, and I pray Allah will grant you your share.”
When he spoke, his eyes were sad, his voice weary. “Pray instead that we get our king back, that justice is done. That matters more to me than joy.”
–
Will heaved the wooden beam over his shoulder to pass it to Matthew, squinting to see better in the darkness of the cave. They were done with the coin chests Robin needed, and Matthew had since cut notches into an inner wall deep in the cave. Will had the idea of building a storeroom for the root crops, fruit and cheese the gang had accumulated over the summer months. This part of the cave was dry and out of sight, and it made a better hold for their food than the abandoned barns and storehouses Robin favored.
He was glad to have a task at hand, to keep his mind from turning to other things. But it was a struggle, and at length, he gave up and let his thoughts turn to Allan's departure. At first, he'd wanted to go with his friend, bid him a proper farewell with all the others, but when the time came, he changed his mind. What needed to be said had been said, and the rest would just be bluster on both their parts. More than that, Will could not say goodbye. It was too final, like the last nail in the coffin of his life with Allan. For all of the man's misdeeds, and for all his own anger, he was not ready to bury their friendship, not yet.
Still, Djaq will miss Allan too, and I should have been there for her. That sobered him, a reminder that he was not alone, either in joy or misery. He sighed, glad he was at least meeting her in the old camp later.
Matthew caught the sound and gave him an odd look. “Are you alright?”
Will frowned at him. “Yes. Never mind me. Are the shelves in?”
Matthew retreated, muttering about notches not cut deep enough. Chuckling, Will followed him into the cave. They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes before Matthew spoke.
“So, do you ever wonder?”
Will raised an eyebrow. “About what?”
“About whether we’re really helping people.” Matthew scratched his head. “What if we’re wrong? What if Robin's wrong?”
Will frowned, sensing a shadow of his own doubts in Matthew's words. “Wrong about what?”
“About everything. About...justice.” Matthew stood abruptly and began to pace the width of the cave. “How can we do justice, if we're just as bad as everyone else?”
“What?”
“We steal, just like the Sheriff does. Only difference is he calls it a tax, and we don't!”
“It's not the same. We don't do what the Sheriff does. We don't steal from the poor--”
“Don't we? When was the last time we asked a man if he was a peasant or a landlord?” Matthew's voice shook with his growing frustration. “Last month, Allan took a purse off a nun!”
Will snickered at that. It was true that Robin and his men were not very discriminating about the travelers they robbed. But they never kept any money for themselves; every last penny went to helping others, and was that not a good thing? Then again, things had changed for Robin's band of outlaws. Now they were the king's soldiers and the coin they raised would go straight to the king. His eyes fell on the wooden chests he and Matthew had made to collect the king's ransom. The poor won't be seeing any of the money...what are we still doing here?
He gave Matthew a frank look. “Listen. It doesn’t matter if Robin is right. Or if the king is right. What matters is that we help, that people are better off with us than without.” He pondered for a moment. “You don’t even have to be here to help, in the end.”
“We are Robin Hood and all that?”
Will laughed. “Yes. Just so”
–
Djaq watched Will peel off a long strip of dried bark from one of the wall posts of the old camp. They sat close, but his mind was miles away as he turned the wood over in his hands.
“What are you doing?”
He shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just thinking.” Will swung the bark out and it arced away from him gracefully. “My dad, he used to make angles out of bark like this. For me and Luke.” He chuckled as he threw the wood away. “Dad taught us to fish, but Luke always caught more than me.”
“I see.” It was odd to hear Will speak of his family. As long as Djaq had known him, as well as she knew him, his own stories remained hidden from her. “Tell me more.”
He gave her a blank look. “There's not much to tell.”
Djaq sighed and took a different tack. She brought his hand to her belly. “Maybe you can teach your own son one day.”
That got his attention. He colored a bit and then ducked his head, almost embarrassed. “That would be...” He arched an eyebrow at her. “You know we're having a boy?”
“No. But the child is either a girl or a boy. So I'm half-right.”
He laughed, a good sound that echoed through the camp and warmed her heart. “So. Have you thought of names yet?”
Djaq frowned. “You know, among my people, children are not named until after their birth.”
He knit his eyebrows, intently focused on her. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Some superstition. But the choosing is of no consequence anyway. A boy is named for his father's father, and a girl for her father's mother.” She took his hand and smiled. “So if this babe is a boy, he'll be called Dan.”
He grinned, but the expression fell away quickly. “And what about your father? Your mother? Don't you want to use their names?”
Djaq shook her head. “That is not the way of things.” She thought of her brother, of how it would have been his privilege to name his children after their parents, and how his life, his children, his bloodline, had been sacrificed to steel and fire. She felt a sharp pain her throat and had to swallow hard to dispel it. “They will have to be remembered in some other way.”
He wrapped his arms around but said nothing, and she was glad for his silence. This grief, the one lasting regret of her life, was hers alone, and Will seemed to understand that.
They sat that way, in companionable silence, watching the sun go down through the broken slats of the camp roof. At length, Will stretched out his long legs. “Do you want to just stay here tonight? I mean, if you're tired--”
“That would be good. But at first light, I have to go.” She shuffled her feet, rushes crackling under her boots. “I need to speak to Gisborne.”
Will stiffened. “Djaq, I don't think...” He didn't finish the sentence, but his meaning was clear enough.
She bristled. “I need to learn a few things, Will. Robin needs to.”
“Fine. I'll come with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
This time, there was no protest. Instead, Will drew her gently into his arms, and whispered into her hair. “Just be careful. Alright?”
“Alright.”
–
Djaq pulled the hood of her cloak low over her face and stuck as close to the walls of the tavern as possible. She had the odd sense of being followed, but she could not spot her pursuer. At length, Djaq decided she was imagining things. Will had put worry in her mind and it was beginning to prey on her better judgment. She ducked into the darkened tavern and cast an eye about for Gisborne. He was nowhere to be seen, but the cowled monk who was often in his company beckoned her over.
She hesitated, as wary of him as he might have been of a mullah. But his demeanor was polite, his smile welcoming. As she approached him, he rose and moved off into the shadows, beckoning her to follow. Confused, Djaq hesitated at first, but a pointed look from the tavern keeper convinced her to follow. The monk stopped short near a back wall, well out of sight of others in the room. Will's words of caution rang in her ears, and she bent her knee a little, until she felt the nudge of her dagger's leather sheath on her calf. Reassured, she nodded in his direction as she joined him.
“Brother Tuck.”
He inclined his head politely. “I apologize for the mystery. And the darkness. There’s a small problem.”
“Where is Gisborne?”
“That's the problem. Sir Guy believes he's been seen, and that compromises his plans.” He raised an eyebrow. “And perhaps yours as well?”
“My plans are of no consequence. I come because I was promised information.”
“And you shall have it.” He took in a deep breath and launched straight into it. “Longchamp is delayed.”
“Delayed.”
Brother Tuck nodded. “Aye, and not for pleasant reasons. Longchamp is a man of God, and a man of power. So he has enemies.”
“Like the Sheriff?”
“Yes, but also others who are less...worldly, but more capable. There are others in the Church who favor Prince John over the king, and they do not take kindly to Longchamp interfering with their plans.
“We believe he goes to France, and probably in disguise. At last count, he was in a party of monks traveling south from York.”
Djaq's mind began to spin. A wealthy man traveling with a retinue through the forest was easy enough to waylay, but a party of monks was a different story. And what if Longchamp changed his disguise along the way? Robin would need to have his men all over the forest, blocking every route and ambushing every traveler.
Djaq knitted her eyebrows together, trying to focus. “And what of the money? A man dressed as a monk but carrying a king's ransom would surely draw suspicion.”
“We believe he may have deposited elsewhere. In an abbey church, or perhaps as a promissory note with merchants. Perhaps even here in Nottingham.”
“With the idea of collecting it as he passes through?”
“Perhaps. I cannot say for certain. I only know that Robin, indeed anyone on the side of the king, must tread carefully.
“Robin must find Longchamp, take him into his custody and ensure his safe journey to France, ransom or not. The man is at least as important as the money.”
Djaq nodded, putting together the story as she'd present it to Robin. Perhaps the monks at Newstead would know this Longchamp's whereabouts, what he looks like, how to find him. Her mind began to spin, weaving possible solutions. What if he were not a monk? What if he were dressed as a different sort of man, or even a woman?
“I have to go. Is there anything else I should know?”
Tuck reached into the folds of his robe. “There is one thing. Sir Guy asked me to give you this.”
She hesitated, unsure, before holding out her hand. A small object dropped into her palm, a ring with a green stone set in silver. Djaq frowned. “What is it?”
“I believe it once belonged to Lady Marian.”
Djaq nearly dropped the ring in shock. It felt suddenly too heavy, too hot to hold on to. “Is this a joke? A cruel one?”
Tuck shook his head, his expression sad. “No. I think it's meant to be a gift. A token...of Sir Guy's remorse perhaps.”
“What am I supposed to do with it?” The words came unbidden, but she knew the answer even as she spoke them.
“Give it to Robin of Locksley. Not now. But one day, when the time is right.”
–
Robin paced the forest floor with such determination that he began to wear a rut in the dirt. Peter of Doncaster chuckled loudly enough to get his attention. “What are you so worried about anyhow?”
Robin glared at him and kept pacing, lost in his thoughts, which turned to king and country, but mostly to Longchamp and money. They'd find the man, of course. He was certain of that. But when Djaq had stopped by earlier and told him that Longchamp traveled in disguise, and perhaps with no money, a shadow of doubt fell on his plans. Even if they had the money, how would they manage to get it to France without being waylaid themselves? There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers. Men like Peter, who seemed more his shadow now than even Much, did not make things easier.
Peter persisted. “Are you worried we might not have all the right information?”
Robin stopped and narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you mean?”
“You know, like your Saracen, she's just telling you things she heard, listenin' in at keyholes.” Peter shuffled his feet. “Unless of course she's not.”
“What?”
“Don't you think it's strange? The way she just hears things?”
Robin shook his head. “If you're asking if I suspect Djaq, I don't.”
“Even if you knew where she'd been lately?”
Robin shrugged. “What my men do on their own time is their business.” Robin drew himself to full height. “Why? Why all these questions?”
Peter's shrug mirrored Robin's. “Just thought she was acting a bit odd, like. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t up to nothin’.” He gave Robin a pointed look. “Maybe just for my own sake.”
Robin crossed his arms in a show of silent defiance, but he could not deny his curiosity. Peter never said much, and if he was willing to take Robin down this crooked trail of thoughts, there had to be a reason for it.
“She's been going to this tavern, right? Out in Hartshead.”
Hartshead? That was outside the part of the forest Robin's men usually watched. Djaq could not have just chanced on the place. Still, this was Djaq. “So what?” Robin kept his voice measured, carefully indifferent.
“Do you care who she talks to?” Peter mirrored Robin's arm-crossing gesture, a smirk giving his scarred face a frightening twist. “I saw her. Not just once, but three times. With a man. A strange man, dressed all in black leather.”
The hair on the back of Robin's neck stood up. No. It could not be. He was dead! And even if he wasn’t, Djaq would never...
Peter shrugged, a gesture of innocence. “I didn't know who the man was, mind. I thought he looked... shifty, so I asked around.
“Turns out he used to live around these parts. Maybe you've heard of him. Goes by the name of Gisborne. Guy of Gisborne.”
–
Djaq clambered up the hill, rolls of parchment rustling in her hands as she climbed. She was already a bit late for the day's second rendezvous with Robin. She would have come sooner, if Much hadn't insisted on joining her. He'd gone on and on about not having seen Robin in days, and resigned, she'd accepted his company. But Much had surprised her by being an engaging, even humorous, companion and when they arrived at their rendezvous, she was almost sorry the trip was over.
Much grimaced. “Dead Man's Crossing. Never liked that name.”
She chuckled. “Why do they call it that?”
“I don't know. But I don't like it. Nothing good comes from names like that.” He shivered as if to confirm the bad omen, increasing Djaq's amusement.
Much railed on. “I'm sure Robin picked this place just to scare me. He likes to do that, you know.”
Djaq sighed. “Much.”
Much shuffled his feet and lapsed into silence. Around them, the leaves rustled for a few seconds before silence, an eerie stillness, fell on the place. The name of the clearing made perfect sense in that moment, and neither of them broke the pall with words.
At length, Much waved his hands towards a path from the north. “Here's Robin now. And that other one, Peter.”
Djaq smirked. “You don't like Peter?”
“No. And he has that scar. You shouldn't trust a man with a scar.”
She thought of the horrible gash across Will's stomach, the one that had bled so much when she'd tried to sew him back together. Djaq swallowed and added in a small voice, “Honest men have scars too.”
“Not on their faces they don't.”
As the two men neared, Peter's twisted face gave truth to Much's words, and Djaq cringed a little, despite the gruesome wounds she'd seen in battle. But it wasn't just the man's face. His manner, his deliberate gait conveyed a sense of purpose, of danger, she was not prepared for. She took in a deep breath and walked ahead, pulling a parchment scroll out of her pocket.
“Robin. It's good to see you.” Much's voice broke out over the clearing and the tension in the air eased somewhat.
Robin nodded a terse greeting in his direction and pinned his eyes on Djaq. His eyes were dark, his brow furrowed. He was clearly troubled, and that was hardly surprising given their circumstance.
She held out the scroll, meeting Robin's eyes evenly. “The monks at Newstead did not say they'd heard from Longchamp. But they did not say they hadn’t either. And they were not willing to tell me much else. The rest is here, I think.”
Robin took the scroll in silence and shoved it into a pocket, his eyes still on Djaq.
Much scowled. “Aren't you going to read that? It might be important.”
Robin ignored the question, his face a mask, prompting Djaq to speak. “Are you...alright?”
“How do you know these things, Djaq? The things you tell me.”
A sudden chill came over Djaq and she pulled her cloak tight around herself. “People talk. I listen.”
“What sort of people?” Peter's eyes were bright, his face a sneer as he spoke.
Djaq fixed him with a look of scorn. “It is not your concern, is it?”
“'Course it's my concern.”
“Who are you?”
Peter pulled himself to his full height and took a menacing step towards Djaq, but Robin stopped him, pushing the man back behind him.
“I think the better question is who you are, Djaq.” Robin's voice was even, but there was an edge to it, as sharp as new-forged steel.
“I don't know what—”
Robin waved the others away, and they dissolved into the forest, cowed by their leader’s anger. Only Much stayed, Robin’s silent and morose shadow.
Robin strode towards her, and took her arm. His words were spoken in a desperate whisper. “Tell me, Djaq. Tell me it's not true. Tell me anything, and I swear, on my honour, I will believe you.”
Djaq looked away, overcome with guilt she had not owned until that moment. She shook her head.
He let go of her arm, and in that small gesture, she felt the world tilt. Her bond with Robin had been marked by mutual respect and honesty, but now a rift had opened between them, a chasm of suspicion that could not be bridged without great effort.
"Robin, I can explain. I--"
He did not hear. "Gisborne?”
Much gasped. “Gisborne? Gisborne! No, it’s not possible.” But his disbelief fell on deaf ears. Robin ignored him, and turned his attention fully to Djaq. “Of all people, how could you even consider talking to him? Confiding in him?"
Djaq bristled. "Confiding? You have to know I'd never share a confidence with him. Indeed, if anything, he has shared his with me. With us."
Robin’s face conveyed nothing, but his voice was icy. “How can you trust that whatever he’s told you—these confidences—are true?”
Color rose in his face and lit his fury. “This is a man who tried to kill the king, and not just once. He killed…” His voice trailed off and he could not finish the thought, his face twisting in remembered agony.
The blood had drained out of Much’s face. “How could you, Djaq?” His voice was barely audible, not an accusation but a plea for an explanation. “Of all people, him?”
Djaq closed her eyes, willing the words to come to her. “I saw no reason not to trust him. Everything he’s said to me has been—“
Robin spat the words at her. “You forgive him so easily?”
She shook her head. “It is not for us to forgive, or condemn. That is for Allah alone.” She struggled with her thoughts, for words to explain the inexplicable. “But no man is wholly evil who once loved, and—“
“Loved? Have you lost your mind?”
To this, Djaq had no answer. She believed in reason, in the cold logic of her own mind, and yet, she had loved and knew there was no greater insanity in the world. Gisborne’s rage was that of the scorned lover, and Robin’s that of the grieving husband. They’d all come to this pass because of love, and yet, the word—so short, so trivial—was inadequate to the moment.
Dejected, she sighed. “What does it matter? You have information you needed, and others have proven its truth already. I don’t—“
“It matters, Djaq. It matters because you didn’t tell me. It matters because you were dishonest with me.” The implication of betrayal hung heavy in the air between them.
He turned away from her, a gesture of dismissal. A flash of insight came to Djaq, as white-hot and startling as a lightning bolt. “Are you sending me away?”
“What?”
“Are you banishing me? It is what you do to those who betray you, is it not?” She regretted the accusation, but the words were out of her lips, and they gave her the strength to stand before him, defiant and undefeated.
Much piped up, appalled. “No, of course not. You’re—“
She put a hand up to silence him. “Robin. Am I banished?”
He scowled at her. “I cannot have those around me consorting with the enemy. This I cannot—“
“Am I banished?”
"I have to know that I can still trust you, Djaq!"
“That is not the answer to my question. Am I banished?"
There was warning in Robin’s face, a sign that she’d pushed too far. But Djaq could not stop. She was impressing her will on his, and she was winning. So what if the victory was hollow and bitter. Again, she asked the question. This time, Robin wheeled on her.
"That—"
She persisted. "Am I banished? Tell me."
Exasperated, Robin flung the words at her. "Yes. Damn it, yes!"
"Very well." She gathered herself, moving with deliberate slowness, knowing their eyes were on her. "I wish you well, Robin." She lifted up her tag and smiled at him, even as her resolve weakened and her stomach threatened. "Never forget the outlaws."
Much's voice broke the tension. "Robin, do something! She's leaving. She’s really leaving." He was frantic, but when Robin turned and walked off into the clearing, Much panicked. "Master, you cannot let this happen. You can't—"
He ran after Djaq in the other direction. "Don't go. He's just angry. You know how Robin is. He'll come around, you'll see." He grabbed her arm and yanked, the gesture more powerful than he'd intended.
Djaq winced a little. "Much. Let me go."
He released her arm, horrified. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" He begged her. "You can't go. You just can't."
"I can’t stay, Much. Not after all that, not just yet. If you ever thought of me as a friend, then let me go. Let me have this last dignity."
He frowned at her, reluctant, but knowing he had to let her go. "Where will you go?"
Djaq shook her head sadly.
"Promise me you'll be careful." He smiled sadly. "You know. For Will's sake."
She was tempted to laugh, but the thought of Will made her want to weep at the same time, and she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. "May your Christian God bless you, Much, and your good heart."
He looked away, too moved to reply, and Djaq sighed and headed out into the murky darkness of the priory close.
–
Will set the chest down with a thunk, nodding at Matthew. They smiled at each other, acknowledgment of a job well done. Despite its hollow posts and side walls, the chest weighed enough to take two men to haul it. They’d set out early in the day from Torloton and made their way through the forest to the rendezvous point with Robin. They’d had to stop a few times to rest their shoulders and arms, and it was almost dusk by the time they reached their destination.
He was content with the quality of his work, and although he did not seek out praise for his craftsmanship, a tiny part of him relished the attention and took pride in it. More than that, he enjoyed the look on Djaq’s face when he unveiled a plan or a structure she had never contemplated. It allowed him to be, even if only for a moment, king of the world around him.
He was missing her more than usual too. The feel of her skin on his had lingered hours after they’d parted that morning, leaving him frustrated and distracted. Only the chest, the task of transporting it to Robin, had relieved some of the tension. Now he just wanted it all to be over so he could fall into her arms.
They picked up the chest again, Matthew grunting from the effort. Leaves rustled under their feet, and in the distance, Will could just make out one of Robin’s men stanching the campfire to avoid detection. As they neared the doused fire, Will whistled into the darkness, making his presence known.
Shapes came out of the shadows, ghosts at first, but after a moment, men with bows and arrows, Much in the lead. As they neared, Will could make out their faces, silent but worried.
He raised an eyebrow in Much’s direction. “Is Robin not here yet?”
Much winced. “He—he’s gone. I mean, not gone, really. He’s just off to Newstead.”
“Right. Well, here’s the chest he wanted.” He gave Matthew a quick smile and waited for a reaction, but none came. Stonefaced men stared blankly at the two of them, and for once, even Much was at a loss for words.
Matthew stepped into the silence. “It’s pretty clever, actually. See, we had to figure out how to fill it with coin, but make it look like it was still empty.” He flipped open the lid of the chest with a flourish, and then pulled out the plugs in the side wall and posts to reveal the hidden compartments inside. A murmur of interest went up, and Will could hear faint whispers, but nobody approached them. He scanned the faces of the men for clues, and belatedly, he noticed the one face he wanted to see was missing.
“Where’s Djaq?”
A pall fell over the clearing, sudden and eerie. He turned to Much. “Where is Djaq?”
Much looked stricken, the blood draining from his face. “Listen, Will—“
Will could barely hear his words over his own rising anger, a rush of blood beating against his eardrums. He pounced on Much, nearly knocking him over. “Where is she? What’s happened to her?”
Much scrambled out of his way, distraught. “Look, I’m trying to tell you. Robin…sent her away. They…they…had a row.”
It took several minutes for the words to make sense to Will. “What? He sent her…away?”
Peter’s chuckle broke out over the clearing. “Don’t be so coy, like you don’t know.” He stepped in front of Will, shielding Much with an arm. “He found out, didn’t he? About her and Guy of Gisborne.”
Will's heart sank. It was too much to expect that anyone—especially Robin—would understand about Gisborne. A niggling voice in the back of his head whispered that Djaq had been wrong to even talk to the man. But Will ignored the voice, even as a hard knot of resentment began to form in his mind. Who was Robin to judge? Indeed, who was this Peter to cast doubt on Djaq? He drew himself to his full height, and stared the man down. “You. You have no business even speaking of my wife.”
Peter did not back down. “It is my business, when it concerns the king. When it concerns fraternizing with the enemy.”
“Fraternizing? What do you think she was doing? Dancing for him?” Will balled his fists at his side, trying his best to control his temper.
Peter smirked. “Doesn’t matter what she was doing, only who.”
Will let go of his restraint and swung hard at Peter, catching him in the jaw. The man went sprawling in the dirt as Will gathered himself for the next blow. Peter scrambled to his feet and tried to hit back, but Much shoved him away and turned on Will.
“Listen. It’s not what you think.” He took his hat off and ran a tired hand through his hair. “It’s just…you know how Robin is about the king.”
“The king? She was trying to help the king!”
“Was Gisborne trying to help the king too?”
“Yes.” Will hesitated. “No. I don’t know what he’s up to. But Much, this isn’t about Gisborne. This is Djaq. She’s not a traitor. You know that!”
Much shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s not just about Djaq though. Robin worries about treason. He worries about the king. He—“
“The king? Think, Much! This is the king who left us in the desert to die.
“Do you know what the king’s done to Djaq’s home? What his men did to her family? To Bassam?” He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, the memory of acrid smoke and blood, the sight of Djaq’s attacker. He shook his head to banish the vision. “Do you know what they nearly did to Djaq?”
“Will—“
“But she’s always been loyal to Robin. Always.” His voice broke as he spoke, and he could not choke out any more words. “And this is how he repays her?”
He closed his eyes, his anger dissolving in a rush of grief. He could barely keep his feet, and overwhelmed, he staggered a bit until Matthew reached out to catch him. He shrugged off the gesture and leaned against a tree.
“How could you let him do this, Much? She was our friend. She was one of us. Don’t you see?
“And where is she going to go? She doesn’t know anyone. She doesn’t have any family here, no friends except us.”
Much walked up to him, and tapped him on the shoulder, a gesture of comfort. “Locksley,” he whispered. “She was headed that way.”
Will shoved Much away. He was beside himself with anger and the anguish of Djaq’s banishment. “I have to go.”
“What? No. You mean to come back, don’t you? You’re one of Robin’s men!”
“No, Much. No. I’m just Djaq’s man now.” There was only one thing left to do. Deliberately, and with as much strength as he could muster, he reached for the cord around his neck and yanked until it snapped.
“You tell Robin. He saved my life. More than once. And for that I’ll always be grateful.” He took one last look at his outlaw tags and then flung them at Much’s feet. “But this is Djaq. He let her down once, and now again. And for that, I can’t ever forgive him.”
He stood up, still unsteady and tried to regroup. Nobody said a word or moved to help him. Methodically, he tightened his tool belt, checked the blade of his axe, and walked away from Sherwood forest.
--
The tall green man and his minions had won. They chased her to the edge of the forest, and when she looked back to see if she’d escaped them, they threw their heads back and laughed, the sound ringing through the trees. The desert spirit held out his hand, a silent command to follow him. She resisted, but he pulled and as he dragged her away, the forest disappeared into the sands of the desert and she had to shield her eyes from the blinding light of the sun.
Djaq startled awake. Matilda’s shed was still dark, but outside, a new day was just beginning. Mist, she thought. In the forest, it covered everything, a ghostly veil shrouding the outlaws from the rest of the world. But here in the village, the mist was feeble as it rose, catching on the tops of thatched houses and low trees, and dissolving into the pale morning sky. Watching it, Djaq shivered, reminded of the tattered banners that had flown over the Sultan’s camp. That was a lifetime ago, when she’d been a soldier, when her life had been dedicated to a purpose. Now, she was nothing.
What was her life if she were no longer an outlaw? For so long, that word—despite its harsh meaning of being outside the law, of being less than alive—had defined her and given her a place of honor and respect she never could have won in this land otherwise. Despite her disappointment with Robin, despite her need to provoke an apology from the man, she’d already decided to go back, to be one of his men again. She had dedicated herself to serving others, whether as a soldier on a battlefield or as a healer in an English forest, and there was nothing else for her here. Am I to be nothing more than a villager, a peasant goodwife?
Even as the words passed through her mind, she regretted the derision she'd attached to them. There was no shame in being an ordinary peasant, and even the most ordinary man could help his fellow man, after all. Her fingers went to her belly. She was going to be a mother, and surely this was a worthy undertaking in itself. She'd have a child to raise, one with a good heart and a good mind. And she'd have Will.
The tight coil of bitterness in her chest unraveled into a shaky thread of remorse. She cast a glance outside, at the solitary figure at the edge of Locksley’s pond. Will had not spoken since they’d rowed the night before. She had thrown angry words at him, called him an impetuous child, and he had accused her of blind loyalty, reminding her that Robin would always care more about king and country and people like Gisborne than he ever did about them. When his anger ran out and when she’d shed all her tears, they’d had nothing left to say to each other, and Will had stormed out. Watching him now, she could feel his exhaustion, see the breaking strain in his body. He stood stock-still, shoulders squared in determination. She imagined the look on his face, the fire in his eyes, the set of his jaw, and she tried, from a distance, to discern his mind.
Why are you so angry? Certainly, he’d suffered, but so had she. So had they all. Why did Will hold on to his rage when the rest of them had let go? After all, she’d lost her entire family, her way of life, her world, but she had faith it could be remade. Allan had fallen off the right path, but he’d walked a twisted road and found his way back, with no ill will lingering in his wake…
The words pricked at her, pieces of a puzzle trying to come together. It was her first look at a page in the book of Will’s life she’d never read before, but it came to her now, a flash of unexpected insight. I’ve forgiven the world. Will has not.
In many ways, her life was so much smaller than it once was, but it had circled back on itself. She'd once been part of a family and lost it all to the cruelty and greed of mankind. But now, she had some semblance of that life back. She had hope again, for a better life, or at least a new one.
But Will's journey was a line that led ever forward. He did not look back because there was no solace in it, only pain at all he’d lost. He'd put distance--in time and place--between himself and the tragedies of his life, but the distance brought no peace, no resolution. He was still fighting, for them, for himself, for her. Will had given her all his hopes and dreams, but kept none for himself. It was time to return the favor. I promised once that you would not be less than you are, and I'll keep that promise, no matter what.
--
Will watched the pond, his eyes narrowed. Every now and then, the surface would stir, an insect landing on a reed and scattering the water. He tried to make his mind focus on just the water, mostly so he wouldn't have to think, about Djaq, about Robin, about all the things he'd done.
His first impulse was to apologize, to take it all back. If Djaq's happiness lay in going back to the gang, then he’d go back. Pride was nothing in comparison. His world had turned on its head the moment she'd first touched her lips to his, and there was no turning back. He was hers to command, to will to whatever she wanted. And if she wanted to be Robin’s man again, there was no other choice.
But doubt gnawed at him, complicating the simple, obvious answer. How could they go back to the forest now, when Robin suspected them—suspected Djaq? If he took back everything he'd said, what was the guarantee Robin could protect them? He hadn't saved Roy, he hadn't saved Dan, he hadn't even saved Marian. Will’s faith in Robin, in that entire way of life, was broken.
He felt a sudden rush of feeling for Allan. I wish you were here. You’d never let this happen. Is this what Allan had struggled with, being left alone with his choices, wanting to go home but not knowing how? Allan’s loyalty to Robin had defeated his fear of the unknown though, despite his knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again. Will sighed. Maybe Allan was stronger, maybe he had less pride, or maybe he just had less to lose.
His thoughts wound their way painfully through his mind, and exhausted, Will dropped to his knees at the edge of the pond, making the water ripple and dance. His eyes caught Djaq's watery reflection, and it took a few seconds for his tired mind to catch up.
Will couldn't turn around, couldn't face her. A thousand words crowded on his tongue, but none of them were equal to the moment. He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world so he could think only about her, say the things that needed to be said.
His eyes flew open when he felt her hand, so warm, so small, slide into the crook of his arm. Her touch compelled him to act, and when he finally met her eyes, he found no reproach, no disappointment, only concern. Will shook his head gently, dismissing her worry, and wrapped his arms around her, thankful that she understood, as she always did.
They stayed that way for a long time, until the village began to stir around them. Djaq let him go, and he laughed shakily. “So what now?”
She smiled. “Let's go.”
“Where?”
“I don't know. Home. Wherever that is.”
--
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no subject
Date: 2012-03-23 04:53 am (UTC)I'll give it a (re)read and then come back and leave comments. I really am so glad you're still writing this and have no plans to abandon it. It saddens me to think of how many intriguing W/D stories I've begun reading over the years, only to have the author abandon them at some point.
:)
no subject
Date: 2012-03-23 01:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-24 05:32 am (UTC)“Tell me, Djaq. Tell me it's not true. Tell me anything, and I swear, on my honour, I will believe you.”
This, from Robin, was kind of heartbreaking and I feel like it sort if sums him up rather well. He's the leader and even maybe (as he sees it) the moral compass of everyone around him, friends as well as enemies, but it's a burden he carries reluctantly (though, of course, it's a role he assigned himself). And I think that sometimes he just wishes he could not know the things he knows. That he could close his eyes to things and not have to make the hard choices, again and again and again, always losing something important to him along the way. He's almost asking her to lie to him so he won't have to make the choice he knows he'll have to make otherwise. Does any of this even make sense, lol? I feel like I'm rambling a little here. (But what else is new? :))
I also found Djaq's stubborness here to be very interesting. She's a soldier and a loyal friend and she'd follow Robin to Hell and back without question. But impending motherhood has brought out the tigress in her and, for the first time, she's calling Robin on his sh*t. (sorry for being a potty mouth)
“Are you banishing me? It is what you do to those who betray you, is it not?”
I assume she is alluding to Allan's (earlier) dismissal and I wonder if she's been holding onto some guilt over not standing up for him more when he was revealed as Gisborne's spy.
Ah, so much great stuff going on in this chapter.
I find it interesting, as well, that Robin did not show up to face Will. He left it to Much and the others. I actually feel very sorry for Robin in this chapter, even more so after a second reading. But, at the end of the day, this is mainly his own doing. He's made himself almost completely unapproachable to his men, and, even sadder, to his friends. Post-Allan's betrayal and especially since Marian's death, there's no way any of them would consider telling him anything that might make him snap. Of course, I'm not judging him for not trusting Gisborne. Why would he? But had he been more approachable, Djaq would surely have come to him about it.
Anyway, I didn't mean to make this all about Robin. You've written some wonderful W/D moments here and the goodbye between Djaq and Allan was both sad and sweet at the same time.
And I just have to tell you again how glad I am that you're still writing this. Great job! :)
BTW, I decided to go ahead and change my LJ name after all (for the reasons we previously discussed) and since I don't know when it will actually change over, I didn't want you wondering who this new weird person commenting on your fic was. ;)
no subject
Date: 2012-03-24 02:40 pm (UTC)And I think that sometimes he just wishes he could not know the things he knows.
Exactly. I think he's basically asking her to tell him anything halfway credible so he can dismiss the whole thing and not worry about it any more. But Djaq's not going to lie to him, especially when she's being challenged. Robin is now so dogged and so single-minded in pursuit of his mission that he can't think beyond the king's safety at this point. And yes, as you say, nobody could really blame him for not trusting Gisborne.
no subject
Date: 2012-03-27 01:02 am (UTC)First, and probably not surprisingly (sorry), was the parting scene between Allan and Djaq. It was sweet and sad, hit all those warm notes that can happen between them, as well as some awkwardness with the money, and then trying to lighten the atmosphere somewhat. It feels like a very real goodbye, though, because they really are uncertain if they’ll see each other again. Even if Allan returns, chances are that Djaq and Will will be gone. I find it interesting that Will couldn’t face the reality of Allan leaving, as if formally saying goodbye and watching him go would really mean the end of everything between them. I really love the idea that Allan was the reason Will and Djaq returned to Sherwood, but it also makes it seem that much more bitter that no sooner do they find him again than he’s gone.
I really like both conversations that Djaq has with Robin. I find it very moving that in the first one he would tell her she doesn’t have to feel sorry for him and that she should be happy with Will, that he doesn’t begrudge them their joy. It’s a very short and simple conversation, but I think there’s a fair amount of respect between Robin and Djaq, and I just appreciate their candor with each other over this most difficult of subjects.
The confrontation between Djaq and Robin intrigues me. In some way, I feel that Djaq was pushing him to banish her almost because she’d made up her mind to leave anyway. Of course, Djaq would not lie to Robin, and she would expect (rightly so, I believe) that Robin should trust her because she’s never given him any reason to doubt her loyalty. But I also think Djaq would understand that when it comes to Gisborne, Robin is simply not rational, with good reason. It surprises me that she pushes him so hard here, and so the explanation I come up with is that she already knows she can’t stay anyway. It’s a very Robin moment, in some ways, and yet he seems so reluctant to banish her, almost pleading for her to give him a reason not to, and she won’t. It’s as if she forces the situation as the further proof she needs that she must leave. I’ve no idea if this is what you had in mind. Is it?
no subject
Date: 2012-03-27 03:03 am (UTC)I think it's a very hard thing for Will and Djaq to face, but on the other hand, it's not like they were planning to stay forever. I think the task of saying goodbye to Allan is tougher partly because it happens before Will and Djaq are fully ready for it.
It surprises me that she pushes him so hard here, and so the explanation I come up with is that she already knows she can’t stay anyway.
I think that's definitely part of it, in addition to her expressing regret (and perhaps a bit of defiance) at his inability to just come out and say he trusts her enough not to care about the Gisborne thing. But I also think there's a part of Djaq who only means to make a rather sharp point, and that she doesn't intend for her "banishment" to be a permanent thing. I think she's testing Robin, i.e. giving him a chance to put her ahead of Gisborne, as he clearly didn't do in 1x08. I didn't want to push that point too much, and decided to leave it unsaid.
Fwiw, I think Djaq tests the gang at other instances too, although I don't always know what to make of it. For example, in 1x08, there is actually enough time for her to jump through the sewer with Will, Allan and Little John, but I tend to think she deliberately delays because she wants Robin to come for her. IIRC, her first question to her "rescuers" is about Robin, after all. She wants him to take her seriously, think of her as a valued member of the gang, and the fact that he fails to come for her must rankle quite a lot. I guess this is my way of making Djaq finally have that discussion with Robin.
Does this even make sense?
no subject
Date: 2012-03-28 02:36 am (UTC)Actually, it does make a lot of sense that this is the conversation she needs to have with Robin around those issues. Their brief exchange at the end of 1x08 doesn’t quite address everything and leaves a lot of questions—not even just for her, I would say. In fact, Robin really needs to have conversations like this with quite of few of his men, and I always find it very satisfying when that happens in fanfic.
no subject
Date: 2012-03-28 03:24 am (UTC)Ditto. I'd love to have Little John have a frank discussion about love and loss with Robin, because who is in a better position than he is to really understand what Robin is going through in S3. I'd love for Gisborne and Allan to have a real heart-to-heart after Gisborne becomes part of the gang. Heck, I'd love to know what Allan said to Much for the two of them to go from barely tolerating each other at the end of S2 to being best buds by the S3 opener!
no subject
Date: 2012-03-28 10:55 pm (UTC)Okay, damn. Now I really kinda want to write that. Or at least read it.
no subject
Date: 2012-03-29 06:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-30 12:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-27 06:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-03-27 03:30 pm (UTC)Thanks so much. ♥