In honor of the anniversary of @sylvi10's birth, here’s a quick excerpt from the second chapter of my long ago endeavor to chronicle Allan’s parallel view of the series’ events, because if @nettlestonenell can post in 2018 happiness-through-Allan-centric-fic pursuits years in the making, so can I. (She did it better, but whatcha gonna do?)
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They rode deep into the forest long after there could be any question of their being followed. Eventually, Robin slowed his horse to a trot and then a halt as they came upon a secluded hollow half-surrounded by high stone faces. Will reined in as well, and they all dismounted.
Robin turned to his manservant, his eyebrows raised speculatively. “This’ll do for a camp right now, don’t you think, Much?”
Much sighed. It was full of long-suffering, as though by now he was well accustomed to making do with wherever his master saw fit to drag him. “I suppose this spot is no worse than any other place in these horrible woods. I am so tired of camping.” He cast a scowl at Robin that was perhaps intended to be withering, but only managed to look supremely annoyed.
“Good.” Robin seemed to pay no mind to Much’s grumbling. He motioned to his bow and quiver. “Let us see what we can scrape together for breakfast, then. You lads up for starting the fire and tending the horses?”
Will nodded and Allan followed suit with a shrug. As Robin and Much traipsed off into the trees, Allan silently mused on why the young noble evidently had no qualms about leaving his only remaining possessions behind with two men who had only yesterday been convicted for stealing. I’d be wise to make off with a horse now, he thought. He’d get away from this forsaken shire with its bloodthirsty sheriffs and lords that didn’t act like they should—not that he didn’t appreciate that, mind—and he’d make a killing when he sold the steed, too. The idea was tempting, wonderfully enticing, but oddly, Allan found he didn’t want to. Not yet, at least. He couldn’t have explained the inclination, except he was somewhat curious what Robin would do now that he was an outlaw.
Will already had the beginnings of a fire underway, so Allan turned to check that the horses weren’t wandering off. He let loose a long breath, comforted by the knowledge that such mundane tasks were the greatest of his concerns at present.
And then the world tilted. Struck by a nauseating wave of vertigo, Allan stumbled through the last few steps to the nearest horse and sagged heavily against its shoulder, the last of the burst of strength and energy which had carried him from Nottingham trickling out of his body. Distantly, he noted with gratitude that, other than flicking an ear in Allan’s direction, his makeshift, equine-shaped support appeared far more interested in inspecting the immediate undergrowth than the bloke invading her personal space. Allan buried his face in the animal’s coarse hair and drew in deep gulps of air. The pungent, earthy musk wafted around Allan, slowly steadying him. After several prolonged moments, his sight stopped spinning and the slight buzzing in his ears fell silent.
Back there, that had been much too close. Allan had run into his fair share of trouble in the past; getting into and squeezing out of dangerous situations was practically his occupation. Or at least it seemed to take up the greater part of his time and attention. But if all those times before had been like looking over the lip of a cliff, skirting the edge of risk and control and safety, then the crushing pressure of the noose curled around his neck had flung him headlong over the side of that precipice. Allan lifted a hand to tenderly probe at the bruised and abraded circle of skin around his neck. The pain, the bone-deep panic, the swirl of breathlessness his world had become—it was more terrifying than anything he had yet experienced. Worst of all, there was nothing he could have done to save himself. A single tremor ran through his body at the thought. If not for Robin--
Allan stiffened and leaned backed from the horse to stand straight. Pathetic, he scolded himself. It’s over, innit? And you survived, just like you always do. No use acting all delicate about it. He sneaked a glance in Will’s direction to make certain his moment of weakness had gone unnoticed. Luckily it had, as Will’s eyes were still firmly fastened on the little blaze he was meticulously nurturing. Allan rearranged his expression into the cool features of indifference and went to seat himself across the fire from the younger man. Will looked up briefly at the nearby rustle of leaves, but it was enough for Allan to observe the angry red spots that clustered around his eyes, standing out all the more against the pallor of Will’s skin. Allan found his vision drawn from them down to the inflamed ring of flesh which reflected his own imprint from the hangman’s rope, and he wondered if his face was also similarly marked. He swallowed and forced himself to look away.
A right pair we make, Allan thought. Out loud, he only said with a nod to the fire, “You’ve a deft hand with that axe.”
Will’s head stayed bowed, but Allan caught a murmured “Thanks.”
Allan squinted. Why hadn’t Will seen his humiliating display over by the horses? His gaze caught on Will’s hands momentarily, realizing that they never seemed to remain still for more than a second or two, and they shook slightly when they weren’t adding a twig to the flames or methodically shredding leaves into tiny pieces.
“Will? Will, the fire’s not gonna die if you stop lookin’ at it, you know.” Allan strove to keep his voice light.
The stick Will held snapped abruptly. His head jerked up, fixing Allan with a searching stare. “Luke and my dad—do you think they made it out of Nottingham alright?”
“Yeah,” Allan said, a little taken aback. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re fine.”
“I lost them before we got out of the courtyard, but I think they were ahead of me. They wouldn’t go back to Locksley, not now, right?” Allan wasn’t altogether sure Will was still speaking to him, but he nodded in what he hoped was an encouraging way. Will’s musings trailed off, possibly removed into his thoughts, and although his anxiety lingered in the wrinkling of his brow and the tightness around his mouth, he appeared significantly more composed. Relieved, Allan lay back on his elbows; his exhaustion had settled deep in his muscles now and it lured him towards slumber with the sweet promise of escape from reliving the near-hanging every time he looked at Will or turned his head and irritated his lacerated skin. Ought to look after Will till the others get back. It was his last thought before his eyes slipped shut.
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Allan awoke with a start what felt like only a few seconds later to find their other two companions had already returned. Much had made quick work of preparing a pair of rabbits for roasting, and currently he was settling them on a spit over the crackling fire. An uncomfortable twisting in his gut reminded Allan he was in just as much need of a meal as a good, long rest. The Nottingham Castle dungeons were not known for their hospitality, he had learned firsthand.
Will, having been deprived of his fire-tending duties for the time being while Much cooked, announced he was going to gather more kindling. Allan followed the younger man with his eyes as he left. He supposed keeping himself well occupied was Will’s method for easing a restive mind, but Allan wished he would calm down so they could simply forget about the aborted execution. Then again, Allan didn’t have any family members whose whereabouts he worried about. Seeing as Tom had left of his own volition, he didn’t warrant any of Allan’s concern.
Much’s voice cut into Allan’s thoughts, although he spoke to Robin. “Be honest with me. This does not bode well for my lodge, my Bonchurch.”
His lodge? If Robin’s servants have their own lodges…but, well, doesn’t really matter now, does it?
When Robin only raised his eyebrows in answer, Much looked to the heavens in defeat. “I knew it.”
“This is your lodge now, my friends. Sherwood Lodge.” Allan quipped in mild amusement.
“I’m not your friend.“ Much shot back.
Allan rolled his eyes. I wasn’t exactly declaring my deep and abiding love, was I? But before he could make his retort, Robin motioned for quiet and quickly rose to his feet, apparently listening for something only he could hear.
