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"You brought him here," Robin said to Much. "You may have the privilege of showing him the camp and the privy trenches."
As he followed Much through the camp, he was conscious of the eyes on him: not suspicious, but guarded. Though Marian's arrival and embrace had sealed Will's acceptance into Robin's band, he still had to be cautious. Measuring and weighing his words did not come easily to him, but his determination to stay would count for nothing if his new comrades turned against him.
Much tossed names at him like pebbles as they passed people. "That's Harald, that's Simon, you have met Little John, and be sure never to get between him and a meal." Little John ignored them both and didn't look up from the piece of wood he was whittling.
"If Marian has brought more thread, we may be able to make you a less conspicuous tunic," Much continued, as he stopped in front of a turf hut. "I think we still have some wool left."
"I can sew a little," Will said. "At least, I'm fairly sure of the principles, and if someone will teach me, I will make my own tunic."
"You can relax," Much said over his shoulder as he peered into the hut. "I was not lying when I said we needed you. No one will sneak up on you at night, truss you up, and deposit you on the fringes of Sherwood."
Will smiled ruefully. "Robin cannot be the only one wary of trusting a nobleman's son, even a Saxon."
"I have no use for noblemen," Much said. "In my experience, they are spoiled and lazy and often fat. So long as you are not spoiled and lazy, you may stay."
"And if I grow fat?"
"Then I will use you as bait for my traps. What did you think of Robin?"
"I think," Will said, after a few moments' consideration, "that I would follow where he leads and do what he asks, though I do not know exactly why."
Much nodded. "None of us know exactly why we follow him, but if you feel that way, then you surely belong with us."
Will spent his first week in Greentree exhausted. His muscles ached from hard work. The constant sensation of dirt on his skin irritated him, and when it rained, his clothes stayed damp for days. He kept waiting for the morning when he would wake up without a crick in his neck from sleeping on the ground; but his process of acclimation was so gradual, and his days so full, that by the time that morning arrived, he had forgotten that he had ever wished for it.
He found himself making friends much more easily. Robin quickly made it obvious that he valued Will's input and company, though Will learned that mentioning his history with Marian made Robin's mouth draw up tight. Marian herself worried Will, dividing herself between her household and Sherwood, and some days it seemed like she was cutting herself into so many pieces that it would be hard for her to remain whole. But she also made him think of his sister, left behind to marry a man she hated, and sometimes he couldn't distinguish worry for one from worry for the other.
Little John said nothing most of the time, but one night, as they sat around the fire, Will caught his mouth curling up under cover of his beard. Rafe had been telling them the latest legends that the townsfolk were spreading about Robin Hood, that he had walked into the sheriff's house, stolen everything he could find, and later returned it all just to spite the sheriff.
He nudged Much. "It seems Little John is human after all."
"I never doubted it," said Much, "except when trying to crawl past him during the night, and then it is easy to mistake him for a fallen log."
Little John rumbled at them, "Each of you separately is bad enough, but together you are nearly intolerable."
"Such excess of good humor must signify something sinister," Rafe agreed, and the warm glow Will felt was not only from the fire.
"Cecil reminds me of you, somehow," Much said, speaking of their mysterious new member that Will had yet to see. "Does his own sewing, shoots well enough to shame the rest of us, is convinced that one sharp word from anyone will get him evicted."
"You must admit that my uneasiness didn't last long." Will carefully bent a branch out of his path. They were on guard duty; though even that could not keep Much from speaking, he at least lowered his voice.
"No, not once you realized you were too valuable to be released."
"You're fortunate that your talent for trapping and hunting helps keep us all fed, or we might decide that your tongue outweighs your value."
Much retaliated by letting the next branch thump Will in the arm. "Robin also says that Cecil reminds him of you. He believes Cecil might be a nobleman's son. It's curious that pampered, complacent noblemen keep wandering into the forest, so anxious to give up all of the comforts they enjoy."
"Your former life was hardly one of privation," Will said, more sharply than he had intended; teasing aside, he knew that Much worked as hard as any of them and had needed to learn more skills than many.
"No," Much said. "But if you tell me that you had ever worried about how far you could stretch a pot of stew before you came to Sherwood, I will not believe you."
Will pushed ahead of Much, making more noise than he should. "That is true, and if a king's forester had found me in the woods before I found you, my father would not have beaten me, or even locked me in my room, as he might have done to my sister. He would have simply dragged me back to his hall and expected me to return as if nothing had changed, and neither you nor he can understand that it would be the worst punishment of all."
Much was silent, then, as they continued moving through the trees, stepping on stone and leaves, avoiding soft ground without conscious thought. At the soft touch of the wind on his face and the give of earth under his feet, Will thought that he had not realized how much he would come to love this wilderness that he now considered himself a part of.
"You're right," Much finally said, "and maybe I should learn to think more before I speak, though we both know that is unlikely. But you have said often enough that you were not happy in your home, whereas I was fortunate to have a family who loved me."
"And my sister is there still," Will said, with the sick lurch that always came to him when he thought of Sess, "because the finest thing my father can imagine is a half-Norman grandson."
He stopped, reaching out to touch a tree as if the feel of the bark might give him some comfort. Much came up next to him, close enough that Will had to tilt his head down to meet the other man's eyes. "Who can say what might happen? If your sister is half as stubborn as you are, this Norman pig might discover that she's not worth his trouble."
Will clasped his free hand on Much's arm, feeling the heat of his skin through the coarse material of his sleeve. "Thank you." Much nodded, and he laid his hand over Will's for a second before stepping away.
"You are your father's only son, are you not?" Will asked as they continued walking their route. "You certainly are fortunate, that he supported your joining Robin, rather than expecting you to stay home and marry."
"I have several sisters and three of them have husbands. Besides, my father knew long before I turned outlaw that he would get no grandsons from me."
Will tripped over a tree root and cursed under his breath. When he recovered, he stared at the back of Much's head; after a moment Much turned around, and though he colored, he did not look ashamed of what he had said, or unaware of the implications.
"My father is an exceptional man," Much said. "As you have reminded me today, I am fortunate in many ways."
"Will you go with Much to check some of his far-flung traps?" Robin asked, coming up next to Will at the cooking fire. "Foresters have been sighted recently even in the remotest parts of the forest, and I do not want anyone traveling alone."
Will wondered if Much, in light of their recent conversation, might not prefer another partner for the long walk; but Much, overhearing the request, said, "Yes, please, or he will send Little John, and I will die of boredom long before we reach our destination."
"Certainly," Will said, and went to retrieve his quiver and bow.
They traveled in uncharacteristic silence for a while. Will tugged at the strap that held his quiver in place, but no matter how he adjusted it, it would not lie comfortably. They all felt it, he knew: the tension, the expectation. Trouble was coming, though they could not yet name it.
He didn't know how Much wanted him to act. Was he to pretend that Much had never spoken? Or had he mentioned his preferences so that he could confide in Will? He would never have known, if Much had not told him, and perhaps that was the point. But since Much's confession, he had caught himself reviewing the conversation in his head, trying to tease out the secret meaning of the few words that had been said. He had heard of such things, of course, knew that there were those who preferred the company of their own sex, but he had never given much thought to either the actions or the reasons behind them.
Lost in contemplation, he was startled when Much abruptly wheeled around, and he had to take a stumbling step back.
"You haven't hit me, nor have you tried to avoid me, and --" Much took a hesitant breath. "Although you may, after this, but I have to..." He moved closer, and Will realized what was happening, and more, that he had no desire to stop it.
They kissed, hesitantly at first, then with more passion and a growing certainty. Will slouched down to more easily reach Much's mouth, and then his cheek and his neck and the base of his throat. They had to be quiet, he knew that, and he put his fingers over Much's mouth to remind him, but when Much licked at his fingers, Will had to stifle the noises that rose from deep inside his own throat.
He could feel Much pressing against his thigh, and he grabbed Much's hips and pulled him closer until Much laid his head against Will's shoulder and panted. Much's hand fumbled its way between Will's legs, worked inside his clothing, and Will gasped in shock, knees buckling.
They collapsed to the ground together; Much, on the bottom, said, "Ouch, wait," and maneuvered until they lay sideways, facing each other. Will closed his eyes and reached blindly, pushing fabric out of the way, until Much moaned, "Oh, yes, please," and lolled over onto his back. The skin under his hands was smooth and hot, and every time he dragged his grip upward, Much's hips bucked up into his touch.
"I don't know," Will said, and Much clutched at his wrist, "No, it's fine, like that," and didn't let go until he had spilled over Will's hand. Will didn't know quite what to do after that, but Much grabbed a handful of fallen leaves and wiped Will clean. Then he pushed at Will's shoulder until it was Will who was on his back, with Much's hand on him, and Much's tongue tracing patterns on his skin, and the smell of him overriding the living scent of the forest around them. When he tensed, muscles straining and fingers digging into the earth beneath him, Much's hand tightened around him in reply, until Will could feel nothing else; and then came the dizzying rush of release.
The breath returned to his lungs gradually. Will found himself shivering, the memory of pleasure almost as vivid as the pleasure itself had been. Much's head was pillowed on his chest, and he was stroking Will's arm.
"No one has to know," Much whispered. "I mean, if that's the way you would prefer. Robin and Marian would not mind, I know, they would be happy for us, but some of the others might object."
The enormity of what had happened dawned on Will, to hear Much talking of it as a certain thing, and one that would continue. "No," he said slowly, and Much froze in his arms.
"No?"
"I -- I don't know." He could not envision telling anyone any small detail of what they had done. He did not feel ashamed, exactly, but tremulous, with new aspects of himself laid bare. Much pulled away from him. Will fumbled his clothes back into place and did not look at Much as he did the same.
"I am not used to indecision," he said, nearly pleading. "I have never...I would choose to do a thing, and I would do it."
"We are outlaws," Much said, in a terrible quiet voice. "Our lives are nothing but uncertainty."
"Perhaps you can therefore understand why I cannot cope with any more uncertainty," Will said, and to that, Much made no reply.
Nearly a week after Guy of Gisbourne's attack, Will watched Little John slip out of Marian's apartment, quiet despite his size and his wounded leg. Cecily was also conspicuous by her absence, although maybe only to Will, who had watched his sister constantly since her sudden appearance in Robin's band.
A half-hearted attempt at conversation occasionally broke the silence of the room. They were all too aware of the king's presence downstairs, and the knowledge that tomorrow's dawn might see them all hanging by the neck. Will thought ruefully that despite having spent over a year outside the view of the law, he had not imagined that waiting could be so much harder than fighting for his life.
Much appeared at his elbow, then balanced himself against the wall and set his crutches aside. "You are not eating. I will not suggest that this fine food may be our last meal..."
"You know very well that by not suggesting it, you make the suggestion anyway." He immediately worried that he'd been too harsh, but Much, who seemed to have made a study of not taking offense, simply reached over and took a sweetmeat from Will's plate.
Robin and Marian sat in chairs near the fire, most of the others grouped around them as if to guard them from harm. Robin leaned close to say something Marian, and in her slight smile Will saw a new peace between them, despite the uncertainty of their future.
"Little John has gone to be with Cecily," he said. "Or perhaps just to be near her."
"You dare not play the overprotective brother with him," said Much. "He would bend you in half."
"It is not fear of Little John that stops me, but fear of Cecily. I was the fool who taught her to shoot."
Much chuckled, a warm sound in the uneasy room. Robin looked up, and Will met his eyes and wondered how much he knew about what had transpired between him and Much: probably more than he let on. Robin always had been good at not interfering in his friends' lives.
"Would you not prefer to sit?"
"No," Much said. "I came over because I would like to speak to you somewhere else. Somewhere with a chair, and somewhere without either servants or comrades."
"The rooms I share with Little John and Rafe will be empty." He set his plate down and handed Much his crutches. Their progress through the hall was slow, but Will felt as if each hesitant step was a gift given to them. The march of time was no longer their ally.
When they reached the room, Much settled into the chair nearest the door with a sigh of relief. Will drew another chair up to sit near him, stretching his aching leg out to try and relieve some of the pain. His wound wasn't as severe as Much's or Little John's, but it still chafed at him.
Much drew breath, hesitated, then spoke. "You have made your wishes clear. But when else will we make peace, if not tonight? I wanted to apologize to you, if there is anything I need to apologize for."
"There is nothing," Will said. He had been unsettled since the king's arrival, but there was a new weakness in his limbs, a new tremor in his heart, and he had learned over the past weeks what it meant.
"You might have been happier if I had left you alone." Much rubbed at his leg absently, then twitched as Will moved Much's hand and replaced it with his own, careful not to come to close to the wound that had crippled him. In Much's face, Will saw a dawning hope.
"No," Will murmured. "No. No fate we face can make me wish that. I know I am not the only one who has come to an understanding thanks to the sword blades of Guy and his men, but I called myself a fool earlier, and it is doubly true. I became an outlaw to escape who I was, only to discover that half of what I knew about myself was a lie. You have helped me discover truth."
Much reached over and touched his cheek tenderly. They could not stand, but they leaned into each other, Much eagerly returning his kiss with a fervor that made Will curse the time he had wasted.
"They may separate us all," Much whispered.
Will clasped him close. "Then let us stay as near to each other as we can, for as long as we may."
Standing before the king, waiting for their judgment, Will remembered the first time he had met Much.
As Will hid behind an oak, a man stepped from between two trees and bent to examine something in the undergrowth. His tunic of green wool spanned broad shoulders, and he carried a bow nearly as long as he was high. Will took a deep, silent breath, smelled the damp green scent of spring in the forest, and strode forward to meet him.
The man had an arrow to his bow quickly, though not so quickly that Will could not have countered. But his errand was not a violent one, and he liked that the man smiled at him, even as he took a few steps backward to improve his shot.
"You are not a king's forester," Will said.
"And you are not blind or simple," the man replied. "You also carry a bow, but no forester I ever knew dressed in red leather. Perhaps you were heading to a banquet and lost your way."
Will dared to lean against the trunk of a nearby tree. "I do not lose my way in the forest," he said. "My finding you should be proof of that. I come in search of Robin Hood's band."
He saw the other man's eyes stray to the bow Will carried. "And why would you search for a band of outlaws?"
"They -- you -- are good Saxons fighting against the Normans."
"That may depend on who you ask."
"I ask you." In the pause that followed, he heard a bird cry overhead. Through the canopy of trees that shadowed them, he could see that the sun had passed noon and was moving west.
"Hmm," he said. "I will take you to Robin, though I can already hear his complaints. But I think you will be worth the scolding I will get. I am Much, by the way." He lowered his bow; the smile had never left his face.