Chapter Text
A little red book...
Robin's foot slipped on the little thing laying on the forest floor, and he quickly looked around at the newcomers to Sherwood, joining the rest of the outlaws to find a place to settle down for the time being. His rousing speech seemed to have perked them all up for a little while, until their current situation came crashing back down on them. This was no quick fix. This would require a lot of work over a long period of time.
He bent down and picked the book up, turning it over in his hand before meeting John Little's gaze,
"Is this yours?" Robin asked, looking back down at the book when the big woodsman shook his head,
"Do you know who it might belong to?" he asked next, opening the book on its first page in hopes for any tell-tale signs of who it belonged to, but no such luck.
"No one around here can read, Robin. There is no reason for anyone to keep a book," John chuckled and patted his shoulder as he passed by him.
Then why is it here? Robin thought to himself before holding the book up to show Azeem a small distance away. He pointed from the book to his newfound friend, silently asking if it was his. Another head shake. With a sigh, he pocketed the book for now and set to work. Trying not to think of the fact that he just shot that young man through the hand like that.
Later that night, Robin made an attempt to actually locate Will Scarlet, but with no luck. He would have a hard time finding him in the daytime, much less in the dark. While the young man had aimed to harm him, he was the one that came out of it injured and despite everything - Robin felt kind of bad for it. Especially if the book belonged to the young man as well.
The night turned into day, the days turned into weeks, and progress had slowly started to show in Sherwood. Weapons had been formed: knives, axes, spears, swords, bows and arrows. Then the most able-bodied would be taught how to fight and defend themselves, as well as how to hunt. Most of the men under the age of forty made good hunters and the forest were rich with animals, so very soon food was not a problem despite the number of mouths to feed.
Most importantly, most of the people were now getting sturdier roofs over their heads, which was always a great need in a weathered country like England. Robin waited a long time for a little home for himself, but was quick to help make one for Duncan and the ones in most dire need of warmth and safety.
"I can't believe I never even asked you," Robin laughed one night as he sat down next to Duncan by one of the bonfires,
"Have you lost a book recently, my friend?" he asked, giving the blind man a clasp on the shoulder.
"What good would a book do me, Robin? I have lost it all. What is this book you speak of?" the old man wondered, his hands wrapped around the mug of ale Robin placed in them.
"A few weeks ago I found a book on the forest floor. Nobody here can read, but someone has lost it," Robin explained.
"Since then, it has just been in my bag. I do not wish to read it in case it is something personal."
* * *
Weeks passed into a new month, and the treasures they had robbed from the rich had started to pile up. He had sent men and women out to spread the fortune with those who needed it the most, and it was upon riding home through Sherwood on such a day that Robin, for the first time, happened upon Will Scarlet again. The sun was setting, and the forest was mostly quiet until he reached the river where he had first met the outlaws. He rode further up the river this time when it was easier for the Sheriff's old horse to pass through, which was where he spotted Will with one of the Little family's children. A young brunette girl in maybe her seventh or eighth year.
"What did you do to your hand?" the little girl asked while Will was trying to help her clean some clothes for her mother without getting his bandaged hand wet.
"Something foolish," the young man answered, holding the hand to his chest instead so that the girl wouldn't keep nosing around about it.
"I do foolish things all the time," the girl giggled, and a little smile formed on Will's face. Robin stayed in the shadows of the trees on his horse but observed the scene from there since neither one had noticed him. He wondered if Fanny had taken care of Will's injury since she clearly trusted him alone with one of her children. Seeing the young man now was a sort of relief Robin hadn't expected to feel. Maybe a part of him thought he had left for good, but he wouldn't be surprised if Fanny and John had been aware of where he'd been the whole time.
Still. He didn't enjoy harming people. Whatever Will's problem was, it was with him, since this boy here was nothing but a sweetheart to the little girl. He seemed like a whole different person. Not unlike the singing youth he had first met right here at the river.
"You should come back and stay in camp with us. They are building treehouses now!" the girl explained excitedly while dunking a small dress in the cold water.
"I can't do that, Wini," Will said, so quietly Robin almost didn't hear it. He then stood up and tried to wring out a wet shirt with one hand, but struggled to use his injured hand to make it effectively work. The girl, Wini was soon on her feet too, and she took the other end of the shirt and started to twist around in circles as if in a dance, wringing up the soaked clothing. Will laughed and bowed to her once she was done.
"Thank you, little Miss Little. You are far more clever than your brother," he quipped. Robin didn't doubt that it was a jab at Wulf.
"There you two are," Fanny's voice interrupted the laughing duo.
"Look! We cleaned my dress and Papa's shirt!" Winifred grinned and handed the wet clothes to her mother.
"Oh, you should not be using your hand yet, Will," Fanny gently scolded, folding the clothes over her arm so that she could take the young man's arm to inspect his bandage more closely.
"Don't worry, I didn't. Wini found her way out here on her own again, and I wasn't about to let her risk falling into the water either," Will explained. His eyes dropped, and a sad sigh escaped his lips when Fanny cupped his cheek.
"Please come back and stay with us. It is not safe out here alone," Fanny told him, but there was no convincing Will. So it was with a heavy heart that Robin saw Fanny take her daughter's hand and vanish into the trees again.
Will soon turned and walked along the river until he turned into the woods, and only now did Robin urge his horse forward. Passing where the young man and the little girl had just been to follow where he was now going. It wasn't hard to find. Just a few meters into the woods from the river was a small bonfire. Against a larger tree were many long sticks and branches braced against the tree trunk to create a small excuse for a hut. Will's newest home.
By the time he pulled his horse to a stop, Will had clearly noticed him but paid him no mind as he sat by the fire, preparing a fish. Seeing him up close, he looked skinnier than before and certainly weary.
"What do you want?" Will eventually asked, and he glanced up at him as Robin slid down from the saddle.
"To apologize," Robin said before he could let his pride keep him from doing so. Annoyed when Will just snorted at him.
"Yeah, well, I kind of got it coming," Will sighed, far more downtrodden than ever before.
"That's not the po-"
"Go away," Will interrupted him.
"Will-"
"Go away," he repeated,
"I have nothing more to say to you. Go. Away."
Robin grumbled in annoyance at his stubbornness. At the same time as it was all so familiar. Usually, he was so stubborn that other people didn't bother with him. Then this boy out-stubborns him like it was his job.
"Fine," Robin returned to his horse, but unlatched a small bag from the saddle, to which he went closer to Will again and dropped it next to him,
"Do not argue. It is not charity. It's food and you need it."
Robin then got back on his horse before Will could argue. He rode past him and only looked back in time to see that, luckily, the boy seemed to accept the food.
Every interaction with that young man was a thorn in his side. Why could he not just tell him what his problem was with him? How did Will Scarlet know enough about him to hate him this much when he had no recollection of the young man himself? Whatever it was, he would just have to wait and see what would come out of all of this.
That night, when he went to sleep next to Duncan, he dug around for the book he had found. He had not wanted to read through it, as at the few glances he had made of it, it seemed to be some kind of diary, but with no name he could find. Not without trying to read some of it. He skimmed through most of the pages for names rather than details. Catching names like Agnes and Fanny in there, which narrowed the owner down to someone who knew people in camp. There was something about Nottingham and dancing. And Locksley...
Robin stopped for a moment at that before reading closer.
"What a fool of a man! What is a woman supposed to think of a man when he turns out to have two faces? Locksley has been kind and gentle. Then, when he showed up today, he was cold and distant. That boy of his has suffered a great loss, and my heart has gone out to him ever since I first met his father. Yet he can't be reasoned with at all?" Robin closed the book quickly, as if burned. His heart had decided to skip a few beats because who needs a healthy heart anymore, right?
This couldn't possibly be the peasant woman his father had seen after his mother's death. Was she here? Was she one of these peasant ladies?
Trying to find sleep after that was useless, and Robin found himself by the dying fire in the largest bonfire in the camp.
"Sleep is a distant friend today, my friend?" Azeem's voice came from the right, followed by the moor, as he sat down on another log.
"What troubles you?" he went on to ask when Robin just nodded in response to him, but still he didn't seem keen on giving an answer,
"Your own cabin should be ready in a few days. Maybe that will do you some good."
"If it was that simple, I would be so lucky." Robin sighed and rested his elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand.
"No, I skimmed through that book in hopes to find any tell-tale signs of who owns it." He paused, and Azeem waited patiently for him to continue. So with a sigh, Robin told him about all those years ago when his mother died and about the peasant woman his father had sought comfort from afterward. How he, as a twelve-year-old, had reacted to it and effectively destroyed his relationship with his father from that day on, which eventually led to him leaving for the crusades years later.
"Yeah well. I think maybe the book belongs to her. The peasant woman," Robin finally explained,
"I just don't understand. Is she in this camp now? If she is, why has she said nothing?"
Azeem pondered over it, his gaze moving over the rather large camp now. The families and friends huddled inside the cabins that were more or less finished, while others did well for now in small open cabins. All are, for the most part, still strangers to him.
"Maybe she is afraid. She would know your name, after all, but you do not know hers. You are a noble, she is not. Even after all these years, she cannot be sure how you would react to her," Azeem explained. It was a curious situation for sure. He suggested asking Fanny about the book but was told he had already asked her about it, with no result.
The following days didn't give him any answers. Perhaps he kept an extra eye on the older women in camp than before, but it was impossible to tell if anyone of them could be this Agnes woman. Every one of them greeted him the way they always had and moved on with their day like nothing had ever happened. On the positive side of things, he did get his own little home in Sherwood a few days later, like Azeem had encouraged him with, and just in time too. The very next day, it was pouring almost nonstop all day. Most of the outlaws stayed inside their new homes all day long, except for some who would try their luck at fishing in a little lake not far away. Whenever there was a small break in the rain, they would all pop out to try and get some things done, but before an hour had passed, it would be pouring again.
It was during one of these breaks in the weather that Robin decided to go check on Will, only because he knew Fanny was clearly worrying during his visit to the Little's cabin. He already knew he was the last person who should try and convince Will to come to the camp, but Fanny was heavily pregnant, and to have her wander around in the pouring rain would be far too risky.
It was probably midday when Robin tacked up the Sheriff's old horse, whom he had decided to name Tilda after a horse he owned as a child. The rain had again stopped, but it was dripping everywhere, and the darkness above made him well aware that this wouldn't last long.
Typical of his luck, he hadn't even reached the riverside by the time it was pouring again, and Tilda grunted in annoyance as her white body was getting drenched.
"Will?" Robin called out once he reached the area where Will's little camp had been, only to find the small bonfire deep in a puddle and the tiny cover of branches and sticks empty. Maybe, with some luck, the boy had found somewhere else to stay?
Robin sighed and shook his head, water flying everywhere, only to be replaced by more rain. He rode out of the forest to the riverside, where the rain absolutely pelted him now that none of the trees offered any cover. He tried to spy through the rain for any signs of where Will might be, and was just about to give up trying to see anything in this downpour when he finally caught a glimpse of something red and dark in the actual river.
"The hell-" Robin slid out of the saddle, feeling miserable and cold and drenched to the very core of his body, but set in his decision to get that boy.
"Will?!" he shouted through the noise of the hard rain and the now absolutely ferocious river,
"What the hell are you doing out there?" he asked, wading out to him, seeing as the water level had risen quite a bit with the downpour, but at least Will had gone into a part of the river that formed a sort of pool where the river wasn't at its strongest.
"What are you doing here?" Will looked quite shocked to see Robin, of all people, there. Robin observed the scene, trying to make sense of it. To say Will was drenched was an understatement, but he was also pale and clutching his arm to his chest, using the other arm to cradle it.
"I was asking you the same thing? Are you trying to drown yourself?" Robin shouted over the noise. The rain annoyingly kept pelting down and forced him closer to Will. Only then did he realize the younger man was bleeding profusely from what seemed to be the arm he was clutching to his chest—the very same arm he had been shot through the hand of.
"Why do you keep showing up here?" Will yelled back. He winced when Robin grabbed him by the upper arm and helped him back onto land. It was impossible to keep a conversation going in this noise, and since Will seemed to more or less accept his help for the time being, he kept dragging the young man away until they were somewhat under the cover of the trees, where it was less noisy.
"What happened to your arm?" Robin asked and tried to get a better look at it, but Will just took a step back. He was shaking and looked sick already, which was to be expected if he had been outside in this weather all morning.
"Two men on horses braving the weather to look for the ghosts of Sherwood and the rich man that's sending them all to their deaths," Will told him,
"And no, I didn't rat you out. Ratting you out would mean giving away everyone's position, and I would rather avoid that."
Robin sighed, relieved that while this boy wanted nothing to do with him, he wasn't about to sell out his friends,
"Thank you."
Will snorted, uneasy on his feet, but used the tree to hold himself up,
"I did not do that for you."
"I know. Believe me, I know," Robin countered.
"But despite what you seem to believe, I am actually not actively trying to get anyone murdered. Where are the men now?"
Will hung his head as if it was getting hard for him to even hold it up, and Robin knew he couldn't just leave him here.
"Rotting in the woods. Don't touch me-" Will tried to pull away this time when Robin grabbed his upper arm.
"Your little camp is being swallowed up by the river as we speak, and you are on the verge of passing out by the looks of it, so just let me help you this one time. Then you can go back to hating my guts when you feel better," Robin insisted, and this time he wrapped his arm around Will's shoulders so that he could get them going a little quicker.
"I don't get you-" Will grumbled.
"You don't know me," Robin pointed out, counting his small blessings that Will was rather small and easier to maneuver than someone of John's size would have been. Though the soaked clothes didn't make it exactly easy either.
Will seemed to have shut up after his response to his complaint. Whether from being too out of it or if the words actually made him think, Robin didn't know, but he wasn't about to complain that for once the young man was keeping quiet.
With a curse here and a grumble there, Robin managed to give Will a boost into the saddle. Keeping him there as he walked alongside the horse back to the camp. Lanterns in camp were still alight only thanks to being hung up under roofs with no walls, but the few bonfires still burning were a struggle to keep going.
Robin brought Tilda back to the makeshift stables, and it was easy enough to get some of the children to take care of her, since they were bored out of their minds.