Special thanks to ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
azinazelle, crew4, and luthien13 for their encouragement and persistent pestering of me to finish this. It's also the first of several early birthday prezzies for luthien13. :D I hope you like!
Comments would make me very, very happy.
Title: Forgotten Treasure
Chapter: 1 of 2. Chapter 2 is here.
Fandom: Robin of Sherwood
Characters: All the Merries are here, at least briefly.
Paring: Robin of Huntingdon/Nasir
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence.
Word Count: 5,113
Summary: Robin has gone missing. Nasir must find him. When he does, will anything ever be the same?
Notes & Disclaimer: Born of a couple of bunnies way back at the beginning of August. All errors are purely my own. As usual, not mine. Actually - they own me. Third in a series, although you don’t need to read the others in order to make sense of this one. The first is, ”Meant To Be” and the second is ”The Welcome”.
Credits: Beta’d by the very patient and ever awesome3scoremiles_10, who saved me not only from myself, but the adverbs of DOOM as well. You're the best. ♥
A faithful friend is a strong defense: and he that hath found one hath found a treasure.
~ Ben Sira (Sirach 6:14)
The day had dawned cool and bright, and as the morning wore on the sun warmed the forest, filtering down through fresh bright leaves. It seemed that spring had finally come to Sherwood. In celebration, the outlaws decided that a day of play was in order, but first, fresh meat must be procured. That problem was solved by Nasir, who, with a single well placed arrow, managed to bring down a small buck. After killing it with a swift stroke of his dagger across the animal’s throat, he butchered it, bringing the meat back to camp to be prepared by Tuck’s capable hands.
Now they lounged about the fire, bellies full of roast venison, talking and laughing in an idle manner. At some point, Tuck had fallen asleep and was snoring softly. Will, lying back against a pile of skins with his hands clasped across his chest, looked as if he was nearly ready to join him in slumber. At the far side of the camp, John and Much were quietly arguing over whose turn it was to clean up after the meal.
Robin, silently observing all of this from where he reclined, propped up on one elbow, turned his attention to Nasir. The Saracen was lying slightly apart, on the very fringe of the group. Even though he appeared just as relaxed as the others, the eyes behind the half-closed lids were alert and watchful. Deliberately catching Nasir’s eye, Robin slowly rubbed his hand across his thigh. It was a signal, one of many they had worked out together. The Saracen’s expression did not change, but his head moved in an almost imperceptible nod. Robin dropped his gaze and, with a grunt, heaved himself to his feet. Glancing around at his friends, he announced, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but if I lie here any longer, I’m liable to take root. I think I’ll stretch my legs and go have a look around.”
From where he lay with his eyes shut, Will spoke up. “Don’t get lost. I don’t feel like comin’ to rescue you.”
Robin, who had made his way to the edge of the camp, threw his head back, sunlight shimmering on the fall of his hair, and laughed. His voice floated back to them, amused and teasing. “I’m tempted to do just that Will, if only to make you move your lazy carcass!”
Will raised his head, staring in surprise after Robin’s retreating back. “Huh,” he snorted. “Damn me if he wouldn’t, too.” Grinning, he closed his eyes again, leaning comfortably back against the hides.
Chuckling at his friends’ banter, John playfully poked Much with his elbow. “What say we follow Tuck’s example and have us a nap while Robin’s gone?”
“Ow, that hurt,” Much complained, rubbing at his ribs. His frown swiftly turning into a cheery smile though, he agreed readily. “All right.”
“I’d say that’s the best idea you’ve had in a long time, John.” Will didn’t bother to open his eyes in order to reply, sounding half asleep already. “Now how ‘bout you two shut up so’s a man can get some rest?”
Replete from their feast, it wasn’t long before the outlaws were dozing contentedly in the warm spring sun. No one noticed, when, after awhile, Nasir, in his usual unobtrusive way, slipped silently away.
*******************
Bypassing the trail, Nasir cut across the forest, slipping through the trees as silent and surefooted as a deer. Soon, he arrived at a small glade enclosed by a dense wall of brush and saplings. He was surprised to find the place deserted. Where there should have been the flash of bright gold hair and a warm welcoming smile, there was nothing but the forest’s ever changing green. Robin was not there.
Nasir felt an odd twisting in his gut. Something was not right. Robin had left camp long before him, and even if the outlaw leader had taken the longer route along the trail, Robin should have been waiting in the glade when Nasir arrived. Rapidly, the Saracen searched the area for any sign that his friend had been there. He found nothing. He didn’t like it. Robin had never arrived. Obviously something had happened to delay him. A villager come to ask for help, perhaps, or a forester he had had to avoid. Or, Nasir couldn’t help but think, something worse. He pushed that thought away. There was no point in dwelling on possibilities. Robin was all that mattered.
Working his way back along the track that Robin should have followed, Nasir’s keen gaze scanned constantly back and forth, searching for any sign of Robin’s passing. It wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for. Crouching on his heels, he carefully studied the tracks on the ground in front of him. Two sets of footprints led off into the trees. Robin had met someone on the trail. There was no sign of a struggle – it appeared that whoever he had met up with, Robin had gone with them of his own free will. Still, to go off alone like that, with not a word to anyone ... Nasir scowled, shaking his head in mingled frustration and affection. Robin. So quick to trust, so slow to consider the risk.
Lifting his face and squinting at the sun, the Saracen frowned. It was getting late. Soon he would lose the light, making it much more difficult to find Robin this day. Jumping swiftly to his feet, he resumed his search with renewed urgency.
The men he was following had been moving quickly, without much care for either silence or stealth, leaving behind a clear path of snapped twigs and crushed leaves. Their unerring trail led deeper into the forest, away from any human habitation. Nasir felt his unease, gnawing at him since he had found the glade empty, growing. Stepping over a rotten and decaying log, he swore quietly to himself and wondered what Robin had been thinking. As impetuous as the young outlaw could be, he knew better than this. To come this far alone, with just a stranger for company … it wasn’t safe. Unless, Nasir thought, the stranger was not a stranger at all.
The ground ahead began to slope steadily upward. Cautiously, Nasir worked his way up the hill, ever alert for danger. Using a cluster of trees as cover, he paused at the top, scanning the area below. The sight that met his dark eyes made them go wide in horror and turned his feet to lead. Robin was lying not ten yards away, blood darkening his pale hair and soaking the front of his tunic. Nasir’s heart clenched, then rose up into his throat to choke him. He forced it down, gulping for air, and made himself be still. Robin. Ya Allah, no. His heart cried out to run, to go to his friend, while his head warned him that it was not safe. His head, and his training, won. If Robin had been attacked, his attacker could still be lurking nearby. He would be of no help to Robin if he rushed headlong into a trap. His hand going to one of his twin swords, Nasir edged his way carefully down the hill.
There was no one. Nasir’s sharp gaze swept the area, searching for movement, the flash of steel, anything that might pose a threat. There was nothing. Only Robin, lying still and bloodied on the ground. With an urgency born of fear, feeling his heart now pounding hard in his chest, Nasir went to him, sick dread filling the pit of his stomach at what he might find.
Reaching Robin’s inert form, he dropped down onto his knees. Frantically, Nasir searched Robin for a pulse, his fingers trembling in their haste. With a supreme effort of will he steadied himself. There. He held his breath. A heartbeat: faint, but steady. Releasing the pent-up air from his lungs in a rush, Nasir went weak with relief. He felt the terrible fear that had ripped its claws through his heart, the fear that he had been forcing himself to ignore ever since he first saw that spill of red through Robin’s fair hair, ease its grip, leaving him nearly light-headed as it faded away. To lose Robin, now, with all they were to each other … it would shatter something deep inside him, leaving nothing behind but a cold empty shell. Raising his eyes heavenward, the Saracen offered up a brief but heartfelt prayer of thanks, and then turned his attention back to the young man at his side.
Gently, Nasir ran his hands over Robin’s body, taking stock of his injuries. Finding a lump nearly the size of a hen's egg on the side of the young outlaw's skull, he winced in sympathy. Very carefully, he peeled back Robin’s tunic and shirt in order to examine the stab wound in Robin’s left shoulder. It was jagged and deep, but as long as he could stop the bleeding it didn’t appear to be life threatening, not having struck anything vital. While the wound itself wasn’t serious, the blow to Robin’s head and the amount of blood he had lost was worrisome. Who had done this? From Robin’s injuries, and the sword that was still sheathed at his side, this seemed to have been a surprise attack, giving Robin no time to defend himself. As if his attacker had been someone that Robin trusted, who had hit Robin over the head and then stabbed him and left him for dead.
That thought sent a wave of white-hot rage through the Saracen. His hands fisted against his thighs, wanting nothing more than to rip the heart out of the traitorous dog who had done this evil thing. Aware that his anger would not help his friend, Nasir reined it in, tamping it down until it hardened into cold, implacable resolve. This should not have happened. He would not allow it to happen again. And, he vowed, if it was the last thing that he did on this earth, he would find the man who had attacked Robin and see that he was made to pay.
The light was fading fast; it would be dark soon. There were things to be done; a fire must be built, camp made. The others would not have begun to search for them yet and they were far enough off the beaten path that they probably wouldn’t be found until tomorrow. Water was not a problem, as Nasir had heard the trickle of a brook away to his left while making his way up the hill. But first, and most importantly, Robin’s wounds needed to be cleaned and stitched before he lost any more blood. For once, Nasir wished that it was wine that he carried instead of water, but it could not be helped. With utmost care, he began tending to Robin’s injuries.
*******************
As he swam towards consciousness, the first thing that registered was the excruciating pain. It felt like a million tiny hammers were pounding in unison on the inside of his skull and the slightest movement sent sharp burning pain through his shoulder and down his arm. He moaned, softly. He wanted nothing more than to sink back down into oblivion, but a voice kept calling him back, refusing to let him go. He wanted to tell it to leave him alone, to let him sleep, but the voice was insistent, demanding.
It was a struggle just to open his eyes. And when he finally won the battle, it was to the realization that something was terribly wrong. A wave of confusion washed through his groggy mind. What had happened? Where was he?
There was a man leaning over him. Everything about him was dark and exotic looking, right down to the lethal looking weapons strapped across his back. He looked like a Saracen. Should he know this man? Something tugged at the back of his mind, then disappeared as quickly as it came.
“Robin?” queried his companion. The dark eyes regarded him with care and concern, and no small amount of worry.
He blinked in bewilderment. Robin? That was a name, but who … the dark man was still watching him, waiting. Him? He frowned, trying hard to think, to remember. He couldn’t. Everything was blurred and distant, like trying to see through a fog. He couldn’t remember ... he couldn’t remember.
Terrified, Robin began to panic. Heart thumping hard, he stared wild-eyed up at the other man. “I ... I can’t remember anything,” he stammered. “I don’t even know … Robin. Is that my name? Robin?” A sudden and irrational urge to run, to flee, seized hold of him. He struggled to sit up, only to fall back with a gasp, as pain shot through his shoulder and his head throbbed.
“Robin, yes. Your name. Lie still.” The Saracen reached out, cupping Robin’s face between his palms. With firm but gentle hands, he forced the young man to look at him. “Hush. It is all right.” His voice was low and soothing, as if calming a skittish horse. “You have been hit on the head. It is normal to not remember at first. Lie still.” The last was said firmly, in a tone reserved for recalcitrant children.
But the admonition had come too late, the movement having already taken its toll. Pain and dizziness washed over Robin in waves. Grimacing, he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his stomach churn and roll. In a tight voice he announced: “I’m going to be sick.”
With what sounded like a curse, the Saracen shifted, carefully rolling Robin onto one side and steadying him with strong arms. Gasping at the flare of pain that the movement brought, Robin broke out into a cold sweat, gritting his teeth against the bile rising up in his throat. Desperately, he clutched at the other man’s forearm like a lifeline. It was the only solid thing in his world at the moment, unlike the ground, which tilted alarmingly every time he opened his eyes. Deciding that for the moment it was best to keep them shut, he concentrated on not being sick. It was one fight he was destined to lose.
The retching caused pain to jolt through Robin’s body; the agony in his head became so intense he thought that his skull might split in two. He tried to groan, but the sound that came out was more of a choked whimper. By the time the waves of nausea had begun to ease, he was left panting and weak with exhaustion. Everything seemed faint and far away, as if he were underwater. Gradually, the world began to come back into focus and Robin became aware of his surroundings again. Of kind hands and the soothing murmur of a man’s voice, comforting and vaguely familiar. He tried in vain to catch the words, but his head ached with the effort and they kept slipping out of his grasp. He felt as limp as a wrung out rag and every part of him hurt. The places where the other man touched him felt warm, almost hot, in sharp contrast to his sweat soaked shirt, which was clammy despite the crackling fire nearby. He shivered in the cool evening air and suddenly realized that his companion had asked him something. He knit his brows together in concentration to try and figure out what the question was, but it eluded him.
The other man patiently repeated it: “Robin, are you still feeling sick?”
“No, not any more.” He rasped the words out, just above a whisper. His throat was raw and sore, the taste in his mouth more than a little unpleasant. Hopefully, he added, “Water?”
Robin felt a gentle tug on his hand and was disconcerted to discover that he was still clinging onto the other man’s arm. Somewhat reluctantly, he let go. His movements slow and careful, the Saracen moved away. Bereft of his companion’s body heat, Robin felt a cold chill go through him. It left him trembling, from shock as much as from cold, but before he could say a word, the other man was back, throwing a heavy cloak over his shivering body. Briefly, he wondered whose it was, then decided it wasn’t important. What was important was that the kind hands had returned, lifting him to rest against the warmth of the other man’s body. But as kind as the hands were, they could not prevent the bite of pain that resulted. Robin caught his breath on it, and felt his arm squeezed softly in sympathy. As the pain subsided to a dull throb, he relaxed, sighing in relief as warmth began to seep back through him.
Picking up a water skin from where it lay beside him, the Saracen removed the stopper and offered it to the young man, saying warningly, “Slowly.”
Some part of Robin resented being treated like a small child, but he supposed he deserved it. He gave a wan, lopsided smile. “All right.”
With a slightly unsteady hand, Robin reached out, glancing at his companion as he did so. What he saw, or thought he saw, nearly gave him pause. Something like pain had flickered across those dark eyes, but it was gone so quickly that Robin decided he must have imagined it. At the moment, his brain was not the most reliable of things; it was impossibly hard to even think.
Raising the water skin, Robin took a drink. The water was a blessed relief, easing the foul taste in his mouth, as it slid cool and refreshing down his raw throat. Mindful of the warning and aware that he was being watched closely, he allowed himself one more mouthful and handed it back. Catching the other man’s eye, he smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you.” Indicating his bandaged shoulder with a slight wave of his hand, he added, “And for your care as well.”
“You are welcome.” That was said with an elegant dip of the head and the twitch of an answering smile.
Unexpectedly, an image flashed across Robin’s mind. Himself and this man, sitting close together beside a small fire. Behind them, the sound of flowing water gurgling happily. The Saracen looking back at him, with the same smile on his lips, laughter gleaming in the exotic eyes. The image blurred and vanished as quickly as it had come, even as Robin frantically fought to hold onto the memory. He blinked, bringing his focus back on the man in front of him. And was suddenly ashamed, berating himself for the question he had neglected to yet ask.
In a voice heavy with regret, Robin said, “I don’t even know your name.”
*******************
Names were easy; it was the barrage of questions that were sure to follow that would be hard. Nasir resigned himself to that, and told himself that no matter how difficult the question, he would do his best to answer, for Robin’s sake. Even weak and wounded, pale as a ghost and with blood staining his golden hair, he was beautiful. It made Nasir’s heart hurt to see him like this, so confused and in pain. There was a wary look about Robin’s eyes, like a wild animal caught in a hunter’s trap. That was the hardest to bear. Robin was by nature bright and open; this tentative withdrawn young man was like a stranger. Every so often though, a glimmer of Robin’s personality shone through, in a look, or a smile. It was enough to give the Saracen hope that the friend he knew and loved would soon return. He could only imagine how horrible it was to not be able to remember anything, not even your own name. And if some small part of him ached that Robin did not know him, he firmly shoved it away. All he could do was pray that Robin would remember, and in that remembering, would find his way back to him. Inshallah. For now, he must keep Robin calm, offer what comfort he could, and answer the questions as they came.
“Nasir Malik Kemal Inal Ibrahim Shams ad-Dualla Wattab ibn-Mahmud.” He bowed slightly and with a quirk of the lips told the young man, “Nasir.”
A brief smile lit Robin’s face at that, but his expression quickly turned wary, unsure. “And Nasir, of the impressive name, are we … friends?”
Oh, Allah be kind. That his first question should be that. Friends, brothers - those words could not even begin to express all that they were to each other. You are the beloved shining one of my heart, my soul. But he could not say that to Robin. Not now. Not yet. All he could offer at this moment was simple truth and that, more than anything, was what Robin needed to hear.
His voice sure and strong, Nasir answered, “Yes, we are friends.”
Robin’s eyes searched his, desperate, needing to be certain, of him, of anything. Nasir stared back steadily, dark eyes unguarded. He felt a tremor run through the young man in his arms, though whether from strong emotion or the cold, he could not tell. With the barest of sighs, Robin’s gaze wavered, then fell away.
After a long moment, Robin stirred, and sighed again. No longer leery, the pale eyes he raised to Nasir’s were trusting, beautiful. “I’m glad.”
Oh, Robin. He had spoken the words with such sincerity that Nasir felt his chest go tight. “As am I, sadiqi. As am I.” He reached out, laying his palm lightly and briefly against the back of Robin’s hand. At the Saracen’s touch, the young man inhaled sharply, his entire body going unnaturally still. Quickly glancing back at his friend’s face, Nasir saw the blue eyes go wide and unfocused.
Nasir observed Robin intently. He had seen the same thing happen earlier, but only for a split second. He frowned, concerned. Perhaps the head injury was more serious than he originally thought.
Gently squeezing the young man’s arm, the Saracen asked him urgently, “Robin, what is it?”
Blinking, Robin shook his head slightly as if to clear it, wincing when he realized his mistake. Moving hurt. He made a frustrated noise. “I keep having flashes of what must be memories, but I can’t hold on to them long enough to tell.”
That, Nasir thought, was a great relief. If Robin was already beginning to remember things, even temporarily, then he should recover without any lasting damage. The Saracen felt himself relax. He had not even realized he had been holding himself so tightly. Confidently, he reassured his friend. “This is a good sign. It is too soon yet. In time, you will remember.”
Robin sighed, not completely convinced. “I hope you’re right. This not knowing is killing me.” Dropping his gaze, Robin looked thoughtfully into the flames of the fire for a moment, only to bring those pale eyes back up and stare gravely at the Saracen. “Nasir, who am I?”
The unhappiness in that question was painful to hear. But this was one hurt that Nasir could do something about, one wound that he could heal. This was easy. Because, regardless of anything else, Robin could be proud of who and what he was. He said, “You were born Robert of Huntingdon, the earl’s son. But you are much more than that. You are Robin i’ the Hood, Herne’s Son and the people’s hope.”
“Robin i’ the Hood, the people’s hope,” Robin repeated, frowning in bewilderment. “What does that mean? And who is Herne?”
“Herne the Hunter is the Lord of the Trees, spirit guardian of the forest. You were chosen by him, to be his son, to lead us. We fight for freedom and justice. We give back to the people what those in power have unrightfully taken.”
A number of emotions chased each other across Robin’s face, surprise and amazement at the forefront. Slowly, and with some disbelief he said, “I gave up an earldom to become the adopted son of a pagan forest god and I’m the leader of a ... of a band of outlaws who fight for the people?”
Nasir simply nodded, raising an eyebrow and lifting one shoulder in the barest hint of a shrug. He watched the young man digest that bit of information. After a moment, the questioning eyes came back to his.
“Where do we live?”
“Here. Sherwood.” Throwing his arm wide in an expansive gesture, Nasir indicated the surrounding woods.
Robin made a wry face. “I gave up comfort and privilege to live in the forest like a hunted animal?” He gave a self-depreciating snort. “Not very smart, am I?”
At that, Nasir laughed, white teeth flashing in his olive face. “That is not so. You are smarter than most,” he said sincerely, a surge of warmth spreading through him; this was the Robin that he knew.
Robin chuckled, grimacing at the twinge of pain it caused. Still smiling, he said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to reserve judgment on that until I learn more.” Shifting a little, trying to find a more comfortable position, he looked expectantly up at the older man. “You have yet to tell me about these other outlaws that I lead. How many are there? What are their names?”
"There are four others. Will Scarlet, John Little, Much and Tuck. They are all good, honest men."
“But where are they? Why aren’t they here, with us?”
The Saracen decided to keep it as uncomplicated and as close to the truth as possible. “They are back at camp,” he replied, tilting his head in its general direction. “You went out alone. I happened across your tracks, along with those of a stranger. It felt wrong. I followed and found you here.”
“Then, not only am I extremely lucky, but also very thankful that you listened to your instincts. If you had not, then more than likely I would be dead right now.” Robin reached out and laid a hand on his friend’s arm, gratitude shining from his eyes.
The very thought of Robin dead was enough to make Nasir shudder and his gut turn to ice. In his mind’s eye, he saw Robin lying still, bright blood on his fair face. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on his friend. “Do not say such things,” he growled, eyes black and glittering in the firelight. “You are alive, this is all that matters.” He took a long steadying breath and continued in a softer tone, “You do not need to thank me, sadiqi. I only did what you would have wished me to do.”
Comprehension quickly replaced the confusion on Robin’s face at the Saracen’s vehement reaction to his words. Somehow, instinctively, he seemed to know what to do in order to distract his friend. With a slight sparkle in his eyes, he said lightly, “Then, I take back what I said earlier.”
Puzzled, Nasir tilted his head and raised a questioning eyebrow.
The young man grinned, dimples briefly showing. “If I’ve learned to rely on your instincts, I can’t be too awfully stupid.”
That earned Robin an amused glance, but his next question shattered their briefly shared levity. “So, not only do none of the others know where we are, but we also have no idea who attacked me?”
Nasir said nothing, shaking his head slowly and gazing steadily at his friend with a grave look.
Robin sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “If only I could remember what happened.” He looked worn and drained, the strain of trying to think sapping what little energy he had left.
Inwardly, the Saracen berated himself over his carelessness. Robin was hurt, he should have had the sense to know how much would be too much, should have known when to stop. He made his voice gentle, but firm. “Enough questions for now. You need to rest.”
Surprisingly, Robin did not argue, though whether that was because he was exhausted or because he realized that arguing would be futile, Nasir was not sure. Regardless, he gave the young man an approving look before lifting his head to glance around their camp. Twilight had given way to night, the moon shining brightly through the tracery of tree branches. There was still the danger that Robin’s assailant might come back under the cover of darkness, if only to make sure that the outlaw was dead. Praise Allah that the man was the worst kind of coward, not having had the courage to kill Robin outright. Nasir felt hot anger rise up inside him again and held it down hard. Right now, he needed to concentrate on protecting Robin and he could not do that while he was this close to him. Not while he was distracted with the weight and feel of the strong young body in his arms. Not while his fingers itched to touch the soft silk of Robin’s hair.
He looked back down at Robin, his expression unreadable, giving away nothing. Best not to tell him of his suspicions; it would do him no good and only cause him worry. Again, the simple truth would suffice. “I must tend the fire and keep watch.”
But he should have known that he could not fool his friend, who could still read him, even with no memories to rely on.
Robin’s tired eyes regarded Nasir closely. “You think he may come back, don’t you?” he asked softly; and then to clarify, “The man who attacked me, that is.”
The Saracen did not reply, only staring back at him with inscruitable dark eyes. Which was an answer in itself.
Robin nodded very slightly, as if to himself. “I thought so.”
“Do not worry. He will be dealt with,” Nasir said harshly, his eyes flashing, face set and hard. As he spoke, he flicked a hand towards the twin swords on his back. Abruptly realizing something, he frowned down at Robin, his tone chiding and only slightly less severe, “I thought I said no more questions.”
“Sorry.” The outlaw gave him a grin that looked anything but.
Nasir raised a disapproving eyebrow at him, but couldn’t help his own lips twitching faintly in return. “Be quiet. Rest.”
Slowly, he moved away from Robin and let him stretch out on the ground. Kneeling next to the young man, he rearranged the cloak, tucking it in around him with care. A chill was not good for wounds; Robin needed to stay warm. Satisfied that Robin was as comfortable as he could make him, Nasir finally stood up and went purposefully about his self-appointed tasks.
azinazelle, crew4, and luthien13 for their encouragement and persistent pestering of me to finish this. It's also the first of several early birthday prezzies for luthien13. :D I hope you like!Comments would make me very, very happy.
Title: Forgotten Treasure
Chapter: 1 of 2. Chapter 2 is here.
Fandom: Robin of Sherwood
Characters: All the Merries are here, at least briefly.
Paring: Robin of Huntingdon/Nasir
Rating: PG-13 for language, violence.
Word Count: 5,113
Summary: Robin has gone missing. Nasir must find him. When he does, will anything ever be the same?
Notes & Disclaimer: Born of a couple of bunnies way back at the beginning of August. All errors are purely my own. As usual, not mine. Actually - they own me. Third in a series, although you don’t need to read the others in order to make sense of this one. The first is, ”Meant To Be” and the second is ”The Welcome”.
Credits: Beta’d by the very patient and ever awesome
3scoremiles_10, who saved me not only from myself, but the adverbs of DOOM as well. You're the best. ♥A faithful friend is a strong defense: and he that hath found one hath found a treasure.
~ Ben Sira (Sirach 6:14)
The day had dawned cool and bright, and as the morning wore on the sun warmed the forest, filtering down through fresh bright leaves. It seemed that spring had finally come to Sherwood. In celebration, the outlaws decided that a day of play was in order, but first, fresh meat must be procured. That problem was solved by Nasir, who, with a single well placed arrow, managed to bring down a small buck. After killing it with a swift stroke of his dagger across the animal’s throat, he butchered it, bringing the meat back to camp to be prepared by Tuck’s capable hands.
Now they lounged about the fire, bellies full of roast venison, talking and laughing in an idle manner. At some point, Tuck had fallen asleep and was snoring softly. Will, lying back against a pile of skins with his hands clasped across his chest, looked as if he was nearly ready to join him in slumber. At the far side of the camp, John and Much were quietly arguing over whose turn it was to clean up after the meal.
Robin, silently observing all of this from where he reclined, propped up on one elbow, turned his attention to Nasir. The Saracen was lying slightly apart, on the very fringe of the group. Even though he appeared just as relaxed as the others, the eyes behind the half-closed lids were alert and watchful. Deliberately catching Nasir’s eye, Robin slowly rubbed his hand across his thigh. It was a signal, one of many they had worked out together. The Saracen’s expression did not change, but his head moved in an almost imperceptible nod. Robin dropped his gaze and, with a grunt, heaved himself to his feet. Glancing around at his friends, he announced, “I don’t know about the rest of you, but if I lie here any longer, I’m liable to take root. I think I’ll stretch my legs and go have a look around.”
From where he lay with his eyes shut, Will spoke up. “Don’t get lost. I don’t feel like comin’ to rescue you.”
Robin, who had made his way to the edge of the camp, threw his head back, sunlight shimmering on the fall of his hair, and laughed. His voice floated back to them, amused and teasing. “I’m tempted to do just that Will, if only to make you move your lazy carcass!”
Will raised his head, staring in surprise after Robin’s retreating back. “Huh,” he snorted. “Damn me if he wouldn’t, too.” Grinning, he closed his eyes again, leaning comfortably back against the hides.
Chuckling at his friends’ banter, John playfully poked Much with his elbow. “What say we follow Tuck’s example and have us a nap while Robin’s gone?”
“Ow, that hurt,” Much complained, rubbing at his ribs. His frown swiftly turning into a cheery smile though, he agreed readily. “All right.”
“I’d say that’s the best idea you’ve had in a long time, John.” Will didn’t bother to open his eyes in order to reply, sounding half asleep already. “Now how ‘bout you two shut up so’s a man can get some rest?”
Replete from their feast, it wasn’t long before the outlaws were dozing contentedly in the warm spring sun. No one noticed, when, after awhile, Nasir, in his usual unobtrusive way, slipped silently away.
Bypassing the trail, Nasir cut across the forest, slipping through the trees as silent and surefooted as a deer. Soon, he arrived at a small glade enclosed by a dense wall of brush and saplings. He was surprised to find the place deserted. Where there should have been the flash of bright gold hair and a warm welcoming smile, there was nothing but the forest’s ever changing green. Robin was not there.
Nasir felt an odd twisting in his gut. Something was not right. Robin had left camp long before him, and even if the outlaw leader had taken the longer route along the trail, Robin should have been waiting in the glade when Nasir arrived. Rapidly, the Saracen searched the area for any sign that his friend had been there. He found nothing. He didn’t like it. Robin had never arrived. Obviously something had happened to delay him. A villager come to ask for help, perhaps, or a forester he had had to avoid. Or, Nasir couldn’t help but think, something worse. He pushed that thought away. There was no point in dwelling on possibilities. Robin was all that mattered.
Working his way back along the track that Robin should have followed, Nasir’s keen gaze scanned constantly back and forth, searching for any sign of Robin’s passing. It wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for. Crouching on his heels, he carefully studied the tracks on the ground in front of him. Two sets of footprints led off into the trees. Robin had met someone on the trail. There was no sign of a struggle – it appeared that whoever he had met up with, Robin had gone with them of his own free will. Still, to go off alone like that, with not a word to anyone ... Nasir scowled, shaking his head in mingled frustration and affection. Robin. So quick to trust, so slow to consider the risk.
Lifting his face and squinting at the sun, the Saracen frowned. It was getting late. Soon he would lose the light, making it much more difficult to find Robin this day. Jumping swiftly to his feet, he resumed his search with renewed urgency.
The men he was following had been moving quickly, without much care for either silence or stealth, leaving behind a clear path of snapped twigs and crushed leaves. Their unerring trail led deeper into the forest, away from any human habitation. Nasir felt his unease, gnawing at him since he had found the glade empty, growing. Stepping over a rotten and decaying log, he swore quietly to himself and wondered what Robin had been thinking. As impetuous as the young outlaw could be, he knew better than this. To come this far alone, with just a stranger for company … it wasn’t safe. Unless, Nasir thought, the stranger was not a stranger at all.
The ground ahead began to slope steadily upward. Cautiously, Nasir worked his way up the hill, ever alert for danger. Using a cluster of trees as cover, he paused at the top, scanning the area below. The sight that met his dark eyes made them go wide in horror and turned his feet to lead. Robin was lying not ten yards away, blood darkening his pale hair and soaking the front of his tunic. Nasir’s heart clenched, then rose up into his throat to choke him. He forced it down, gulping for air, and made himself be still. Robin. Ya Allah, no. His heart cried out to run, to go to his friend, while his head warned him that it was not safe. His head, and his training, won. If Robin had been attacked, his attacker could still be lurking nearby. He would be of no help to Robin if he rushed headlong into a trap. His hand going to one of his twin swords, Nasir edged his way carefully down the hill.
There was no one. Nasir’s sharp gaze swept the area, searching for movement, the flash of steel, anything that might pose a threat. There was nothing. Only Robin, lying still and bloodied on the ground. With an urgency born of fear, feeling his heart now pounding hard in his chest, Nasir went to him, sick dread filling the pit of his stomach at what he might find.
Reaching Robin’s inert form, he dropped down onto his knees. Frantically, Nasir searched Robin for a pulse, his fingers trembling in their haste. With a supreme effort of will he steadied himself. There. He held his breath. A heartbeat: faint, but steady. Releasing the pent-up air from his lungs in a rush, Nasir went weak with relief. He felt the terrible fear that had ripped its claws through his heart, the fear that he had been forcing himself to ignore ever since he first saw that spill of red through Robin’s fair hair, ease its grip, leaving him nearly light-headed as it faded away. To lose Robin, now, with all they were to each other … it would shatter something deep inside him, leaving nothing behind but a cold empty shell. Raising his eyes heavenward, the Saracen offered up a brief but heartfelt prayer of thanks, and then turned his attention back to the young man at his side.
Gently, Nasir ran his hands over Robin’s body, taking stock of his injuries. Finding a lump nearly the size of a hen's egg on the side of the young outlaw's skull, he winced in sympathy. Very carefully, he peeled back Robin’s tunic and shirt in order to examine the stab wound in Robin’s left shoulder. It was jagged and deep, but as long as he could stop the bleeding it didn’t appear to be life threatening, not having struck anything vital. While the wound itself wasn’t serious, the blow to Robin’s head and the amount of blood he had lost was worrisome. Who had done this? From Robin’s injuries, and the sword that was still sheathed at his side, this seemed to have been a surprise attack, giving Robin no time to defend himself. As if his attacker had been someone that Robin trusted, who had hit Robin over the head and then stabbed him and left him for dead.
That thought sent a wave of white-hot rage through the Saracen. His hands fisted against his thighs, wanting nothing more than to rip the heart out of the traitorous dog who had done this evil thing. Aware that his anger would not help his friend, Nasir reined it in, tamping it down until it hardened into cold, implacable resolve. This should not have happened. He would not allow it to happen again. And, he vowed, if it was the last thing that he did on this earth, he would find the man who had attacked Robin and see that he was made to pay.
The light was fading fast; it would be dark soon. There were things to be done; a fire must be built, camp made. The others would not have begun to search for them yet and they were far enough off the beaten path that they probably wouldn’t be found until tomorrow. Water was not a problem, as Nasir had heard the trickle of a brook away to his left while making his way up the hill. But first, and most importantly, Robin’s wounds needed to be cleaned and stitched before he lost any more blood. For once, Nasir wished that it was wine that he carried instead of water, but it could not be helped. With utmost care, he began tending to Robin’s injuries.
As he swam towards consciousness, the first thing that registered was the excruciating pain. It felt like a million tiny hammers were pounding in unison on the inside of his skull and the slightest movement sent sharp burning pain through his shoulder and down his arm. He moaned, softly. He wanted nothing more than to sink back down into oblivion, but a voice kept calling him back, refusing to let him go. He wanted to tell it to leave him alone, to let him sleep, but the voice was insistent, demanding.
It was a struggle just to open his eyes. And when he finally won the battle, it was to the realization that something was terribly wrong. A wave of confusion washed through his groggy mind. What had happened? Where was he?
There was a man leaning over him. Everything about him was dark and exotic looking, right down to the lethal looking weapons strapped across his back. He looked like a Saracen. Should he know this man? Something tugged at the back of his mind, then disappeared as quickly as it came.
“Robin?” queried his companion. The dark eyes regarded him with care and concern, and no small amount of worry.
He blinked in bewilderment. Robin? That was a name, but who … the dark man was still watching him, waiting. Him? He frowned, trying hard to think, to remember. He couldn’t. Everything was blurred and distant, like trying to see through a fog. He couldn’t remember ... he couldn’t remember.
Terrified, Robin began to panic. Heart thumping hard, he stared wild-eyed up at the other man. “I ... I can’t remember anything,” he stammered. “I don’t even know … Robin. Is that my name? Robin?” A sudden and irrational urge to run, to flee, seized hold of him. He struggled to sit up, only to fall back with a gasp, as pain shot through his shoulder and his head throbbed.
“Robin, yes. Your name. Lie still.” The Saracen reached out, cupping Robin’s face between his palms. With firm but gentle hands, he forced the young man to look at him. “Hush. It is all right.” His voice was low and soothing, as if calming a skittish horse. “You have been hit on the head. It is normal to not remember at first. Lie still.” The last was said firmly, in a tone reserved for recalcitrant children.
But the admonition had come too late, the movement having already taken its toll. Pain and dizziness washed over Robin in waves. Grimacing, he squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his stomach churn and roll. In a tight voice he announced: “I’m going to be sick.”
With what sounded like a curse, the Saracen shifted, carefully rolling Robin onto one side and steadying him with strong arms. Gasping at the flare of pain that the movement brought, Robin broke out into a cold sweat, gritting his teeth against the bile rising up in his throat. Desperately, he clutched at the other man’s forearm like a lifeline. It was the only solid thing in his world at the moment, unlike the ground, which tilted alarmingly every time he opened his eyes. Deciding that for the moment it was best to keep them shut, he concentrated on not being sick. It was one fight he was destined to lose.
The retching caused pain to jolt through Robin’s body; the agony in his head became so intense he thought that his skull might split in two. He tried to groan, but the sound that came out was more of a choked whimper. By the time the waves of nausea had begun to ease, he was left panting and weak with exhaustion. Everything seemed faint and far away, as if he were underwater. Gradually, the world began to come back into focus and Robin became aware of his surroundings again. Of kind hands and the soothing murmur of a man’s voice, comforting and vaguely familiar. He tried in vain to catch the words, but his head ached with the effort and they kept slipping out of his grasp. He felt as limp as a wrung out rag and every part of him hurt. The places where the other man touched him felt warm, almost hot, in sharp contrast to his sweat soaked shirt, which was clammy despite the crackling fire nearby. He shivered in the cool evening air and suddenly realized that his companion had asked him something. He knit his brows together in concentration to try and figure out what the question was, but it eluded him.
The other man patiently repeated it: “Robin, are you still feeling sick?”
“No, not any more.” He rasped the words out, just above a whisper. His throat was raw and sore, the taste in his mouth more than a little unpleasant. Hopefully, he added, “Water?”
Robin felt a gentle tug on his hand and was disconcerted to discover that he was still clinging onto the other man’s arm. Somewhat reluctantly, he let go. His movements slow and careful, the Saracen moved away. Bereft of his companion’s body heat, Robin felt a cold chill go through him. It left him trembling, from shock as much as from cold, but before he could say a word, the other man was back, throwing a heavy cloak over his shivering body. Briefly, he wondered whose it was, then decided it wasn’t important. What was important was that the kind hands had returned, lifting him to rest against the warmth of the other man’s body. But as kind as the hands were, they could not prevent the bite of pain that resulted. Robin caught his breath on it, and felt his arm squeezed softly in sympathy. As the pain subsided to a dull throb, he relaxed, sighing in relief as warmth began to seep back through him.
Picking up a water skin from where it lay beside him, the Saracen removed the stopper and offered it to the young man, saying warningly, “Slowly.”
Some part of Robin resented being treated like a small child, but he supposed he deserved it. He gave a wan, lopsided smile. “All right.”
With a slightly unsteady hand, Robin reached out, glancing at his companion as he did so. What he saw, or thought he saw, nearly gave him pause. Something like pain had flickered across those dark eyes, but it was gone so quickly that Robin decided he must have imagined it. At the moment, his brain was not the most reliable of things; it was impossibly hard to even think.
Raising the water skin, Robin took a drink. The water was a blessed relief, easing the foul taste in his mouth, as it slid cool and refreshing down his raw throat. Mindful of the warning and aware that he was being watched closely, he allowed himself one more mouthful and handed it back. Catching the other man’s eye, he smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you.” Indicating his bandaged shoulder with a slight wave of his hand, he added, “And for your care as well.”
“You are welcome.” That was said with an elegant dip of the head and the twitch of an answering smile.
Unexpectedly, an image flashed across Robin’s mind. Himself and this man, sitting close together beside a small fire. Behind them, the sound of flowing water gurgling happily. The Saracen looking back at him, with the same smile on his lips, laughter gleaming in the exotic eyes. The image blurred and vanished as quickly as it had come, even as Robin frantically fought to hold onto the memory. He blinked, bringing his focus back on the man in front of him. And was suddenly ashamed, berating himself for the question he had neglected to yet ask.
In a voice heavy with regret, Robin said, “I don’t even know your name.”
Names were easy; it was the barrage of questions that were sure to follow that would be hard. Nasir resigned himself to that, and told himself that no matter how difficult the question, he would do his best to answer, for Robin’s sake. Even weak and wounded, pale as a ghost and with blood staining his golden hair, he was beautiful. It made Nasir’s heart hurt to see him like this, so confused and in pain. There was a wary look about Robin’s eyes, like a wild animal caught in a hunter’s trap. That was the hardest to bear. Robin was by nature bright and open; this tentative withdrawn young man was like a stranger. Every so often though, a glimmer of Robin’s personality shone through, in a look, or a smile. It was enough to give the Saracen hope that the friend he knew and loved would soon return. He could only imagine how horrible it was to not be able to remember anything, not even your own name. And if some small part of him ached that Robin did not know him, he firmly shoved it away. All he could do was pray that Robin would remember, and in that remembering, would find his way back to him. Inshallah. For now, he must keep Robin calm, offer what comfort he could, and answer the questions as they came.
“Nasir Malik Kemal Inal Ibrahim Shams ad-Dualla Wattab ibn-Mahmud.” He bowed slightly and with a quirk of the lips told the young man, “Nasir.”
A brief smile lit Robin’s face at that, but his expression quickly turned wary, unsure. “And Nasir, of the impressive name, are we … friends?”
Oh, Allah be kind. That his first question should be that. Friends, brothers - those words could not even begin to express all that they were to each other. You are the beloved shining one of my heart, my soul. But he could not say that to Robin. Not now. Not yet. All he could offer at this moment was simple truth and that, more than anything, was what Robin needed to hear.
His voice sure and strong, Nasir answered, “Yes, we are friends.”
Robin’s eyes searched his, desperate, needing to be certain, of him, of anything. Nasir stared back steadily, dark eyes unguarded. He felt a tremor run through the young man in his arms, though whether from strong emotion or the cold, he could not tell. With the barest of sighs, Robin’s gaze wavered, then fell away.
After a long moment, Robin stirred, and sighed again. No longer leery, the pale eyes he raised to Nasir’s were trusting, beautiful. “I’m glad.”
Oh, Robin. He had spoken the words with such sincerity that Nasir felt his chest go tight. “As am I, sadiqi. As am I.” He reached out, laying his palm lightly and briefly against the back of Robin’s hand. At the Saracen’s touch, the young man inhaled sharply, his entire body going unnaturally still. Quickly glancing back at his friend’s face, Nasir saw the blue eyes go wide and unfocused.
Nasir observed Robin intently. He had seen the same thing happen earlier, but only for a split second. He frowned, concerned. Perhaps the head injury was more serious than he originally thought.
Gently squeezing the young man’s arm, the Saracen asked him urgently, “Robin, what is it?”
Blinking, Robin shook his head slightly as if to clear it, wincing when he realized his mistake. Moving hurt. He made a frustrated noise. “I keep having flashes of what must be memories, but I can’t hold on to them long enough to tell.”
That, Nasir thought, was a great relief. If Robin was already beginning to remember things, even temporarily, then he should recover without any lasting damage. The Saracen felt himself relax. He had not even realized he had been holding himself so tightly. Confidently, he reassured his friend. “This is a good sign. It is too soon yet. In time, you will remember.”
Robin sighed, not completely convinced. “I hope you’re right. This not knowing is killing me.” Dropping his gaze, Robin looked thoughtfully into the flames of the fire for a moment, only to bring those pale eyes back up and stare gravely at the Saracen. “Nasir, who am I?”
The unhappiness in that question was painful to hear. But this was one hurt that Nasir could do something about, one wound that he could heal. This was easy. Because, regardless of anything else, Robin could be proud of who and what he was. He said, “You were born Robert of Huntingdon, the earl’s son. But you are much more than that. You are Robin i’ the Hood, Herne’s Son and the people’s hope.”
“Robin i’ the Hood, the people’s hope,” Robin repeated, frowning in bewilderment. “What does that mean? And who is Herne?”
“Herne the Hunter is the Lord of the Trees, spirit guardian of the forest. You were chosen by him, to be his son, to lead us. We fight for freedom and justice. We give back to the people what those in power have unrightfully taken.”
A number of emotions chased each other across Robin’s face, surprise and amazement at the forefront. Slowly, and with some disbelief he said, “I gave up an earldom to become the adopted son of a pagan forest god and I’m the leader of a ... of a band of outlaws who fight for the people?”
Nasir simply nodded, raising an eyebrow and lifting one shoulder in the barest hint of a shrug. He watched the young man digest that bit of information. After a moment, the questioning eyes came back to his.
“Where do we live?”
“Here. Sherwood.” Throwing his arm wide in an expansive gesture, Nasir indicated the surrounding woods.
Robin made a wry face. “I gave up comfort and privilege to live in the forest like a hunted animal?” He gave a self-depreciating snort. “Not very smart, am I?”
At that, Nasir laughed, white teeth flashing in his olive face. “That is not so. You are smarter than most,” he said sincerely, a surge of warmth spreading through him; this was the Robin that he knew.
Robin chuckled, grimacing at the twinge of pain it caused. Still smiling, he said, “I’m afraid I’ll have to reserve judgment on that until I learn more.” Shifting a little, trying to find a more comfortable position, he looked expectantly up at the older man. “You have yet to tell me about these other outlaws that I lead. How many are there? What are their names?”
"There are four others. Will Scarlet, John Little, Much and Tuck. They are all good, honest men."
“But where are they? Why aren’t they here, with us?”
The Saracen decided to keep it as uncomplicated and as close to the truth as possible. “They are back at camp,” he replied, tilting his head in its general direction. “You went out alone. I happened across your tracks, along with those of a stranger. It felt wrong. I followed and found you here.”
“Then, not only am I extremely lucky, but also very thankful that you listened to your instincts. If you had not, then more than likely I would be dead right now.” Robin reached out and laid a hand on his friend’s arm, gratitude shining from his eyes.
The very thought of Robin dead was enough to make Nasir shudder and his gut turn to ice. In his mind’s eye, he saw Robin lying still, bright blood on his fair face. Unconsciously, he tightened his grip on his friend. “Do not say such things,” he growled, eyes black and glittering in the firelight. “You are alive, this is all that matters.” He took a long steadying breath and continued in a softer tone, “You do not need to thank me, sadiqi. I only did what you would have wished me to do.”
Comprehension quickly replaced the confusion on Robin’s face at the Saracen’s vehement reaction to his words. Somehow, instinctively, he seemed to know what to do in order to distract his friend. With a slight sparkle in his eyes, he said lightly, “Then, I take back what I said earlier.”
Puzzled, Nasir tilted his head and raised a questioning eyebrow.
The young man grinned, dimples briefly showing. “If I’ve learned to rely on your instincts, I can’t be too awfully stupid.”
That earned Robin an amused glance, but his next question shattered their briefly shared levity. “So, not only do none of the others know where we are, but we also have no idea who attacked me?”
Nasir said nothing, shaking his head slowly and gazing steadily at his friend with a grave look.
Robin sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “If only I could remember what happened.” He looked worn and drained, the strain of trying to think sapping what little energy he had left.
Inwardly, the Saracen berated himself over his carelessness. Robin was hurt, he should have had the sense to know how much would be too much, should have known when to stop. He made his voice gentle, but firm. “Enough questions for now. You need to rest.”
Surprisingly, Robin did not argue, though whether that was because he was exhausted or because he realized that arguing would be futile, Nasir was not sure. Regardless, he gave the young man an approving look before lifting his head to glance around their camp. Twilight had given way to night, the moon shining brightly through the tracery of tree branches. There was still the danger that Robin’s assailant might come back under the cover of darkness, if only to make sure that the outlaw was dead. Praise Allah that the man was the worst kind of coward, not having had the courage to kill Robin outright. Nasir felt hot anger rise up inside him again and held it down hard. Right now, he needed to concentrate on protecting Robin and he could not do that while he was this close to him. Not while he was distracted with the weight and feel of the strong young body in his arms. Not while his fingers itched to touch the soft silk of Robin’s hair.
He looked back down at Robin, his expression unreadable, giving away nothing. Best not to tell him of his suspicions; it would do him no good and only cause him worry. Again, the simple truth would suffice. “I must tend the fire and keep watch.”
But he should have known that he could not fool his friend, who could still read him, even with no memories to rely on.
Robin’s tired eyes regarded Nasir closely. “You think he may come back, don’t you?” he asked softly; and then to clarify, “The man who attacked me, that is.”
The Saracen did not reply, only staring back at him with inscruitable dark eyes. Which was an answer in itself.
Robin nodded very slightly, as if to himself. “I thought so.”
“Do not worry. He will be dealt with,” Nasir said harshly, his eyes flashing, face set and hard. As he spoke, he flicked a hand towards the twin swords on his back. Abruptly realizing something, he frowned down at Robin, his tone chiding and only slightly less severe, “I thought I said no more questions.”
“Sorry.” The outlaw gave him a grin that looked anything but.
Nasir raised a disapproving eyebrow at him, but couldn’t help his own lips twitching faintly in return. “Be quiet. Rest.”
Slowly, he moved away from Robin and let him stretch out on the ground. Kneeling next to the young man, he rearranged the cloak, tucking it in around him with care. A chill was not good for wounds; Robin needed to stay warm. Satisfied that Robin was as comfortable as he could make him, Nasir finally stood up and went purposefully about his self-appointed tasks.
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