Lost and Found ~ A Guy/Allan AU Fan Fic ~ Chapter One
This new fan fic is set in my AU version of S3. Guy is still a boozy, wild-eyed mess. But someone from his past turns up to try and help him through his self-hatred and torment to reclaim his life. There is no Tuck or Kate; the gang has, in fact, disintegrated. This first chapter is relatively tame, excepting a bit of foul language. Later chapters will be R to NC-17 for language, sexual situations, m/m slash. Hope you enjoy and as always, comments are always welcome.
It was a hot day, and a dry one. Allan fumbled in the pouch at his waist. He had a few coins left, not much. Ah what the hell, he was thirsty and he needed some ale.
He ventured into a tavern on the outskirts of Nottingham and ordered himself a drink.
The pretty dark-haired wench serving him gave him a warm smile. He grinned broadly and gave her an extra coin. She’d remember him fondly. He’d be penniless, but she’d remember him fondly.
Allan quaffed the drink and then gave a sigh as he rubbed his prominent nose.
He’d turn up a way to make more money, if he had to go back to hustling poor saps who knew no better. There was always a way . . .
“Gotcha.” No mistaking that deep, gruff rumble or the elegant fingers that gripped his shoulder.
Allan turned and peered up into the face of Sir Guy of Gisborne. Or what was left of him, anyway. He hadn’t seen him since the return from the Holy Land.
~Fuckin’ hell, he looks as rough as everyone says~
Allan blinked and grinned. “Hu-Hullo, Giz. Long time, no see.”
Guy tossed back a tangled mane of greasy black hair. His hollow eyes, their familiar kohl liner applied with a most unsteady hand, seemed unfocused as they glared down in Allan’s general direction.
“Sir Guy, if you please.”
“Yeah, sorry, Sir Guy,” Allan nodded. He sniffed and resisted the impulse to fan the air.
Guy could use a good bath, there was no doubt about it.
Guy pulled out the chair next to Allan’s and sat down hard.
He leaned in close to Allan. ~And some cloves to freshen that breath~
“Well, what is one of the legendary Robin Hood’s famous outlaws doing in Nottingham? Come to spy, then?” Guy’s husky drawl had a dangerous edge to it.
Allan shook his ginger head. “I’m not one of Robin’s famous outlaws, anymore and no, I am not here to spy - just wanted a drink, that’s all.”
He gave Guy his most affable smile.
“Can’t blame a man for being thirsty, can you?”
Guy’s mouth lifted in the faintest ghost of a smile. His head seemed to dance a bit on his shoulders.
“Given up being a good boy again, heh? Well, I will drink to that . . .”
Guy held up his hand and growled. “Here, girl, bring us more ale.” He smirked. “For me and my good - friend.” He clapped Allan on the back a little harder than necessary.
Allan frowned. ~I am probably going to regret asking this, but~
“Uh, Gi- Sir Guy, don’t you think you’ve probably had - enough?”
Allan felt Guy’s hot, fetid breath in his ear as he heard the rattle of his sword. “Are you telling me what to do? I could have your balls right now if I wanted to, Allan, and stuff ‘em in that lying gob of yours-”
Allan raised placating hands. “No problem, milord, I- I am an idiot, and I would be glad to have a drink with you.” He paused and cleared his throat.
Guy sat back in his chair wearily, dropping his hand from his scabbard. Allan gave a small sigh of relief.
“Well, at least you realize that,” Guy drawled, rubbing his nose.
“Though you must not be too stupid if you’ve left Hood.” Guy hissed the last word, his empty eyes briefly glittering with malice.
“Long story,” Allan replied.
Guy drained off the last of his ale, smacking his lips. “I’ve got time. It’s about all I’ve got these days . . .” He mumbled as he awkwardly lifted his tankard to signal the wench.
Allan raised his eyebrows. ~God’s breath. He’s puttin’ it away~
“Talk.” Guy’s gruff voice commanded.
“Guess you haven’t heard. Robin disbanded the gang when we got from - from Acre. He’d gone a bit – mad, after Marian’s - after Marian.” He glanced hesitantly at Guy, who was staring off into the distance.
There was no verbal reaction to Allan’s words; only the faintest flicker in his empty blue eyes.
Guy felt the terrible twist in his gut as he had felt it so many times before, ever since that awful day.
~Was it like what Marian had felt? Like that cold metal slicing deep inside her~
Guy closed his eyes, willed the images and thoughts to stop. Allan watched, uncertain whether he should continue.
“And ?” Guy’s voice suddenly rumbled impatiently amidst the hubbub of the tavern.
“And – Will and Djaq stayed behind in the Holy Land, and Robin told us he didn’t want to be Robin Hood anymore. More or less told us to fuck off,” Allan said with a shrug and a sigh.
“He’s livin’ like a hermit in the forest now, except that Much is still with him, trying to take care of him, the poor sod. Little John is trying to feed the peasants as best he can . . .”
A little groan came from Guy’s slack mouth.
He was bobbing back and forth in his chair, his pallor worsening under the streaks of grime on his gaunt cheeks.
“Guy - you alright?” Concerned, Allan reached out a hand to steady him. Guy flinched away at his touch and crouched over his fresh drink, guzzling it down.
Tossing back his wild tangle of black hair as he pounded the tankard back on the table, Guy cut his eyes sideways at Allan. “And you, Allan? Who are you looking after these days?” he asked in a hoarse voice, his hollowed eyes trying to focus.
Allan gave him a smirk. “Gotta look after myself, big man. Nobody else is goin’ to, right?”
Guy gave a small, mirthless laugh.
“So true. Can’t depend on anybody else. Can’t – trust . . .” Guy’s eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth fell open. He suddenly pitched forward, his shaggy head dropping to the table.
“Giz. Sir Guy. Hey. Oy!” Allan tapped on Guy’s head through his greasy locks. No response.
He ever so carefully shook Guy’s shoulder. Nothing.
Allan leaned in close. ~Bleedin’ hell~ He gave a sigh of relief when he saw the rise and fall of Guy’s chest under his rumpled black linen shirt. At least he was still alive.
~But he won’t be long if he keeps this up~
Allan scratched his head. What was he going to do with a very drunk, very immobile Guy?
~I can’t just leave him here. I already feel bad enough about taking off the way I did. Maybe, maybe things would have been different~
“Are ya gonna take him off our hands tonight?” The rotund tavern keeper stood, his hands on his hips, looking quizzically at Allan.
Allan rubbed his nose. “Does he get like this a lot?”
The tavern keeper nodded his bald head. “Practically every night. Sits by himself and drinks himself into oblivion. I think his horse knows the way home, but it’s hell tryin’ to get the big fucker on it.”
Allan scratched his head, extended a questioning hand. “Why do you keep serving him drinks, then?”
The tavern keeper raised a bushy brow. “You ever tried arguing with that one in his cups? He’s like a bad-tempered mastiff whot hasn’t been fed for a week – you don’t wanna mess about with him.”
Allan gave a rueful laugh. “Yeah, I can see what you mean.”
He looked at Guy, rubbed his bearded chin, and then gave his most ingratiating smile to the tavern keeper. “Look, if you will help me get Sir Guy out of here and on his horse, I will see he gets home, alright?”
The tavern keeper shrugged. “Sure - but do you know what you’re gettin’ into?”
“Yeah, sure. Giz and I go back a ways,” Allan said with a cheeky confidence he really didn’t feel. Guy gave a groan, stirred and briefly opened his bleary eyes. “Trust . . .” His eyes closed again.
~I can’t leave him like this. Wouldn’t be right~
The man was right. It was hell trying to get a man as big and sturdy as Sir Guy of Gisborne onto a horse when he was a drunk as half a dozen lords.
Allan gave a huge sigh of relief as he mounted Apollo and slid into place behind Guy.
Taking the horse’s reins, Allan headed back to Locksley to get Guy to bed.
He’d forgotten how massive Guy was in some ways: the breadth of his powerful shoulders, those long, lean legs hanging against the flanks of his stallion. Allan stayed close to him, fearful Guy would flop right off the steed if he wasn’t there to hold him up.
Guy, his shaggy head lolling, smelled of sweat and ale. And something else, but Allan couldn’t quite identify what it was.
The young man thought of Guy’s sleek, commanding leather-clad figure, striding panther-like down the corridors of the castle.
~Used to change his tunics two or three times a day. Seeing a fine figure of a fellow end up like this – it’s sad~
Allan pressed himself a little closer to Guy and prayed he’d be able to get him up the stairs and into his bed safely once they arrived at Locksley Manor.
From a short distance, Allan saw a light flickering inside the manor house. He breathed another sigh of relief.
~At least one of the servants must be there. Good. I’ll have a bit of help~
Allan reined in Apollo and brought him to a stop in front of Guy’s home.
“Giz, we’re back at Locksley Manor, home, sweet, home, hey? You reckon you can wake up a bit so we can get you inside?” Allan coaxed. Guy just grunted.
“I gotta go and see who’s here. Uh, try not to fall off the horse while I’m gone, alright?”
Allan dismounted and went to the door, rapping on it several times.
There was no response. He glanced back at Guy, whose head kept dropping further down on his chest, even as his big hands began to slide off his thighs to dangle loosely at his sides. He looked as if he might pitch over any minute.
“Hang in there, Guy, if you can hear me,” Allan said. He frowned and knocked on the door again impatiently. “Somebody’s gotta be here.” He glanced at the upstairs windows and thought he glimpsed a figure moving from the window.
He heard a shuffling from inside. The front door opened just slightly. He saw a single bright black eye and the flash of a blade in the moonlight and stepped quickly back.
“Who are ye? Is that Sir Guy on yon horse?” A suspicious voice that sounded like a squeaking wheel in need of grease queried.
“My name is Allan A Dale . . . I – used to work with Guy at the castle. And yes, that’s him on his horse. He’s had way too much to drink-”
There was a cackle. The door opened far enough for him to see a tiny scrap of an elderly woman standing there, a wicked-looking dagger in her claw-like hand.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” she said, her rusty voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Uh - is there anyone else here . . . Sir Guy’s squire?”
She shook her wiry grey head and gave a sharp laugh.
“Nobody but me, laddie. The boy’s been gone a while. Couldn’t take HIS temper anymore. Nobody can but me.” Her wizened face broke into a gap-toothed grin.
“That’s coz I’m just as mean as the bastard.”
She stretched out her wrinkled paw. “Name is Minerva. So, you gonna see to him before he finishes fallin’ off that horse?”
Allan turned and saw Guy dangerously close to tumbling off Apollo.
“Oy, hang on a minute-” Allan ran and grabbed Guy’s shirt with one hand, wrapping his arm around Guy’s arse just as the master at arms pitched over toward the ground. Allan and Guy went down together, Guy’s long limbs in a tangle with his former assistant’s.
Guy, his greasy mane tucked against Allan’s shoulder, groaned. Allan suddenly realized his hand was still on Guy’s firm backside and snatched it away.
He heard the annoying cackle once again.
“Well, don’t you two look cozy?!”
Allan gritted his teeth. With a hard push, he managed to shift Gisborne off of him. He sat up, blowing out a breath.
~He’s one hell of a big man~
Minerva appeared at his side. “Come on, boy, let’s get him inside.” She grabbed one of Guy’s arms and nodded her head toward Allan. “Up and at’em.”
She saw Allan’s surprised look and grinned. “I’m not only mean, I’m tough. You don’t live to be my age if you are a weakling.”
Allan nodded and smiled in response. “Let’s do it.”
Between the two of them, they managed to get a barely conscious Guy up and into the manor house.
“Since you are here, let’s get him on upstairs to a proper bed instead of leavin’ him on the floor,” Minerva puffed.
Half-carrying and half-dragging him, Minerva and Allan managed to maneuver Guy upstairs and onto his bed.
“Well, that’s that. Good night to you boys. You can get his boots and other kit off, can’t you? He might actually rest a bit better without it all . . .”
Allan gave her a look of alarm. “You’re not – leavin’?”
Minerva titled her head and gave him a bird-like stare. “I don’t live here, lad. I just try to keep the place tidy and see he gets into the house each night.”
She eyed Guy’s still form in the bed and pursed her wrinkled lips. “Mebbe, since he is actually in his bed, you’ll get a bit o’ peace and quiet tonight.”
Allan wrinkled his brow. “Whot-”
“Well, I will leave you to it. Good luck, is all I can say . . .”
And with that, Minerva moved with considerable alacrity down the stairs and out of Locksley Manor.
Allan, open-mouthed, stared after her disappearing form. He glanced down at Guy, motionless on the bed.
~What did she mean I might get some peace and quiet since he is in bed? And I am not gonna take all his kit off . . . well, maybe his boots. Wouldn’t want to sleep in my boots if I were him~
Allan licked his lips and set about prying Guy’s boots from his feet.
~God’s breath, he’s got some big feet to go with those big hands of his. Nice, though. I mean, for feet, they’re - nice. Well shaped~
~Trust the handsome bastard to have good-lookin’ feet, too~
He furrowed his brow.
~Big hands. Big feet. I wonder – if what they always say is true?~
Guy grunted, turned his head, his face obscured by his mane of untidy hair.
Allan shook his own head, smiling wryly to himself. “What are ya thinkin,’Allan? This is Gisborne . . .” he mumbled to himself.
Well, he wasn’t going to leave Guy in the house by himself. And he certainly wasn’t going to climb into bed with him. Surely there was another bed nearby in a manor house that size? Suddenly Allan felt bone-weary. To bed, to bed . . .
Allan awoke with a jolt. ~What the bloody hell?~
A mournful howl sounded in his ears. A dog? No, it was coming from inside the house.
A loud moan followed, and then gasping. Words, indistinct but spoken with a tortured inflection, spilled out.
Allan rubbed his eyes and threw back the sheet. He slid out of the borrowed bed and hurried to the door of Guy’s bed chamber.
“Guy?” he called out, gently pushing open the door. Moonlight spilled into the chamber. He was writhing on the bed, tossing his raven mane to and fro, his breathing hard and labored.
Allan could see Guy’s chest was bare.
His black shirt lay in a crumpled heap on the floor beside the bed. Rivulets of sweat ran down Guy’s pale skin and pooled in the taut ridges of his abdomen.
The firm muscles in his arms flexed, as his long fingers clutched tightly at the bedclothes. Guy whimpered, his lashes pressed tightly against his cheeks.
His head whipped back and forth as he gave another long moan.
~God’s breath, what a nightmare he must be having~
Allan carefully tiptoed to Guy’s side. “Guy – Guy, wake up,” he said urgently.
Guy grunted, shook his head. His eyes remained closed.
Allan leaned in closer. “Guy.” He paused and then hesitantly extended a hand to touch Guy’s bare shoulder. “Guy . . .”
It happened so quickly Allan didn’t have time to think.
Suddenly he was on the bed and Guy was on top of him, pinning him down. Guy’s big hands were clutching his throat; his black hair, falling into Allan’s face, his sour breath hot against Allan’s skin.
Allan tried to speak, but Guy was starting to squeeze his throat now. His blue eyes had turned huge and almost black, his white teeth, bared in a fearsome snarl.
~He really is like an animal. The sleek panther I knew has turned into a real wolf. Totally wild~
Allan was both terrified and fascinated.
He managed to gasp a few words. “Guy – it’s alright – it’s – me, it’s Allan.”
He saw a flicker of recognition in Guy’s eyes. The pupils retracted a little as his lips relaxed. Guy loosened his grip on Allan’s throat and the younger man went into a spasm of coughing.
Guy sat up, his strong thighs still pressing against Allan’s and holding him down.
He shook his hair back, squinting at Allan, and scowled.
“Allan. What the merry hell are you playing at? What are you doing here?”
Allan rubbed his throat. “You-you were having some kind of bad dream. So I came to check on you, make sure you were alright.”
Guy shook his head wearily. “I mean – how did you get here?” Bleary eyed, he looked around his chamber. “How the fuck did I get here, for that matter?”
“Don’t you remember? I saw you at the tavern. We were talkin’ and you, uh, passed out. So I brought you here on Apollo. And Minerva helped me get you up the stairs.”
Allan paused. “Uh, Guy, do you think you could – get off me, now?”
Guy smirked. “You’re lucky you’re not the dead body beneath me right now,” he said huskily as he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and freed Allan, who slid out of bed on the opposite side.
Staring into the distance, Guy rubbed his stubbled jaw. “Thanks for your concern,” he muttered.
He turned back and gave Allan a thunderous look.
“But if you value your life, you won’t ever steal up on me like that again.”
Allan swallowed hard. “Right. Point taken. Do you mind if I ask-”
Guy cut him off as he turned away. “Yes. I do mind. As I said, thanks, but I don’t need a nursemaid. You may go.”
Allan raised his brows, made a face at Guy’s back.
~Bleedin’ sod. Can’t tell me he doesn’t need help~
“If it’s all the same to you, I will stay until the morning, at least. After all, I’ve already used the sheets on the guest bed,” Allan said with a bit of his customary cheekiness.
Guy raised a sardonic brow and looked at him. “Whot, not frolicking with your forest friends?”
A lop-sided smile spread across his face. “Oh, that’s right, you no longer have your cozy woodland abode. How convenient it is I had a spare bed.”
Allan gave a nonchalant shrug. “Hey, Giz, like I said, I thought you needed looking after. I mean, I could have always found a willing wench to make me comfortable . . .”
Guy’s lips twitched. “And now you are trying to make me comfortable.” He cocked his head at Allan and gave him a challenging look.
“Just what kind of ‘looking after’ did you have in mind, Allan?”
Allan scratched his head and shrugged again, a little discomfited. “Look, you were in a bad way, you looked like shite, you still do - I’d, I’d like to lend a helpin’ hand, that’s all. I mean - sod it, we were mates at one time.”
Guy lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.
~he’s a fool, but he means well, I suppose. Though what he thinks he can do for me, I can’t imagine. I’m beyond help. He’ll soon see that~
As Allan walked back to the door, he heard Gisborne’s words rumble behind him.
“Glad to know we cleared that up about how you were going to take care of me. I was a bit worried you were going to try some new exotic tricks you’d learned in the Holy Land . . .”
Allan stopped, puzzled. He scratched his head as he looked back at Guy. “I’m not bein’ funny, but-”
Guy gave a sigh. “Good night, Allan. Go back to bed.”
He stared at the ceiling as he heard Allan leave the room. He listened to the younger man’s footfalls and the sound of the guest chamber’s door opening and closing. He closed his eyes for a moment.
~Someone in this house might as well get some rest~
Guy sat up, rubbed his face wearily and thought a bit. He gathered the pillows he had tossed about on the bed and laid them end-to-end alongside his body, and then pulled the covers over them.
Guy lay down and wrapped an arm around the form he’d created.
He felt oddly comforted; it was almost as if someone were there with him. Guy wasn’t sure why, but Allan showing up had made him feel lonelier than ever.
~ At least I don’t have to worry about poisoning a pillow through my touch~