Well this is my new miltuchapter fic. It is Allan/Djaq pairing, so if you don't like that just don't read it. There is a lso Robin/Marian and onesided Will/Djaq in there.

It is a sad, sad story so if you have problem with angst... Well don't read it lol

Now I have told people twise not to read it... BUT if you like angst and like Allan/Djaq you have definitly come to the right place. This first chapter is from Allan's POV.

The story is set during S2, basically post ep 2.05, but after that it gets a bit AU.

Chapter 1:

Children's Play

"But I don't want to be Allan!!!"

They boy was the kind of read-headed lad who had freckles all over his skin, big brown stains on a rosy pale complexion. Now the spotted face was distorted in grumpy wrinkles, the mouth strained to a stubbornly arched line as if he'd bitten down on a very sour apple, and his little hands were clenched to two hard knots.

"Don't be silly Ginger," another one of the boys said. He was considerably bigger and had an air of undeniable leadership about him. "You're always Allan!"

"Not now I'm not! He's a tr… tree… treetor, my mama says an' that's no good!"

"It's called traitor, stupid. And someone has to play him, because Robin will find him and kill him, or he will kill the king. And steal all the money from the poor!"

"Why will he kill the king!?" the freckled boy exclaimed with all the indignation of a child who finds his hero fallen from grace. "An' I don't want to play him anyway, because I want to wear a tag! I don't want to be the traitor! And if I have to be Allan then I don't want to play anyway! And my brother Daniel will beat you when he hears about this because he is bigger than you even, and he says that you can't be mean to me, and he will hit you and you will regret that you are so stupid! And anyway Robin Hood would never say that someone has to be Allan when he doesn't want to be! I don't want to play with you anymore!" he snapped while forcefully stamping his foot to enhance every exclamation mark. Then he twirled around with the complete lack of grace so often displayed by children whose limbs outgrow their bodies, and ran off in a ludicrously gawky manner.

"Run home to mummy, traitor!" the big boy yelled after him, his face red with anger. "And real heroes don't need their brother to save them - that is roguish behaviour that is! You're just like Allan-the-Traitor!"

Roguish behaviour.

Well, Allan-a-Dale thought as he watched the kids get on with their game of outlaws and traitors, at least the brat knew how to scorn articulately... They had invited one of the younger children to play the role of the traitor and Allan lingered a moment, lounging in the shadows of a shabby house, while studying the play. Kid's games are simple things. There is no room for complex characterisations, if you are good then you are all good and if you are bad then you are nothing but bad. Thus Allan-the-Traitor was no better than the sheriff or Guy in this play. The new child got very thorough instructions, everything from his 'evil chuckle' to his 'cowardly escape' was carefully directed by the big kid who played Robin. At least little Allan seemed pleased with his role, beaming with pride over the grace he had been granted by the older children. Though with that said, Allan had a sneaking suspicion that he had started at the bottom of the ladder and was happy just to be included.

Allan gave out a self-pitying sigh, shifted position and felt a sudden wooziness overcome him by the movement. To be honest there had been a lot of ale lately and not much sleep, seeking comfort in the company for temporary beer-buddies that never lasted more than a drunken night. There was always something that went wrong in the small hours. Now and then it was a reckless comment that did the trick, a valiant attempt to aid a maiden in distress or something equally foolish. And then again at other times he was caught stealing his new chum's money or conducting some harmless trickery for copper coins. Not that he actually needed the money, but old habits die hard they say and it was especially true for bad habits.

Roguish behaviour.

Yep, that kid knew what he was talking about. Allan-a-Dale was all about roguish behaviours, trickery and scams. He was not, however, one to chuckle evilly, and he frowned when he saw the children's game evolve into some kind of Allan-slaughtering under the leader's encouraging yells. 'For England', he shouted, 'For the king!' and 'Kill the traitor!'. He sounded like Robin alright, Allan sniggered under his breath, except that there was a very prominent lack of wooing going on. There should be a Marian, there was always a Marian when there was a Robin.

It wouldn't help England much to kill him, Allan-a-Dale thought as he turned his back on little Allan's dead body and the gang's jolly victory dance. It wouldn't help or harm anyone if he lived or died. He was useless. He wasn't even a good traitor, and for some reason this only made him feel worse. It was as if he didn't really mean anything, as soon as he was found out he was discarded as easily as any average john doe. The little things he did were merely bumps in the road, it hardly harmed Robin's precious cause at all, but he sure made Allan pay for it. It wasn't even as if he changed sides in the first place, in fact he had always remained on the same side. The Allan-side that is, and he could not remember ever promising anything to Robin. He'd worked for him, chosen to work for him, because of gratitude and friendship. How did that suddenly make him into Robin's little lap dog? Did he get paid? No, he got served barbequed squirrels for dinner and was expected to give everything for Robin and his posh guerrilla war. A king was just a king, politics for nobles, and the poor was just people he met on the street. God knows they were better off than him with their baskets of food by the door and a real roof over their heads. The meek shall inherit the earth the good book said, but as far as Allan saw it meekness never did him any good. 'Realpolitik', that was the word. Robin was all about idealism but Allan knew that every man must be his own saviour in the end. It was easy for Robin, wasn't it? He could sit on his high horses, waiting for the king to restore all his glory – his future was never in jeopardy in spite of all his self-righteous games. In the end that silver spoon up his rear was still a silver spoon.

Allan staggered along the Nottingham alleys, rocking from side to side as a tree in a storm, and wondered if that nice little kitchen maid at Black Sheep Arms had saved any smoked lamb for him. 'Trip to Jerusalem' was not an ale house he felt particularly comfortable in these days, and he only went there when he felt he needed to remind himself of his own pathetic stupidity. The kids had taken care of that part pretty darn good today so instead he headed into the dusky, smoked atmosphere of The Black Sheep.

"Hey Jess," he greeted the maid with a cheeky grin. She was a timid girl, kind in an aloof disinterested way – much like someone who has heard it all and mastered the art of simply nodding in the right places. "You got any food for me, Littlelamb? Some ale perhaps?"

"For a man with a purse like that there is always a seat at The Sheep," she smiled and gave his pouch a knowing nod. Silver certainly opened doors, even dishonest stolen silver. Blood-money, treason in a purse, he thought as he sat down by a corner table. It was a habit he had acquired in his youth, making sure the room was displayed before his eyes instead of sneaking up on him from behind. Always have your back against a wall lad - you never know what's lurking in the shadows so it is better that you do the lurking yourself. Nobles may get their training from books and masters but a trickster simply sucked up what he heard and saw and sewed it up to a motley quilt. It may not be pretty but it kept you warm.

Jess Littlelamb came back with a plate of smoked meat that Allan choose to think of as lamb or maybe pork, even though it might as well be a stray cat unlucky enough to strut into the wrong yard.

"So, having bad day Allan-a-Dale?" Jess said. It was a wild guess that usually hit the spot – most people that visited The Sheep alone was having a bad day.

"Yeah, sort of," Allan mumbled with his mouth full of bread. "Still going on yesterday though, not being funny but dawn hasn't really dawned on me yet."

He had to give her credit for not so much as raising an eye brow at this comment, even though it was past noon. "Having a bad yesterday then?" she simply smiled in a detached but not unfriendly way.

"Nah, there were these kids, right?" he confided in her "An' they played, you know, outlaws. Sort of made me think... About stuff..."

"You miss your friends?" she said, poring up some ale in a mug and sat down opposite him. It was always a wise investment to spend some time listening to a wealthy customer, and she had a soft spot for Allan-a-Dale. He was at least polite and always paid his bills.

"Who would miss living in the forest?" he responded "Only a fool would miss that mind you. All leaves and barbequed squirrels, and Much… I'm not being funny but that freaking jester really winds me up you know? He calls Robin 'master', the sneaky little clown. He'll get a title and all for it… And us? The rest of us we don't get anything at all. I'm just saying - all work no pay makes Allan a very unhappy outlaw."

Jess was quick to pick up on things and Allan's story had been retold in so many drunken, bitter versions that she knew it by heart. Much wasn't one of his favourites and he harboured quite a bit of resentment against Robin Hood, so she gently steered away his mind from the pair of them. "What about the kids?" she said instead "You didn't like their game?"

"They made me into a villain!" he scoffed "Little brats… The kid who used to play Allan didn't want to anymore so he got sent away for displaying roguish behaviour." It wasn't exactly how it had happened but Allan's mind had done it best to interpret the children's game from his own viewpoint. He identified himself with the red-headed child who had fallen from grace for not obeying every whim of the gang's leader. The little fool that replaced him was nothing short of a mockery not only of Allan, but also of the freckled boy. "Kick out the trickster and replace him with a puppet," Allan mumbled bitterly.

"Poor boy," Jess said "Children can be so cruel."

"Not only children mind you," Allan smiled and offered some meat to the maid who gently shook her head.

"No thank you, I need to get back to work. Only…" She hindered herself with one leg swung over the bench to leave "I wonder if you should talk to these friends of yours Allan? In my experience, sometimes when the leader of the pack is absent the rest of the children are not so cruel."

Jess gave Allan a superficial but honest smile, one that she saved for the acquaintances she liked without holding dear, and refilled his mug before she went to attend to a newly arrived party. They looked like the kind of good hard-working men that always made Allan feel just a little bit uneasy and he crawled deeper into the corner, making himself virtually inaccessible. Sometimes people noticed him, knew his name and came to inquire about 'the business', referring to Robin's little charity whims, or if they had the heads up on recent events, to give 'the damned traitor' a good old black-eye. He had never been very good with good hard-working people, the kind that had a steady wholesome family and took pride in their profession, simply because he always remained a step below them. Sure, they might be starving and broke, and he might come with the money that saved their day but they still had that look. Thus when they said 'God be with you and thank the lord for Robin Hood!' what they actually expressed was still a suspicious 'Why don't you get yourself a real job?'.

They always gave credit to Robin. The glory was his and the rest of the gang was merely a bunch of merry men that went his errands like underpaid servants. It was typical that the biggest kid played Robin, the one that couldn't be contradicted and directed the game as if it was his personal fantasy and the other boys simply played extras filling in the minor roles. The alpha male had no respect for the underdog, and in that Robin was no different than Guy. At least he got paid now, Allan thought. Not that it mattered much, he would fool himself if he said he wouldn't change it in a second had he gotten the chance. He had believed in it. He had actually believed that he could be a better man, on the road to something new. But then it changed. There had been a moment when their battle was nearly over, the king was coming home, and he got this snapshot of a future that wasn't golden. Everyone rejoiced over the coming end but all he could think was 'What now'? Back to picking pockets and poaching the king's game? It was the fear that dragged him down, the fear of being no one going no where, and he realised that this was just an interlude. The world was in limbo when nobles and rogues fought side by side in the forest, all rules temporarily disintegrated, but once the curtain fell the noble was still a noble and the rogue was still a rogue. It was all a sham.

It was all a sham, and when it turned out that so was the king then the feeling still wouldn't go away. It stayed by him, an itching, distressing doubt that made him question everything they did and see it through different eyes. Doubt and fear made him fall from the glorious pretence, and now he was that kid that always died at the end of the game.

He caught his reflection in the half-empty mug in his hand and felt a sudden queasiness. So it came to this; a bitter, lonely man spending his time and silver in bars where you could use ale to buy a life-long chum for a night. Pathetic. It was all so pathetic… Not much light in the end of the tunnel but his pouch was full of money. Djaq still believed in him, he thought, and his stomach made an all too familiar flutter that he attributed to nostalgia. Djaq didn't give up. Djaq looked at you with those big, trusting eyes that had travelled so far and seen so much misery, and they saw a man like any man. She saw someone who could be better if he tried. She forgave when Robin judged and condemned him, they all threw him out with the trash but she was the kid that waited until the game was over, then went over to the traitor that lay dead on the ground and reached out her hand. Sometimes when the leader of the pack is absent the rest of the children are not so cruel. That was how Jess Littlelamb had put it, and perhaps she was right.

Suddenly there was an overwhelming aching need in the weary mind of Allan-a-Dale. He needed to see Djaq.