Title: Clearing of the Mind (1/2)
Characters: Guy, Much, Little John, Allan (mentions Robin)
Spoilers: Up to season 3, episode 11
Disclaimer: Main characters owned by the BBC and Tiger Aspect. I get nothing out of this except an unhealthy enjoyment!
Chapter Summary: The morning after the events in "Fit to Burn" sees Gisborne alive and well...well maybe just alive is all he can expect, given the mood of the camp. Guy must deal with the challenges of working with Robin Hood's gang. This story contains a reference to events in Chapter 4 of "In the Devil's Thrall".

Clearing of the Mind

Chapter I

The light slanting through the trees created a dappled pattern of shadow behind his eyelids. He shut his eyes tighter, until the flicker of light and shade became too great an annoyance. The coarse hair of the animal hide cover had done little to keep out the damp chill, and Guy awoke to aches; bruises and injuries given the course of a night to set in. Opening his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of enemies all around, sleeping or beginning to wake. For an unsettling moment, he could not remember how he came to be in the outlaws' camp. Ignoring twinges of protest from muscles which would rather remain inert, he rolled off his pallet, reaching in haste for the sword resting against it. The action was enough to jar his memory into functioning again.

Through the corridors of castles he and Robin Hood had fought on the same side, and had nearly died together because of a foolish gambit—one which he was as much to blame for agreeing to, as Robin was for believing in. But despite their failure, he remained with Hood and his gang, returning to the place they considered a refuge. Difficult as it was, he was supposed to think of them as allies now.

Yesterday, those allies looked at him like he should be caged, not free to roam in their midst. Before even arriving at the camp, he had questioned Robin about how they would receive him. Hood attempted to simplify the situation.

"As long as I choose to trust you, you'll have nothing to worry about," Robin had said dismissively.

"You will make that choice for them too?" Guy had asked, unconvinced.

"Yeah," Hood replied, in a way that did little to assuage his fears. It was a risk putting his trust in a man who obviously said things before being certain.

"And you believe they will do so?" he pressed.

"Yes!" Robin said tersely, tired of being nagged, then added seriously, "Because they trust me."

Guy shook his head, unimpressed by his logic. But they had continued on.

He was not wrong to be skeptical. His alliance with the outlaws almost ended before it began. Hood's servant, Much, had been outraged, as had Little John. Even Allan a Dale had trouble letting bygones be bygones. But Hood was adamant they show him a trust he had yet to earn, and in the forest, Robin's whims were just short of law.

Guy knew he would still have to watch out for the woman, Kate. She had been more than willing to dispatch him yesterday, and might have done so, had Robin not stopped her. He had killed her brother, though it had not been entirely unprovoked—the boy had gone at him twice with a blade—but he doubted she would see it from his perspective.

There was only one who had not protested adding him to their unruly ranks. Brother Tuck seemed pleased, saying something about how bringing enemies to their side bolstered the righteousness of their cause. He could care less about the monk's "cause", but he would tolerate being a part of it, if it meant one less person wanted him dead.

His decision to join with Robin had been made, in large part, because he had nowhere else to go, now that his head was coveted by both King and Prince alike. If the villagers had even the smallest bit of backbone, they would turn him over, though he suspected few of them did.

Robin knew he needed his protection, but the opposite was not true. Hood would lose little by killing him, except a chance for betrayal. And he had to admit, that chance was still there. Robin had spared his life, and Guy told himself he would not take his, given the opportunity, but he had sworn no oath to the outlawed earl, nor would he ever.

He knew Robin's acceptance of him was motivated only by the revelation that they shared a relative. It had been unwelcome news, to say the least, and Guy had no concern for their newly discovered half-brother, but nonetheless he had agreed to help Hood liberate him from York dungeon. He had hoped that with the outlaw's help, and this relation who would owe them a debt, they could overthrow his vengeful sister Isabella—now Sheriff of Nottingham—and take the castle. He should have known better. Once freed, the bastard had betrayed them.

Exhausted by the pointless effort they had gone through, Guy had thrown himself onto his pallet the night before with little concern for what daybreak would bring. But at the sound of kettles banging, and Much complaining, the reality of his situation could no longer be ignored.

The camp was not the most horrendous place he had been, having been held in more than one dungeon within the past month, but it was plain they spent none of their plunder on luxury. It was hardly warmer than the surrounding forest, and when it rained, as it had overnight, the water trickled through the leaf shelter, slowly soaking everything. Smoke from the fire permeated the camp, and sooner or later all were obliged to huddle near it to dry out.

Stifling a shiver, he buckled on his sword belt. He wanted to talk to Robin. Find out if he had an alternate plan, and possibly share information that might be of use in forming one. Looking around the rest of the camp, he saw that Hood and the monk were not present, though fortunately, neither was the woman. That left him with three men who would rather decorate a tree with his corpse than talk to him.

Much was tending the fire, eying him warily. He debated whether it would be a greater discomfort to get close to him and the fire, or remain damp. The man still reminded him of a weasel; small and almost comical, but possessing a sharp bite when pushed. Making up his mind, Guy crossed the small space to stand in front of him.

"Where's Robin?" he asked brusquely.

"He'll be back soon," Much answered, nostrils flaring at his unwelcome proximity.

"So, you don't know where he is?"

Brows raised, Much retorted, "I didn't say I didn't."

"You're just not going to tell me," Guy said, trying hard to suppress his irritation.

Much glanced at him disdainfully. "You catch on quick."

He suspected the other two outlaws would be no more likely to supply him with the information he wanted. Catching his glance, Little John looked away swiftly. Guy had helped him fend off an enemy when at York, and that fact likely conflicted with the big man's notion of him as nothing but a murderer, but it hardly made them friends.

Sitting up and scratching his head, Allan greeted the day with a yawn. "Getting colder," he said, shrugging an animal hide around his shoulders.

"Maybe it's the company we keep," Much offered scathingly. Guy noticed that without his master present to scold him, the loyal dog snapped quite freely.

He kept his expression neutral. Much would have to work harder to get a reaction. Part of him liked that his presence was an irritation to the group. He supposed that said something about him, that he enjoyed conflict more than resolution.

Mouth forming into something that might, under different circumstances, be interpreted as a smile, Guy sat down on a bench close to Hood's servant, quietly invading his space. Much endured it for less than a minute. Then, with a noise similar to a squirrel being struck by an arrow, he threw the stick he was holding into the fire, and retreated to the other side of the camp.

Stretching casually, Allan tossed the animal skin he had been wearing onto the ground, then took up Much's place at the fire.

"How the mighty have fallen, eh Giz?" he said, more observation than taunt.

"At least I had somewhere to fall from," Guy replied, his smile fading. He had more contempt for Allan than the rest of them. In part because he was a proven traitor, but more personally, because he had chosen service to Hood over him. Allan had been offered more than a man of his standing could have hoped for, but had thrown it away for this.

As if he had heard his thoughts, Allan said, "Hey, I know it looked like I ditched you back at Portsmouth, but now that you're with us, you have a chance to understand."

They had hardly spoken since he arrived yesterday, yet Guy was already tired of the conversation. "Understanding you is not one of my priorities."

"I'm not meanin' me in particular. I mean what Robin is trying to do."

"Of that, I have even less interest."

Allan darted a quick glance toward his companions, then said quietly, "Y' know, you shouldn't think of me as nothing but a Judas. If you remember, I saved your hide...," he looked over his shoulder conspiratorially, and lowered his voice further, "from this lot."

"When?" Guy asked skeptically. "Yesterday? It hardly looked that way to me."

"Nah, I assumed we were enemies then. But before, when we were a team. Remember, your horse threw you, and I saved you from gettin' killed? Risked my life to go back for you."

He had forgotten that incident until now, but it was not an event he would have used in Allan's defense. "I would not have needed saving if you hadn't led us into a trap. And if you're counting debts, I protected you more often than you realize from the Sheriff."

"Yeah I know, but that was in your best interest."

"My best interest?" he said, brows raised in disbelief. "I might have sent a message to Hood every time I had something planned. Would have saved you the trouble."

As usual, Allan shook off the accusation, instead offering him an unexpected bit of advice, "You should try lettin' up for a few, Guy. It might give people a chance to like you."

The absurdity of this made him laugh sharply. Little John looked up, while Much scowled at them both.

"Nah really, you're not the worst ever," Allan added blithely.

Guy turned away, shaking his head. He distinctly remembered Allan singing a different tune several months ago when he had been a prisoner of the gang, and Tuck had originally proposed that Guy should join with them against the Sheriff. The monk's offer had been decried by Much, Little John, and Allan included. Regardless of their current alliance, he had trouble understanding why Allan was trying to be friendly. Then a thought struck him.

He turned to look closely at him. "I hope you're not expecting me to pay you to be on my side again."

"'Course not," Allan said with an affronted laugh, which Guy had come to recognize was practically an admission of guilt.

"Because I'm as poor as you are now." He was sure that would put a stop to the nonsense.

Allan looked at him appraisingly. "Oh...yeah. I figured as much."

"Well now you are assured of it," Guy said with finality.

Much had been fretting around the camp, gathering things from storage for use in the morning meal. Distracted by Allan, he did not notice Much was now staring down at them both, pointing a ladle in his direction, as if in challenge.

"Why are you even here?" Much asked aggressively. It appeared having a night to think it over had not made it any more tolerable to Robin's little right hand man.

"There's nowhere else I need to be," Guy answered simply. He felt no need to add he would be captured or killed almost anywhere he went.

"Nowhere is better than here, as far as I'm concerned," Much countered.

"I would normally agree, but your master had other ideas."

Much took offense at the term, despite often using it himself. "I am a free man, thank you. I am here because I choose to help him."

Guy snorted. "You wouldn't know what to do without him. You're still enslaved to him, you just don't mind it."

He had struck a nerve, judging by the indignant look he received, but the man proved equally capable of cutting to the bone. Eyes narrowing spitefully, Much accused, "I'm not surprised you have trouble recognizing genuine loyalty, considering all you ever had was your twisted relationship with Sheriff Vaisey."

A twinge of pain ran through his thigh at the mention of the name. It had been the last place Vaisey had wounded him, and an occasional dull reminder would flare at the site the dagger had lodged. But at least that wound had healed. His years with the Sheriff left scars in his mind that were more gruesome, and those in his heart went deeper still. It was far more complicated than the canine-like devotion Much had for Robin, but then he could hardly expect the simpleton to understand.

"If you would like, I'll show you how loyal I was to him in the end." Guy made no move, but his eyes threatened violence.

Little John had been watching them silently, but now roused himself, looking like a bear who was tired of people stomping above its den.

"Let 'im be." The directive was aimed neither at Much, nor Guy in particular, but rather was a warning to both. Much backed off, lowering the ladle, though he was not done speaking his mind.

"I'm not afraid to say it. I have no doubt you will betray us as soon as you find a better offer. You've done it to everyone who ever trusted you."

He stared unblinkingly at Much until the man came close to drawing his sword in anticipation of a fight. But instead of denying it, Guy said evenly, "You're right."

"See, he admits it!" Much pointed wildly at him, as if the moment might evaporate before anyone else could appreciate it.

Allan finally spoke up, "Robin thinks it will be different this time."

"Sometimes Robin thinks too much," Much said, exasperated. "My thinking is a little more simple, and I…"

"A little?" Allan interjected.

Guy looked up in time to see Much glare at Allan.

"Sorry mate, but you walked into that one," Allan grinned.

Much ignored him. "What no one realizes is that it was my voice of reason that saved Robin from more than one really bad idea back in the Holy Land. This is right up there with the worst of those."

When no one said anything, Much forged on vehemently, "Robin seems to think that just because you said some noble words about sacrificing yourself instead of that girl, that you should get a second chance."

Guy was momentarily confused by the subject. He presumed Much was referring to Meg, the girl his sister had sentenced to die with him. He had never considered his actions at his own execution might have impressed Robin, nor would he have cared.

"Wouldn't listen when I pointed out you were going to die anyway, and it was just to make yourself look good before you did," Much went on, but Guy was no longer listening.

He had pushed the events that led to Meg's death to the back of his mind. She had been little older than a child. His principles had been in ruins for longer than she had been alive, yet she risked her life to help him.

He closed his eyes, remembering her far too innocent face. She should have left him to die, untouched by sympathy.

"So who was that woman to you?" Allan questioned. Had Allan been watching more closely, he might have seen a flicker of regret momentarily soften sharp features. Instead, he only caught the reflected spark of firelight as Guy's eyes shot open.

"No one," he said, unwilling to discuss it.

"Must have been someone. You were tryin' to save her."

"No one I want to discuss with you," Guy clarified.

"Just thought you might want a chance to talk about her," Allan continued to wheedle.

An irritated stare was his only reply.

"A'right then, forget it."

"Don't worry, Allan," Much said caustically, "I'm sure he's already forgotten her, along with Marian, Annie, and all the other victims he's ever..."

"Much!" Little John growled. "This will not help."

Like a raven hassled by rooks, Guy was tired of passively accepting their scorn. Much's incessant pecking was going to cause bloodshed if he was forced to wait any longer for Hood's return.

Rising from the bench, he addressed Little John, "When Robin returns, tell him I have information he might be interested in."

"Where are you going?" Much said, suddenly alarmed.

"Wherever I feel like," he replied, striding to the entrance of the camp.

With a determination likely fueled by fear of betrayal, the shorter man planted himself in his path. Guy did not wish to fight this early in the morning, but neither had he sunk low enough to allow the weasel to order him about. Summoning the last of his patience, he refrained from drawing his sword, and said as reasonably as he could, "Move."

Much looked expectantly at Little John, and Guy knew what was on his mind.

"If you try to stop me, you better make it permanent," he warned him.

But the bear did not stir. Instead John sighed. Perhaps thinking of the debt he owed him, he said, "Let him go."

"This is not a good idea! Robin would not want him to leave." Much looked to Allan, but he only shrugged.

"I don't recall Robin sayin' we had to keep watch on him."

Without support, Much's convictions slipped, and Guy brushed past him unhindered.

"Fine," he heard Much shout shrilly after him, "but don't lead an army back here!"