Title:How Gisborne Got His Mojo Back
Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC)
Pairing: Guy/Allan friendship
Genre: humor
SPOILERS: Series 3
Summary: In which Guy and Allan dispatch Guy's newest and deadliest enemy.


The moon was high in the sky, or at least it would have been if it had been visible through the clouds, as Allan a Dale made his way from the outlaw camp toward Locksley Village. He really was not quite sure why he was making this middle of the night trek - the others had accepted him back without too much trouble, well except for Robin, but then, and he wasn't being funny, Robin had issues, didn't he?

It had been almost like old times around the campfire, eating stew that Much had made amid much grumbling, and the combined suspicions of himself, John and Much against the stranger that Robin had taken such a liking too. He'd left Much and John snoring away, Robin moaning for Marian in his sleep, and the priest sleeping all too quietly for Allan's liking. The way Brother Tuck seemed to look straight through him made Allan's skin crawl, so he used that as an excuse to himself to slip out in the middle of the night.

"Just because he's a priest doesn't mean he's better than the rest of us," Allan grumbled to himself. "Being pious is all well and good, innit, but a man's gotta eat." As if to prove his point, his stomach rumbled loudly in the still night air.

Luminous mist spread across the path in front of him. Allan slowed and picked his way more carefully. He could find his way to Locksley with his eyes closed, but still best to be cautious about such things. A broken leg would never do in the middle of nowhere would it?

He emerged from the forest at the edge of the village. Barely visible through the fog in front of him were the closest huts and fenced in patches of rocky land where vegetables attempted to grow.

The huts were dark and silent, and Allan drifted past them like a ghost, heading toward the two story manor house at the center of the village. As he passed the stables, he felt a momentary pang for the warm, dry bed he'd had inside there while he'd been Gisborne's servant.

A light burned in the upper window of the manor house, flickering through the mist like a beacon. Allan soundlessly let himself in through the rear door by the kitchen. Stepping carefully over the bodies of the cook, and Jenny, the serving girl who'd once given him a tumble in the barn, he grabbed a stale crust of bread left out on the work table, and a piece of only slightly moldy cheese. After Much's watery stew the sharp dry cheese tasted heavenly. Gnawing at his prizes, he crept up the stairs.

A candle burned, almost down to the stub, on the small table in Gisborne's chamber. Gisborne lay stretched across the bed, still fully clothed, an empty flagon of wine lying on the floor next to his one foot which had not made it up onto the bed. On the table, next to the candle a tray of untouched food caught Allan's eye. As he crept closer, Guy stirred and moaned.


Allan rolled his eyes. "Not another one," he muttered. He moved closer to the bed and stood staring down at Guy, arms folded across his chest. "You're a real mess, mate," he told the sleeping man.

Gisborne's eyelids fluttered, and opened. He stared at Allan, trying to focus, as his hand fumbled for his sword.

"Easy, mate," Allan grabbed Guy's arm and guided it away from the sword. "It's just me, Allan." Giving him a little support he helped the man to sit. Guy blinked at him, frowning.

"Traitor," he said.

"Only a little bit." Allan sat down on the bed next to Guy, plucked a piece of cold meat from the tray, and popped it into his mouth. "More like a double, triple agent, or some such," he said, chewing. The meat was almost as dry as the cheese. "You got any more of that wine?" he asked, pointing to the flagon on the floor.

Guy squinted down at the floor, and then shook his head. "Finished it," he said, with a hiccup to make his point.

"Pity." Allan offered the tray of meat to Guy, a magnanimous gesture, he thought, esp as the meat belonged to the other man. "You should eat something, mate."

"Not hungry," Gisborne grunted.

Allan shrugged. "All the more for me." He munched another piece of meat and grinned.

"Allan," Guy's voice was sounding more sober. "What are you doing here?"

"Saw the light on," Allan swallowed and gestured to the flickering candle. "Was worried about you."

Guy folded his arms. "Right."

"Seriously," Allan said. "Look at yourself, mate. You've gotta get over this."

Guy shook his head, and closed his eyes. "I can't," he whispered.

"Well you have to do something," Allan said. "Or the Sheriff's gonna have you for breakfast. Go chop down some trees, confess to the monk, something."

"The monk disturbs me," Guy said. "He looks right through me."

Allan nodded. "I know what you mean."

"No," Guy said. He sighed heavily, unfolded his arms and buried his face in his hands. "There's only one thing, only one way out of this hell."

Allan put down the platter of meat. "What do you mean?" He asked.

Guy reached into his belt scabbard and pulled out a dagger, waving it in a dramatic arc.

Allan jumped up in alarm. "No." He reached for Guy's arm. "Don't!"

Guy pulled away from him and jumped to his feet, swaying only a little. "You can't stop me," he hissed. As Allan watched helplessly, he raised the dagger.


"Are you sure that was really such a good idea?" Allan asked, as they surveyed Guy's hair in the mirror. No longer in his face, the hair hung in unevenly chopped clumps about his head.

Guy moved his head side to side, frowning. He touch the top of his right ear, and came away with a drop of blood on his fingertip. "Perhaps not," he admitted. "But it felt good."

"Wait," Allan said. "I've got an idea." He dashed down the steps, into the kitchen, stepped nimbly over the still slumbering cook and kitchen maid, grabbed up a pot that looked about the right size, and dashed back up the stairs.

"I don't know," Guy said, peering out from under the pot placed upside down on his head.

"It's perfect," Allan assured him. "Trust me. Give me the dagger."

He plucked the dagger from Guy's reluctant fingers, and began to trim the hair around the edges of the pot. Removing the pot, he stepped back, and Guy turned his head from side to side in the mirror.

"Better," Guy admitted.

"Too right. The old Gisborne we know and hate." Allan beamed. His smile faded as Guy turned to scowl at him. "Present company excluded of course," he said hastily.

Allan grabbed the last bit of meat from the platter and popped it in his mouth. "Must dash," he said around the mouthful of food, disappearing down the stairs.

Guy sighed and turned back to the mirror, staring critically. "What do you think?" He asked.

Marian's ghost, perched gracefully on top of the wardrobe, leaned over to get a better look.

"Much better," she said.

~the end~
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