Entry tags:

fanfic, robert/nasir, robin of sherwood

RoS fic: Forgotten Treasure - Robert/Nasir
Title: Forgotten Treasure
Fandom: Robin of Sherwood
Characters: All the Merries are here, at least briefly.
Paring: Robin of Huntingdon/Nasir
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Language, violence and pr0n. Whee!
Word Count: 9,142
Summary: Robin has gone missing. Nasir must find him and 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 except for a certain villager, who I’m sure no one else wants, except for maybe Nasir, and not in a good way. ;) 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, “The Welcome,” is continued here in the dream sequence.
Credits: Beta’d by the very patient and ever awesome desertskies, who saved me not only from myself, but the adverbs of DOOM as well. You're the best. ♥
Glossary of Arabic terms:
Sadiqi = My friend
Ya Allah = My dear god
Inshallah = If god wills
Habibi = An endearment whose meanings include - my beloved, my sweetheart, my darling, my love … etc.


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 sure-footed 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 to 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 Kamal 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 inscrutable 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.

Robin cautiously turned his aching head and studied Nasir as he knelt to add more wood to the fire. It had been of the utmost importance for him to know, without a doubt, that this darkly mysterious man was his friend. He only wished that he knew what it was about the Saracen that compelled him so. There was a connection between them, a deep shared bond so strong that even with no memories he was aware of it. “Yes, we are friends.” The words had been heartfelt, but there had been something more underneath, something left unsaid. He very much wanted to know what it was, but, try as he might, he couldn’t remember. It frustrated the hell out of him. And how much more painful must it be for Nasir? To have someone you care deeply about suddenly not know who you are, not even your name. Just the thought of it made him ache inside. God help him, but more than anything, he wanted to remember this man. Nasir, whose dark eyes watched him so closely and whose strong hands were so tender when they touched. A low shiver went through Robin at that thought. The intense feelings shining out of those eyes had done something funny to his insides, making him have to look away. And at the touch of those fingers on his, a mass of disjointed and hazy images had flashed across his mind. They had all somehow been connected to the Saracen and it confused him in a way that he didn’t understand.

Wearily, Robin gave up trying to figure it out. It was an effort at this point to even keep his eyes open, and his head had begun to throb again. His attention wandered back to Nasir, who had settled down close by, his back against a tree. There had been such fierce protectiveness in those eyes earlier, and it was still there now in every line of the Saracen’s body. Robin had felt sharp regret when Nasir had moved away, unexpectedly bereft at the loss of those comforting arms. A pang of emotion that he couldn’t identify went through Robin, and he became even more determined to remember everything, no matter how long it took. But, for now, he could sleep, secure in the knowledge that a close and trusted friend was nearby, guarding his back.

Robin finally gave up the fight, his eyes slid shut and he slept. And dreamt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scattered fragments of memories swirled and tangled about, slowly coalescing into recognizable shapes and forms, their voices echoing in his head.

A great giant of a man, his shaggy hair and beard matching the shaggy fur that he wore on his back, grabbed him in a bear hug, while saying in a delighted voice, “I hate to say it, but I’m very pleased to see you …”

Nasir was standing at his side and they were leaning over with their hands braced on their thighs. They were laughing down at a curly-headed youth and another, older man with short spiky hair and angry eyes, standing naked in the undergrowth …

A portly friar, tonsured head wet and gleaming above his drab monk’s robes, was doing his best to drown Robin in the frigid water of a stream, while Robin yelled at the man to listen …

The vaulted roof of a chapel soared high above his head and a woman in a gray nun’s habit looked back at him. Her eyes were sad in her beautiful face, her words heart-rending and ringing with finality. Ethereal and unreachable, she walked away as he stood and watched helplessly …

He was kneeling on the damp ground along with the others. A man wearing the head of a stag stood high above them on a hill, a thick mist swirling about him. The man’s voice, when he spoke, was deep and hollow. “To help the weak, defend the helpless and fight against tyranny. Robin of the Hood, so must it be …

The memories grew sharper and more distinct, until at last he stood with the Saracen among the tall trees of Sherwood. Dappled sunlight filtered down through the leaf canopy, warm where it touched his skin, a slight breeze occasionally stirring the fine strands of his hair. His body was pressed tightly against Nasir’s and their arms were wrapped around each other. Amusement at something Robin said played across the Saracen’s face, but it was the lust in the exotic eyes that held the young outlaw spellbound. Deliberately, Robin fisted both hands in the Saracen’s jerkin, pulling him forward into a kiss and letting them both sink to their knees, wrapped in each other. Nasir’s lips were soft and eager against his, sending a low thrill of arousal through Robin’s body. Relaxing his grip on the man’s jerkin, Robin let his fingers go to work on the buckles and straps that secured the Saracen’s bladed arsenal to his back. In between kisses, Robin managed to unfasten the complicated harness. He tugged at it, and at his friend’s clothes. Lips pressed against the corner of Nasir’s mouth, he murmured, “Take these off.”

Robin felt the Saracen’s body quiver in response to his softly spoken command, the hands on his arms tightening briefly before reluctantly letting go. As Nasir drew away to remove the offending garments, the young outlaw hastily removed his own belt, unbuckling it and tossing it away. Robin’s hands moved to his tunic only to falter and go still, his attention captured by the other man. He stared, entranced by the sight of hard muscle flexing under olive skin as Nasir raised his arms to yank his shirt off over his head and fling it aside. Observing Robin’s preoccupation, the Saracen came to his assistance, warm fingers brushing against his as he helped the young man discard his tunic and shirt, leaving him bare to the waist.

The removal of Robin’s clothes had set his hair awry. Nasir reached out, brushing at the unruly strands and smoothing out the fall of white gold with nimble fingers. His eyes drank Robin in, like a lost traveler discovering an oasis in the middle of a vast and endless desert. When he spoke, his voice was hushed, almost reverent. “Beautiful,” he whispered, the sound hanging in the air and falling away on the barest of sighs.

Robin caught his breath, closing his eyes against the rush of emotion that swelled through his heart. When he opened them again, it was to find Nasir leaning in close. The Saracen’s breath was warm where it fanned across his cheek and, somehow, without Robin being aware of it, one of the other man’s hands had curled around the nape of his neck. Tugging him even closer, Nasir hungrily captured the young man’s mouth with his own. Desire, warm and heavy, settled in Robin’s groin, and, with it, an undeniable urge to make the Saracen lose his grip on the iron-hard control with which he held himself, to make him moan and shudder in pleasure.

Sliding his hands up, Robin rested his palms lightly against the Saracen’s breast. He could feel the other man’s heartbeat, rapid and strong under his fingertips. Knowing now exactly what he wanted, Robin smiled into Nasir’s mouth and pushed - hard. Taken by surprise, the Saracen fell backwards with a solid thump, his arms coming up reflexively to catch his friend, who, laughing, landed full length on top of him. Nasir gave a grunt as the air was knocked from his lungs. Still chuckling to himself, eyes sparkling, Robin pushed himself up. Bracing himself on his hands, his body resting heavily on Nasir’s, Robin dipped his head. Light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing, he touched his lips to the hollow of the Saracen’s throat, feeling a fine tremor run through the older man as he did so. Slowly, Robin began placing soft kisses on Nasir’s neck and shoulders, letting his breath ghost teasingly across the other man’s skin. The Saracen’s breathing changed, hitching every now and then, while his hands tightened, fingers digging into Robin’s waist.

Straddling the other man’s muscled thighs, Robin worked his way down Nasir’s chest, feeling the strong body respond beneath him at each caress. Slowly and methodically, he sweetly tormented every inch of the olive skin, kisses alternating with gentle nips of teeth and playful swipes of tongue across the warm flesh. Low sounds of pleasure came from Nasir’s throat and the press and slide of his hands on Robin’s body sent shivery tingles racing across his skin.

The outlaw shifted, letting his long fingers drift lightly over the Saracen’s stomach. When they came in contact with the top of his friend’s trews, Robin paused, cupping his palm tightly against the erection that was straining to be released. Nasir groaned, gripping Robin tightly and bucking up against his hand. Panting and alight with desire at the feel of the Saracen’s body against his, Robin pressed his hand forcefully against Nasir’s hip, holding him still.

His voice low and throbbing, the Saracen began: “Robin …” A moan cut off his words as Robin captured a dark nipple with his mouth, teasing it with lips and tongue and teeth. Nasir shuddered, fingers coming up to tangle themselves in Robin’s hair and tug urgently.

Sliding his hand back down to the other man’s cock, Robin began firmly stroking him through the supple leather of his trews. The Saracen made a low strangled sound in the back of his throat, hips canting up, looking for more. He gasped as Robin tightened his hand, arching into him with a deep groan.

Smiling to himself in pleasure at his friend’s reaction, Robin slid away, reaching to unlace the other man’s trousers. But Nasir’s patience had run out. With a low growl, the Saracen surged after him, pouncing on Robin and pinning him beneath the weight of his body. Black eyes stared down at him, glittering and intent, like a predator moving in for the kill. Robin swallowed, breathless, unable to do anything but gaze helplessly back.

Claiming the young man’s lips, Nasir kissed him hard and deep, his tongue working hungrily against Robin’s. Moaning into the Saracen’s mouth, Robin felt liquid heat surge straight to his core, making his already hard cock ache. Nasir, hearing him groan, pressed his lips down the line of Robin’s jaw and then nipped sharply on his earlobe. Shivers ran up and down Robin’s spine, his breath catching in his throat as Nasir paused to whisper in his ear: “You are not the only one with clever hands and mouth, habibi.”

Robin felt his heart, already beating hard and fast, pick up its pace and shivered again, this time in anticipation. Nasir’s smile flashed white and wicked; he hid it against Robin’s neck. His warm lips began wending their way down Robin’s throat, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Sighing in delight, Robin slid his hands up to wander over the Saracen’s sweat-slicked skin … then clutched convulsively at the other man, hissing in surprise as Nasir bit down hard on the curve of his shoulder. Relentlessly, Nasir’s mouth journeyed across Robin’s body, biting and sucking at his pale flesh, then stopping to salve the hurt with warm lips and tongue. Frissons of pain and pleasure ran through Robin, the rough caresses setting every nerve excruciatingly alight. Panting for air, he began to whimper and writhe under Nasir’s weight, his senses overloaded from this exquisite torment.

The sudden tug of sharp teeth on the bud of a nipple sent white-hot need knifing through Robin. With a cry he arched up, thrusting his hips against the other man in wild abandon. Wrapping his arms around the Saracen’s back, Robin ground his erection against Nasir’s, hearing the other man gasp and then moan in pleasure. His voice low and fierce, Robin demanded, “Nasir, I want you. Now.”

The Saracen drew in a ragged breath, releasing it with a shudder. Every muscle strung taut, he pulled away, moving carefully, almost as if he were afraid that he might break. Reaching for Robin’s trews, Nasir fumbled at the laces with impatient hands. Yanking the drawstring free, the Saracen twisted, turning his attention to the fastenings of his own trousers.

Raising his hips, Robin tugged at his trews, sliding them down and kicking them aside. No sooner had he finished, than Nasir was next to him, warm body moving in close. Spitting into his palm, Nasir reached out, wrapping deft fingers around the shaft of Robin’s throbbing cock. The outlaw groaned, closing his eyes and biting his lip as the Saracen began stroking him, slowly and firmly. At the touch of Nasir’s lips against his temple, Robin turned his head, locking gazes with the other man. And became lost, hopelessly falling into the depths of those hot dark eyes.

Slowly, almost as if in a dream, Robin lifted his arm and spit into his own palm. He shifted, reaching down to close his fist around the hard length of Nasir’s manhood. With smooth sure strokes, Robin began to move his hand, still staring into the other man’s eyes. He watched in fascination as Nasir sucked in his breath sharply, only to moan, pupils dilating and glazing over. Leaning in, Robin’s lips found his as they began moving together, setting up a steady rhythm.

Desire consuming him, Robin was caught up in the sensations rushing through his body: the press and burn of skin on skin, the velvety steel of Nasir’s cock under his palm, the strength of the Saracen’s body as it strained against his. But, most of all, he could feel the sweet hot fire of Nasir’s hand sliding along the length of his manhood.

Nasir buried his face in the curve of the young man’s neck and murmured softly. His words were a broken tangle of endearments in Arabic and English, his breath hot against Robin’s shoulder. Pressing his cheek against Nasir’s curly hair, Robin breathed in the other man’s scent, the faint tang of wood smoke and warm musk filling his nostrils. With a moan, Robin closed his eyes and whispered the Saracen’s name. He felt a trickle of sweat run down his back as the familiar ache in his groin spread throughout his body and he heard himself began to plead with the other man, begging him to go faster. Leaning into each other, their movements became almost frantic, until they were both moaning and gasping for air.

Abruptly, Nasir stiffened against him, shuddering and making a low sound of surrender as he found his release. Robin felt Nasir’s seed spill across his shaft, and the sudden hot slickness beneath the hand that was still erratically pumping his cock was enough to send him over the edge. With a cry, he came violently. White lights danced across his eyes, sparkling like stars in the night sky before his vision went dark, everything receding dimly into the distance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin woke with a start, heart pounding, breath coming hard as if he had run for miles. Nasir. Sweet Christ, how could he have forgotten him? How could he have ever forgotten the one who held his heart and soul in the palm of his hand? The one who meant everything to him? He felt his heart go tight, only to swell and expand as he thought of the Saracen, whose fierce and tender love he had won unwittingly and returned in equal measure. Nothing’s forgotten; nothing’s ever forgotten. His own words echoed back at him as he remembered not only Nasir, but other things as well. His past at Huntingdon, his present here in Sherwood with the men who were his friends, everything - with one exception. He still could not remember the events leading up to his attack, nor who his assailant was.

Eventually his thoughts came back again to the Saracen. It was suddenly imperative for him to see the other man, to tell him that his memory had returned. But, most of all, he wanted to see Nasir’s face as he realized that he remembered what they were to each other.

Painfully aware of his still-aching wounds, Robin turned his head, looking towards the tree where he had last seen Nasir, only to find that he wasn’t there. His eyes quickly scanned over the rest of the camp, lit by the pale gray of dawn. Nasir was gone. Disappointed, he looked back at the fire. It had been tended and was burning brightly, so he knew the Saracen couldn’t be far. More than likely, the man was still at his prayers and would return soon.

With a sigh, Robin resigned himself to wait, only to be pulled from his musings by the snap of a twig breaking, the sound loud in the still morning air. Suddenly alert, he listened closely. Someone was approaching from the other side of the hill. Robin frowned. That couldn’t be Nasir: the Saracen was as silent as a cat. A faint chime of alarm sounded in the outlaw’s head. It was too early for any of the others to have found them yet and, besides, they wouldn’t make that much noise either. It might be the man who had attacked him. Robin thought quickly. He would use the only advantages he had: his apparent helplessness and the element of surprise. Reaching down, Robin slid Albion free of its scabbard, carefully slipping it in beside him under cover of the cloak.

He had scarcely settled his hand against the hilt of his sword before Tom, one of the men from Wickham, came over the crest of the hill. The man was moving rapidly, as if in a hurry. When he spotted the outlaw leader lying there, watching him, he stopped abruptly, a stunned expression crossing his face. He looked as if he had seen a ghost.

Robin felt his heartbeat quicken, instantly wary at the other man’s odd behavior. Was this his attacker? Damn it, if only he could remember!

Breaking free of his daze, Tom hurried over to the outlaw’s side. “Robin, I’m sorry, but I had no choice. You must believe me!” There was a desperate edge to the villager’s voice, his eyes not quite meeting Robin’s.

So it was him. His unease growing by the second, Robin watched the other man intently. His apology didn’t quite ring true. Why had he come back? To help, or, Robin thought with sudden anger, to finish what he had been unable or unwilling to do before? His gut told him it was the latter. Even so, Robin said sincerely, “It’s all right, Tom. I believe you.”

Ignoring Robin’s words, Tom glanced about anxiously. His eyes slid back to stare at the outlaw, his tone urgent. “Is there someone here with you?”

Something was not right; the man was too nervous. Robin didn’t like it. He tightened his grip on Albion, doing his best to sound calm and unconcerned. “Yes, Nasir is somewhere nearby.”

At the mention of the Saracen’s name, Tom’s head snapped up. Darting a terrified look around, his hand went to the knife at his belt.

Robin tensed, every sense sharply focused and alert. In a last effort to reason with the man, he entreated: “Tom, listen to me. Don’t do this. Whatever it is, we can help you.”

Tom gave a short, mirthless bark of laughter, shaking his head in despair. “No. No you can’t.” Jerking his dagger free, he raised it, preparing to strike. For half a heartbeat, he froze, staring at Robin with wild eyes. And then he lunged.

Robin was ready. Surging up, he thrust hard, plunging the point of his sword into the other man’s torso. Tom gave an awful gurgling cry, eyes going wide in pain and shock. Dropping the dagger that had been aimed at Robin’s heart, he clutched at the sharp edges of the steel protruding from his chest, blood gushing red over his fingers. Clenching his teeth against his own pain, Robin yanked Albion free, only to watch in horror as Tom began falling towards him. He twisted, rolling away. But he was too slow. The other man’s body caught Robin heavily on his wounded shoulder, slamming him down to the ground. He gasped, searing pain shooting through his shoulder, and the back of his head, as it struck the dirt. Stunned, Robin lay fighting for breath as pain racked his body. Managing to bring his free hand up, he tried to push at the heavy weight lying across him, but couldn’t seem to force his muscles to cooperate.

Dimly, Robin became aware that Nasir was standing over him, eyes glittering coldly in a face set like stone. With a snarl, the Saracen heaved the villager off of him, quickly making sure the man no longer posed a threat. Vacant, fixed eyes stared back at him, the gaping wound that Albion had left in the man’s chest covered with gore.

Dropping down next to Robin, Nasir’s hands began running swiftly and lightly over the young man’s body, fingers tugging urgently at the cloak tangled halfway across him. Struggling to focus, Robin realized that he was covered in the villager’s blood. Seeking to reassure, he spoke to the other man, his voice light and shaky. “I’m all right, sadiqi. It’s not my blood.”

Nasir didn’t respond. Reaching out, Robin caught at one of the Saracen’s hands, trying again in a slightly stronger voice. “Nasir, he didn’t hurt me.” He felt the Saracen’s fingers go still under his as the other man finally raised his gaze to Robin’s face.

“He did,” Nasir growled, black eyes flashing and then dropping away.

Robin’s heart contracted painfully at that, all too aware of the distress that lay beneath it. The Saracen had nearly lost him twice in less than a day: that alone would be enough to rattle even the strongest man. And, more than likely, Nasir was blaming himself for not preventing the second attack as well. Squeezing the fingers that lay beneath his own, Robin pressed Nasir’s palm flat against his breast so that the other man could feel the beat of his heart. He said gently, “I am fine. No harm was done.”

Nasir drew in a long deep breath. Glancing back up, he shook his head briefly in disagreement, his voice low and rough. “Even so, it should not have happened.”

“There is no blame, my friend. We weren’t even sure that he would come back.” Robin paused, looking searchingly at the other man before adding teasingly, “Or are you just disappointed that you didn’t get to kill him yourself?”

He was gratified to see the barest hint of a smile cross the Saracen’s face. For a long moment Nasir said nothing, gazing back at him with unreadable eyes. Then, with an almost imperceptible nod, he said very low, “I swore that I would, for you, sadiqi.”

Lifting the other man’s hand, Robin placed a soft kiss in his palm. “I know.”

Surprised not only by his words, but by the intimate gesture, Nasir stared at the young outlaw, dark eyes questioning.

Unable to contain himself, Robin’s face lit up in a huge grin, all of the elation that he felt spilling over into his voice. “I remember. I remember everything!”

He watched as understanding dawned on the Saracen’s face, only to be replaced by a certain hesitancy, as if he were unsure of exactly how much of his friend’s memory had returned. Smiling up at him, Robin raised his arm, curling the fingers of his hand around the nape of Nasir’s neck. With a firm tug, he drew the other man down, staring deeply into his eyes.

“I remember you,” Robin said very softy, before placing a light kiss on Nasir’s lips. There was the faint touch of the other man’s fingers as they brushed gently across his hair and then the Saracen pulled away to look at him. Nasir’s smile was white and dazzling, dark eyes shining with joy.

Happiness singing through his veins, Robin laughed, not caring that it hurt.

~End