Chapter: 2 of 2
Genre: Angsty slash. And superglue.
Pairing: Nasir/Robin of Huntingdon
Rating: PG
Warnings: Uh... slash?
Beta:3scoremiles_10 , who saved me from a myriad of sins.
Summary: After a night of smoking hashish together, Robin and Nasir try to understand what is happening. Nasir asks himself the great question of The Clash: "Should I stay or should I go?"
Word Count: 6,218
(Part One is here)

    Nasir waited out the slow, black hours in the inn’s empty hallway. Weary in spirit and body, he wished he could go back to bed, but he knew he would find no rest. He could not go back to the room, not with Robin there. Robin. All tarnished innocence in the rumpled sheets. Even if he could find a bed elsewhere, his guilt would pursue him and give him no peace. He could not stay huddled outside their door like a fugitive; he needed to bathe. The hadith required it, and Nasir's heart longed for purity now, for by despoiling what had been pure, Nasir had made himself doubly unclean.
    Rising, he quietly descended the stairs and, feeling his way in darkness across the common room, he came to the scuttlebutt. Dragging a bench over beside it, he pulled off his thobe with almost desperate haste. Shivering and naked, he poured water with a ladle over his hands three times and began to wash himself. Performing ghusl would, at least, purify his body, but no earthly water could truly cleanse him. When he had at last washed from head to toe, he sloughed off as much water with his hands as he could, and hastily pulled on his robe again. He was cold and wet and miserable, but he did not desire comfort. He did not deserve comfort. So, still as a stone, he sat whispering prayers into the dark.
    After sitting in that frigid room for Allah only knew how long, he saw a flickering light approaching, borne by a formidable, ancient chambermaid armed with a mop and bucket of water. Preoccupied with her burdens, the woman did not notice Nasir, and seemed likely to pass him by. Then, perhaps sensing the Saracen’s gaze upon her, the old woman looked up and let out a strangled yelp and nearly dropped the smoking tallow candle in her hand.
    “Christ Jesus, man,” the woman hissed, recovering herself. “What do you mean by sitting here all early in the morning?”
    Nasir said nothing. He was chilled in body and sick in heart, and in no mood to waste words. Slowly rising, he looked down at the old woman with an impassive expression, and she looked warily back at him.
    “How long until daybreak?” Nasir asked at last.
    “’S on it’s way. The sky be lightening soon.”
    Nasir nodded his thanks and the woman plodded off with a huff. She had spoken truly, because not long after a pale, predawn light began to creep into the room. Nasir could hear people in the street outside, and the slow, heavy sounds of the recently-roused moving about the house. It was time for morning prayer.
    Looking down at the grubby floor beneath his feet, Nasir frowned. He did not relish the idea of praying here amidst the foodscraps and filthy rushes, and he thought briefly of the room upstairs where Robin slept. But he could not pray there. With a sigh, he rose and opened the door into the inn yard.
    His breath billowed out before him like a cloud, and the chill crept into his damp limbs, but at least the world had been washed clean by last night’s rain. Padding barefoot across the puddle-spotted yard, he looked east, where the unrisen sun washed the world with grey light.
    Focusing his mind, he faced to the southeast, slowly raised his hands and whispered “Allahu akbar”. He thought of the Ka’aba, its sides beautifully black in contrast against the white walls of the Masjid al Haram. He thought of other Muslims – somewhere – praying even as he prayed. And he tried – tried so hard – not to think of Robin, lying fair and naked amongst the sheets.
    “Bismillāh ir-rahmān ir-rahīm: Al hamdu lillāhirabb il-‘ālamīn…”
    In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful: Praise be to Allah, the Cherisher and Sustainer of the worlds…
    There was refuge in those words; in the love of God, in the language of his home and heart. Nasir let himself be caught up in the familiar cadences of his prayer, feeling the comforting praises flow over his raw and burnt soul like cool water. But even the sanctuary of prayer did not heal the pain, merely dulling it to a low, deep throb.
    “Rabbi-ghfir li waliwaliday’ya…”
    Oh my Lord, forgive and have mercy upon me…

    No one disturbed him during his prayers, for which Nasir was grateful. He had half expected it: dressed still in his thobe and moving through his worship, he Nasir knew he was vulnerable. Yet though he could hear men and horses moving through the yard, he was left alone. When he finished, however, he understood why none had bothered him. The few people in the yard were giving him a wide berth, all staring at Nasir and – his heart ached – at Robin. Nasir could not see his face, for Robin was turned away from him, glaring at any who might think to interrupt Nasir’s worship. As Nasir got to his feet, Robin looked back at him with a strange smile: half honest, half forced. And by Allah, but Nasir suffered at the doubt in Robin’s blue eyes. Doubt that he had put there. There were words in Robin’s eyes, questions that Nasir did not want to answer. He spoke before Robin could, heading him off with a brevity borne of self-defence.
    “We should get an early start. Eat as soon as we can, and get back to the road.”
    His voice was emotionless and brutally practical. Robin appeared bewildered, caught off his guard by this retreat to routine. He frowned at Nasir’s words and visibly steeled himself, opening his mouth to speak. Nasir did not wait to hear him. He was no coward in battle, but he could not face this. Not now. Moving briskly past the young Frank, Nasir strode across the yard, back towards the inn. He did not look back and he did not hear footsteps following him. For that, at least, he was relieved.

    In preparation for the day ahead, Nasir changed from his thobe into his still damp travelling clothes. He had hoped, in some corner of his mind, that donning his usual gear might help him recover some of the control he had once had, and had maintained for so long. He had thought that control a fortress; a wall of safety between himself and the world, but it had taken only one night of fire and sinuously coiling smoke to break him. That, and a petulant, desperate voice: “I’m happy, Nasir. Can’t you just let this go where it will?” He had submitted to that voice, and look where it had brought him. He had lost control, and he must now suffer through the consequences of his weakness.
    Nasir slung his swords onto his back, tightened the straps, and furled his bedroll. Looking around the room, he saw that Robin had taken his own things downstairs already. All that was left were the blackened knives and the bottle top, which Nasir retrieved from where they’d been abandoned by the fireplace.
    “Je t’oime.”
    In one swift, angry movement, Nasir hurled the bottle and knives into the hearth. The already damaged glass shattered instantly into a hundred bright pieces against the stone, the crescendo of breaking glass dropping quickly to a quiet coda of a few rogue fragments skittering across the floor. In the silence that followed, Nasir shouldered his bedroll. Turning his back on the echoes of pleasure that lingered before the fire, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

    It took more strength than Nasir had thought he possessed to keep riding in such silence. It was not that he wanted to talk – Ya Allah, he did not want to talk ever again – but Robin kept looking at him; sneaking sideways glances as they clopped along the northward road. They were riding nearly side-by-side, which was Robin’s doing; he was trying to draw the Saracen into conversation. Nasir had known the outlaw long enough to sense the torrent of questions that Robin was holding back, but he also knew that Robin would stop short of forcing conversation outright. So they kept their silence, only speaking to reassure their horses when the beasts slipped in the thick mud of the road.
    The day was bright with the particular freshness that comes after rain. Had circumstances been other than they were, the Saracen would have been gladdened by it. As it was, however, Robin’s persistent, desperate presence at his side held Nasir on edge. He was constantly aware of each movement of Robin’s body: every sigh, every shift, and every surreptitious glance. He had always been particularly aware of Robin, but this was worse: this was driving him to distraction. For all the beauty around him, and for all the dangers in the world, Nasir’s senses were sharply and stubbornly focused on one fair-haired man. It had to stop – it wasn’t safe. Nasir couldn’t protect Robin when his mind was too preoccupied to heed aught else in the world but this man at his side and the thing that they had done.
    Seeking refuge in silence felt like cowardice to Nasir, but he didn’t know what else to do. Words were ever treacherous tools, and he knew they would never serve him here, no matter which tongue spoke them in: Arabic or English, Greek or Latin. The words had not been made that could convey what he felt, not in any language of men or djinn. His remorse was too deep: a primitive, wordless, aching howl. The hunched, tense lines of Robin’s shoulders as he rode silently screamed at Nasir to say something, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Robin looked confused and frustrated, but Nasir was just as lost himself. He dug his fingers into his thigh as another accursedly alluring vision of Robin last night, all bare skin and beauty, shone in his mind’s eye. Control. He needed to regain control, for his sake and for Robin’s.
    No, not for his sake. A man could be forgiven who had truly repented of his sins, but Nasir knew how far he’d strayed, and how often he’d fallen. It was too late for him, but Robin… oh, Robin should not be pulled down with him. Nasir had failed Robin once, but he would never do so again. Robin must not fall. Nasir’s loyalty and love – no, he had no right to call what he felt “love”, not after last night – must guide him as he tried to make amends.
    Bound in silence, Nasir and Robin rode until noon. The cycle of Nasir’s daily prayers was familiar to Robin by now: they had known each other long enough for that. Nasir had never needed to explain to his Frankish friend, or even to excuse himself: he could simply nod, arise, and pray. Now, as the sun had reached the furthest height it would achieve at this time of year, Nasir neither explained nor offered excuses as he trotted ahead to a copse of trees on the right side of the road. He felt Robin’s eyes on his back, begging for Nasir to turn around, to talk to him, to acknowledge his presence in some way. Nasir did none of these. He slid smoothly off his mount, tied its reins to a tree, and strode purposefully off in search of some dry spot in this damp land where he might pray without drowning in mud.

    Nasir found himself walking along a path through the trees. At first he had thought it simply an animal trail, the easiest route through the red-gold autumn woods, but it soon became clear that the track had been made by human hands. As he walked on, the forest thinned, and the path broadened into a wide way between old fields now run wild. Looking ahead, Nasir saw a large farmhouse, its roof half collapsed and its thatch rotten but vibrant with wildflowers and weeds. There were many such vacant farms across the land; Brother Tuck had told him that, in many places, old, lone farmsteads were being abandoned as people slowly gravitated into villages. For Nasir, who had seen works of man obliterated by the desert in a single sandstorm, this gentle, creeping green that engulfed stone and field as years flowed by was eerie; magical. The English wilderness took centuries to reclaim its own, and one might find Roman ruins or strange standing stones half smothered under cascades of dark ivy.
    The dark, empty windows of the farmhouse and the neglected fences sang a harmony with Nasir’s heart. Facing across the overgrown fields towards Mecca, he began his voiceless prayers. The noon prayer only required four cycles, but the forgotten farm about him had brought greater serenity than he had any right to hope for, and Nasir followed the full quorum of prayer cycles. By some kind miracle of Allah, he had detached himself from his grief, and was lost in the rhythm of repeating raka’as, oblivious to anything but the poetry of prayer. When he had finished the tenth and final cycle, he stood, feeling as peaceful as the still autumn world around him. Then a voice spoke from behind him, soft, but startling in the stillness of this forsaken homestead: “Assalamu alaikum wa-rahmatullah.”

    The peace and the blessings of Allah upon you. Nasir had taught Robin those words; explained that one used them to greet those on each side after worship with them. Nasir had not heard those words after prayer for years. They should have soothed his battered soul. Instead, coming from Robin, they slashed the fragile contentment he had claimed in prayer to ribbons.
    Nasir spun about, heart thudding as even the faintest traces of calm abandoned him. Robin stood before him, weary and pale in the noonday sun, but still fair. Nasir was not ready for this. He was not sure he would even survive it. In a final bid for escape, he made to move past Robin on the cartway. The young outlaw sidestepped, blocking his path. Nasir lowered his head, unable to meet Robin’s eyes, but he could see the fast rise and fall of Robin’s chest and the taut tendons of his arms as the man’s fists clenched. They stood unspeaking, minutes seeming to stretch to unbearable length. It was the most painful moment of Nasir’s life
    Then Robin broke the silence, as the Saracen had known he would.
     “Nasir.” His voice was raw with emotion, and it broke whatever last part of Nasir’s heart had still been whole.
    Nasir swallowed. “Robin.”
    “Christ, can’t you even look at me?” The anguish in Robin’s words was unbearable, and Nasir had to look up. He wished he hadn’t.
    Robin’s eyes were overly bright, but staring fiercely back into his own. Nasir turned his head away, wanting to escape the pain he saw there, but Robin’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing him to look back. On instinct, Nasir struck out at the arm so near his neck and caught it in a hard grip.
    “Do not,” he said in a dead voice. Robin’s face contorted with physical pain and frustration. Nasir released the man’s arm and turned to walk away. Strong arms caught his shoulders and tried to turn him around, but Nasir’s years of training prevailed; he twisted out of Robin’s grip and pushed him away. He did not push hard, not wanting to cause more hurt than he already had, but nevertheless something inside Robin snapped under his touch.
    “Nasir, we have to talk about this!” he yelled, gesturing sharply. “I don’t know how or why you keep acting as though nothing happened, but it’s going to kill me!”
    Nasir clung to his composure. “There is nothing to talk about,” he said softly, looking at Robin with vacant eyes.
    “Nothing to talk about?” Robin repeated incredulously. His voice was trembling, almost hysterical. “Nothing? What we did, it was–”
    “A sin,” Nasir interrupted in short, charged words.
    “Yes. No!” Robin ran a hand through his hair distractedly. “How could it be a sin, Nasir? Being with you brings me such happiness.” He put his hand to his heart in a way that put Nasir in mind of a Christian touching a crucifix for guidance. “God’s wounds, Nasir, if that’s a sin, then God is mad and cruel, and I want nothing more to do with Him.” Robin’s eyes blazed with blue fire. “I’d sin a thousand times over for you.”
    Nasir stared, appalled. This was even worse than he had thought. Despite their pagan tendencies, Christians were still people of the book, and Robin’s words were the worst kind of blasphemy. Nasir had not simply brought him to deviance: he had put Robin’s very soul in danger. He could not let that be.
    “It is a sin,” Nasir repeated definitively. “And it is wrong.” Robin was raring for more argument, but Nasir held up his hand and raised the spectre that haunted Robin’s heart: “And you love Marion.”
    The young outlaw recoiled at the name as though he’d been struck.
    “Yes,” Robin murmured quietly, lowering his gaze, then whipping his head up again in stubborn defiance. “No, I love you, too!” A cruelly honest falsehood.
    “You do not. Not as you think you do,” Nasir said, wishing that he didn’t have to. It wounded him to say it out loud, though he knew it for the truth, no matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise.
    A cold wind rippled across the field, catching at Robin’s fair hair and casting dead leaves loose from their branches. Slowly, Robin stepped forward.
    “I do love you. I love you, Nasir.”
    “Robin, your heart is confused. We began this journey so you could forget the woman you love. And I am a friend, though unworthy of the name, after what I did last–”
    “What you did?” Robin was shouting again. “All you did was provide some Saracen herb! I was the one who started it all. I’d just… I’ve thought…” Robin grasped at words, face flushing in anger. “It is possible to love more than one person. Can’t you understand that?”
    “You would not have done anything had I not given you the hashish. And you acted as you did because Marion has left you. You would not have done so before.” Why, Nasir wondered, did fate make it his duty to state each and every one of the painful truths that flayed his heart? Why couldn’t Robin leave him to his shame?
    “But if you hadn’t given me hashish, then I wouldn’t have had the courage to do anything!” Robin countered angrily. “I never would have known that you love me!”
    Silence dropped like a curtain as Nasir stared at Robin, his mind a confused jumble of words and arguments. The young nobleman’s eyes were searching his face, desperately seeking some sign.
    “You… you do love me, don’t you?” Robin’s anger had vanished, replaced by a wavering vulnerability. The bluntness of the question made Nasir’s heart quail, but he could not lie. Not to Robin.
    “Yes.”
    “You’ve loved a man before.” That was a statement, almost an accusation.
    “Yes. A long time ago.”
    “I don’t understand you,” Robin exclaimed. “It’s a sin, but you’ve done it before. You blame yourself for giving me the freedom to do what I wanted to do. You say that I don’t know my own heart, and then you tell me that you love me!”
    Nasir weathered the storm, waiting for the following calm to ask his question.
    “What do you want of me?”
    Robin looked at him as he might have looked at a madman.
    “What do I want?” Robin repeated despairingly. “Isn’t it obvious? I want –” He stretched out his hand to touch Nasir’s arm, but the Saracen backed out of reach as though Robin’s flesh were unclean.
    “Your heart is hurting. It blurs your thought.” Nasir kept his voice detached, to keep his own heart from disturbing the calm he had claimed.
    “Stop saying that.”
    “It is the truth, sadiqi.”
    Robin stared at him in silence, and a look of revulsion crept over his face. “I thought I knew you.”
    The words cut like glass. For the friendship they had forged – two outsiders together, with all the words which Nasir had once held between only himself and Allah – this was surely the death knell. This was the true cost of their one night of sin: not only were they denied their desires, but they would also never again share so close a bond. Please, Nasir whispered in his heart, please Fate, do not be so cruel. If we cannot be lovers, at least leave us love.
     “Robin –”
    “No, Nasir, I’m not going to stand here and take another calm argument from you! Christ on the Cross, why do you bother? Clearly, I’m so blinded by emotions that I can’t tell the difference between you and Marion, while you hold yourself in such high regard that you think yourself a rapist!”
    “That is unkind.”
    “Is it? Well I’m not sorry. Go back to Hell or Syria or whatever God-cursed place you came from.”
    The words were spoken with such vehemence that Nasir had to shut his eyes, willing himself to say nothing, to do nothing, until he could master himself. But Allah, it wounded him where he had thought never to feel hurt again.
    “I would not leave you, Robin,” he said, offering this last truth before it all collapsed.
    “You already have.”
    “No,” Nasir insisted desperately. Robin turned away from him, facing back towards the woods.
    “You have. First Marion, now you.” The fire was bleeding from Robin’s voice, letting the pain show through. And sadness; such sadness.
    “Robin–”
    “Make up your mind: either break my heart or don’t. I’m going back to check on the horses. If you decide to leave, don’t bother saying goodbye. Just go home to Sherwood.”

    Robin walked slowly up the road, never once looking back. Nasir watched him go; a bright, green-gold ghost of summer melting away into the autumn forest. And as Robin departed, Nasir truly understood that it wasn’t just Marion that had made Robin reach for him that night. He should have seen it sooner. Perhaps then he could have avoided this hell, and the confusion in Robin’s eyes. As things stood though, this was his own doing. His, tearing at those fresh scars with old blades: loving and leaving. Why had he not understood that Robin’s heart might want this too, might even need it to heal? Perhaps because what lay between them wasn’t the simple thing that it had been with Marion. That had been predictable; yet another re-enactment of the old love story until one horrible mistake had consumed their hope of a future. What had happened between himself and Robin had been born of a mistake: one drugged, fiery evening that had left them both burned. But sometimes beauty could rise from ashes. Sometimes, fire could purify.
    I love you, Nasir.
    There had been such crippled freedom in those words, as though they’d been held back in the dark so long that they could barely stand once released. Fierceness, too.
    An’na bahibbak, kaman.
    And in his own voice, the fierce hunger of the starved. Wanting something so badly that it hurt, and then what? Needing it to hurt, and hurting the one he loved in the process? If he left now, Nasir knew, he would plummet downwards into the misery of his heart. Unnoticed as a falling star in the daytime sky, no one would mark where he fell, nor would they care. No one but Robin, who had bound his heart to Nasir. If Nasir fell, he would drag Robin down with him; Robin would probably jump after him, stubborn, beloved Franj that he was. And that was what held Nasir back, what kept him from leaving.
    I would not leave you, Robin.
    Every fibre of Nasir’s being wanted to stay with Robin, to love him, to be near him, to hear his voice, and to know his thoughts. It was a sin, but Nasir was no stranger to sin: he knew all too well what he must answer for on Judgement Day. No, his fear was for Robin, who could make Nasir forget his suffering and sordid past with one smile.
    Without clear purpose, the Saracen’s feet began to move slowly down the weed-encroached road. If he left now, it was not only his own heart that would suffer; it was Robin’s heart too. Could Nasir ever forgive himself for causing Robin such pain? And if he stayed… if he stayed…
    If he stayed, then Robin would be as he always had been: a light for others, hope against the dark. Surely whatever transgressions of the soul that might be endured in the name of that would be met with mercy in the end?
    He was making excuses!
    Yes, excuses for love. Nasir had sinned enough that to sin in love was likely all he would ever taste of redemption. Robin could save him, he thought, fearing his own heresy but believing it all the same.
    I’d sin a thousand times over for you.
    If he stayed, if they loved, could Nasir find salvation in sin? Men pillaged and raped in the name of God, and the caliphs, imams, rabbis, and priests called it good; was that not the greater sin? Allah was merciful, Nasir knew, but He also saw all deeds.
    At the eaves of the woods Nasir looked up to the sky and knew what he must do.

    Returning to the glade where the horses were tethered, Robin sat heavily on a mossy log. Almost instantly he was up on his feet, pacing the clearing, making as if to sit again, then veering away like a bird afraid to land.
This was his fault, of course. No matter how much Nasir might blame himself, it was Robin who had brought this upon them. Seeing the pain it had wrought in his friend’s heart – in both of their hearts – Robin almost wished he had never made that first move. Almost.
    He sank down at last on the log, facing away from the forest and the horses; if Nasir was going to leave, Robin didn’t want to see him go. He hoped, though. Robin wanted Nasir to stay so badly that it made his head hurt and his throat tighten. Just thinking about it was almost enough to make him start pacing. He could do nothing but wait for Nasir to make his decision. A tempting voice in the back of his head whispered that, should he ask Nasir to stay, the Saracen would be unable to disobey, but Robin recoiled from the treachery of that. He would never sink so low, no matter how much he wanted Nasir. It was against his nature and, most importantly, he cared too deeply for Nasir to be so cruel.
    You acted as you did because Marion has left you. You would not have done so before.
    It would be easy to blame the wanting on Marion, but Robin was well aware that his feelings for Nasir predated her flight to the abbey. He had not admitted that before, not even to himself. He couldn’t even remember when he had started wanting Nasir; when friendship had shifted to something less predictable and far more dangerous, but it had been some time ago. In the beginning, they had come together in the comradery of shared strangeness, both being included but apart from their fellows. That had grown into trust, then to a friendly love, and thence somehow to desire. But with Marion still in his life, Robin had done his best to bury those feelings. He had never liked men before, so why would he start desiring a man when he loved a woman at the same time? He was not, in fact, sure that he was drawn to men in that way now – he had never looked on other well-made knights or fresh-faced squires and felt this leap in his heart or this yearning in his blood. Only Nasir could do that to him, with his silence and his rare smiles. Nasir, the one man in all of England he wanted above all, and the one man he should have left alone.
    Robin sighed and put his chin in his hands. Desire was not the problem. Though priests warned against it, everyone accepted desire as an inevitable fact of life. Robin knew that churchmen were no saints; in his heart he felt that Mother Church was in no position to cast stones. There was many a babe born of a priest’s concubine in this world, after all. Anyway, Robin only owed so much of his allegiance to the Church where the Christian God’s servants had issued strictures against men lying with men. Robin, was not that god’s chosen son.
    What Herne might think of such things had given Robin a long chain of sleepless nights. In the end, Robin had had no choice but to ask: after Marion left, the inclinations he felt had become too strong to ignore. Going to Herne to seek direction, Robin half-feared that his father would denounce him as a sinner and banish his erstwhile son from Sherwood. He should, Robin understood now, have known better. Though he spoke in riddles, the horned god had never instructed Robin to act contrary to his nature. Herne had, however, given good counsel: to not hurt his loved ones in pursuit of love. Robin had taken this to mean that he should not dwell on Nasir when it could only cause confusion and pain for all concerned, and so he kept that part of his heart secret for the good of all.
    Things had changed now. The conflict in Robin’s heart had, he felt, been difficult enough when he had forced himself to settle for desire unrequited, but last night they had released a new flood of troubles. For Nasir, it was even worse. He did not have the luxury of serving a benevolent forest god: he believed in a simple, inflexible truth. By his actions, Robin tormented Nasir with his own Saracen faith. As Herne had warned, Robin’s love had become the instrument of pain for those he loved.
    Perhaps it was more curse than blessing that, when Robin had kissed his friend, his friend had kissed back. Things might have been better had Nasir not done so: Nasir would’ve been alarmed or appalled at Robin’s kiss, Robin would’ve blamed it on the drug or high spirits, and they could both have agreed to forget the incident and move on.
    Cursing himself and love, Robin jumped to his feet and resumed his agitated pacing. If Nasir decided to leave and go back to Sherwood, what would happen when Robin himself returned? What chance did their friendship stand against the shockwaves from last night? Thoughts came sharp and fast, and most piercing of all the realisation that, if Nasir left on the road today, he might very well ride on past Sherwood and out of Robin’s life forever.
    Robin sat down again, dragging his fingers through his hair as two images tormented him. The first was in his past: Marion, fair and kind as a May morning, turning away from him and into a fortress of stone. The second was a whisper of the future that Robin hated for his own sake and feared because it might be best for the one he loved: Nasir, dark, constant and comforting, slipping away into the vastness of the world, beyond Robin’s reach or recall.

    Nasir was walking swiftly through the forest now, leaves crunching under his feet. He looked up at the bright colours about him, and somehow the flaming branches of the forest brought clarity to his mind. In the stillness of the woods, he was grateful. His time in this land had, Nasir realised with a sudden surety that made him want to sing, been the saving of him. For all the confusion he had known in his life before, the focus he had lost and the paths from which he had strayed, England had brought him back to his truth. England had brought him home. And free in the wildwood, he had come to love England and its people.
    And Robin.
    Who was alone even now by the roadside, in this barbaric, sometimes dangerous land. Fear suddenly snatched away Nasir's peace. What if something had happened to the young nobleman while he had not been there to help? Breaking into a sure-footed run, Nasir sprinted along the path, trees flying past him. Love had brought him to dereliction of duty, and fate might serve him a blow to remember it by: Robin might be gone.
    Swiftly and quietly, Nasir raced down the old trail in the woods until he could see the clearing through the trees. He slowed as his panic left him, thanking Allah as he saw Robin slouched upon a log, facing away from the horses with his golden head bent down. Nasir stopped as he took in the scene before him.
    Robin’s back was a ghazal to the sufferings of love: frustrated and helpless, hampered and destroyed by devotion. Such dejection was in that scene, as the wind stirred Robin’s glimmering hair in the cold autumn light, that it made Nasir’s heart lurch. He knew this distress to be of his own making, and a chilling doubt took him. The Saracen felt suddenly unwelcome. Robin had not turned, had not even lifted a hand to acknowledge Nasir’s presence. His earlier words rang clear in Nasir’s head: Go back to Hell. Don’t bother saying goodbye.
    Oh, Robin. Robin.
    Afraid now that any sudden sound would send his quarry into flight, Nasir moved forward with practised silence, coming ever nearer to the log. He was sure that Robin was aware of him, but still the outlaw gave no sign. Nasir could wait no longer.
    “Robin.”
    It was barely even a whisper, but it made the familiar lines of Robin’s body tense. In Nasir’s eyes, the woodland became dizzyingly sharp around him, but Robin did not move. He did not speak. And in those stony minutes what hope Nasir had still clung to drained from him. But no mater what happened now, he would say what he must.
    “I would stay, if you would have me.” Nasir’s words were as soft as the wind in the trees, but they carried all the love he had. And yet Robin did not move. In those moments, Nasir understood that fate had made him its fool again, and this time it had beaten him. There was nothing left. His shoulders slumped; he began to turn away.
    Then he was hit by a force of nature. It was as though a great wind had tossed Robin up and spun him around, throwing the young outlaw over the log and into Nasir’s arms. The Saracen nearly fell with the surprise and the force of the embrace. Nasir had always loved Robin’s smile, but the smile he wore now was the most wonderful of all, because it was entirely for him. Robin threw his arms around Nasir and held him so tightly that the scabbards of the Saracen’s swords pressed uncomfortably into his back, but he didn’t care. Robin was laughing, bright and clear, with tears in his eyes. In another time or place, Nasir might have been ill at ease to be the focus of such a whirl of emotion, but Robin was expressing much of what was in Nasir’s heart: mad, consuming, wonderful joy. Yet what he felt now, more than anything else, was peace. Love was not unlike faith, he found: it could wound, but submitting to it was, perhaps, the most beautiful thing in the world.
    “Habibi.” Nasir buried his face in the cascade of Robin’s gold hair and shut his eyes, feeling its softness against his cheek and the warmth of Robin’s skin beneath it.
    “‘If I would have you’. Oh, Nasir.” Robin laughed and loosened his embrace, leaning back and tenderly brushing aside one coal-coloured curl. “As though I could wish anything else in the world. But,” a ghost of doubt entered Robin’s pale eyes, “are you content?”
    Nasir could hear his own words of sin and denial echoing unpleasantly in his mind, the insistences that Robin had flung back, the confusion as each man’s words crossed the other’s. He shook his head slightly, pushing those thoughts away.
    “We are flawed creatures, but we are His.”
    If Robin did not understand, he did not say so. He simply leant his fair brow against Nasir’s. The lean flowed gently into a kiss, and it was infinitely different from the kisses of the previous night. Something fragile but more worthy had been forged in the hours since dawn. So they kissed softly, carefully, as though afraid of shattering this new thing. Their hands brushed lightly across each other’s bodies. There was no sound in the woods but their breathing, the crackling of leaves beneath their feet, and the dry whisper of wind in the fiery trees.