So I thought perhaps I might start posting some of my fan fiction here, just 'cause. One of my favorite shows for a long time was the BBC's Robin Hood. My favorite character was Allan A'Dale. I was very disappointed with how things ended on that show. This little flash fic sprang up as a reaction to that. It was first written and posted in March of 2010. I'm unsure if it was beta'd or not. It has not been touched up since then. I might try to edit it for re-posting at a future time, just to see the difference if I stretch it out a bit and add more of what I've learned these past couple of years. In the end, though (no pun intended) it's just a little flash fan fic. Look! More alliteration! Sorry, it's the simple things that give me joy. :)
Title: The End
Word Count: 224
Warnings: Mild language.
Disclaimer: Tiger Aspect and the BBC own the rights to Robin Hood 2006. No copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made.
Summary: An alternative to the BBC's S3/12 ending.
A/N: This was a second-place winner in the flash fic category from the "Treat Allan Right" community for the rh_intercomm writing challenge on Live Journal. I came into the challenge late and just wrote my fingers off in an attempt to ensure that Allan won for most fics written about him. I think he wound up with not only the most fics, but the most words overall, as well.
Allan A' Dale cut through the ropes that bound him to the tree. His movements were calm and focused; his thoughts and heart were anything but.
Damn Isabella for startin' them rumors.
Damn Robin for believin' 'er over me.
Damn Little John for jumpin' so quick all the time.
Damn Much for bein' a fair-weather friend.
Damn Will and Djaq for stayin' behind in the 'oly Land. They would've defended me. Well, Djaq would've. Maybe.
Damn Gisbourne. The end.
His thoughts scurried like mice in his head as the final bond was broken and his hands dropped to his sides. Angrily gathering his sword and his small sack of personal items, including his brother's meager possessions, he strode off into the forest, heading north.
He did not know where exactly he was going—just away, away from a past that clung to him like a dense fog. He did not see the small army that passed just south of him in the forest, led by a small balding man in black.
Days later, he heard of the demise of Robin Hood, and of Nottingham. Alone at night, he wept for the man who had been his savior, his friend, and his accuser; he shed no tears for the one who had been his tormentor.