Title: The Tag

Spoilers: Mild spoilage for Season Two, Epi 2: Ducking and Diving

A/N: the plot bunnies got all squirly after the scene where Robin cuts the tag from Allan and then discards it in the forest. Channeling the muses of inanimate objects is always fun.

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Everything is spiralling out of control and I have no way of stopping it. I land in a heap of thick soggy undergrowth and lay there still, discarded, cast away and no longer wanted. No longer part of the journey others will take. I meant everything to some, and nothing to him, or perhaps I did and he was too late in the realisation. That moment in the tavern, when everything was still and quite and bodies were tense and taught, and anger and betrayal fizzled in the air. Perhaps there had been a chance, but again he allowed the moment to pass, and now I am discarded. From something to nothing, he took to the dark path and I am paying for the consequence of his actions. Alone, already forgotten and left lying, now a symbol of shame.

Perhaps I was heavy about his neck when he took those first steps to betrayal, yet he wore me still until the moment I was stripped so menacingly from about his neck. Perhaps I symbolised some longed for hope that he could find a path to redemption. I was there that first day, when he faced the dark man, and I felt his every move, every heartbeat of apprehension, the tension of wondering if he could get away with it. Weighing his options and allowing his greed to lead him away from everything he'd strove to build up between himself and his friends.

I was there, on the dark nights, where alone he would run me through his fingertips, calloused skin running over the etched outline of the symbol of being part of something. I was so lovingly made by nimble proud fingers, and handed over in earnest recognition of becoming part of that something. I represented hope and goodness and fighting for the cause, and perhaps he knew that. But I knew not what lay under his skin, the distress, the worry, the wonderment of the future and what that would entail. Now I represent him, what he did, what he is, and no more can they bear to look upon him, I must also be cast aside, for how can such a symbol remain.

I failed in my duty, and he started us both on our paths, I am alone and he is alone. I wonder if he misses me, misses the feel of the small token of belonging lying on his chest, be it during long lonely nights or being chased by castle guards. I am cold and shamed, a stark reminder that despite what we represent, we are merely nothing but tokens, mere representations, that do not bind together the threads of closeness and loyalty and everything that can be missing from this world. A thread that is weak must be cast aside for the greater good, and as he has been cast aside, as have I.