Disclaimer: All owned by the BBC and Tiger Aspect Productions.

Author Notes: Set immediately after series 2 episode 'For England!' It was a pretty devastating episode for the gang and I wanted to explore several characters different points of view. Certainly angstier than I normally write, but I like it. There's still hope there. All feedback welcome.

SPLINTERS

After riding back to the castle, Guy had gotten Marian permission to spend some time with her father. The Sheriff was in a good mood after Winchester's murder and found the idea of Marian visiting her sick and imprisoned father without being able to do anything to help him amusing.

Guy led her down to the dungeon, nodding the guards aside, and Marian stopped him when he turned to leave with a single use of his name. His eyes burnt into her.

"Thank you, Guy," she said softly. "For what you did for me today."

The look Guy gave her seemed to be searching her for something and was tinged with discomfort, perhaps because the jailer remained close by. But in the end he inclined his head, didn't ask for anything in return, and headed back up the stairs in silence.

Marian watched him leave, her focus swayed towards him. Today had been one of those days when she had seen a spark of goodness in Guy. Those days were few and the moments fleeting, but they convinced her that Guy was more than Robin claimed he was. It was still crowded by his cruelty, but it had been there and it could be used. Perhaps it could be grown to get her father better treatment and Marian herself time away from her castle prison. As the Sheriff's lieutenant, Guy would be a powerful ally and he could become a good man.

"Marian!"

Her father's frail voice brought her immediately out of her thoughts and forward to grip his quaking hands through the cold metal bars. Her heart twisted, he looked greyer and paler than he had been even that morning.

"You were unable to escape," Sir Edward stated wearily. "What happened?"

"Robin was caught," Marian was unwilling to crush her father's spirit further with details. "But he escaped."

"And Winchester? The pact?"

Marian was silent, her thoughts grasping for purchase. How could she tell her already troubled father that one of his oldest friends had taken his daughter in chains to be an unwilling wife and now lay dead? It could be too much for him.

"The pact has been signed," she said at last. "And Winchester has been…….I'm sorry, father."

Her father nodded sadly at her expression, indicating that she didn't have to continue.

"There is no need, Marian. I thought he was my friend, but it seems he has always begrudged me for something long ago," he explained quietly. "I had forgotten that he too hoped to marry your mother, but she chose me. You look just like her and he hoped to take revenge by taking you from me."

The desire and triumph in Winchester's eyes as he'd sat close to her in the carriage flashed through Marian's mind. She had thought he was merely pleased at outwitting the Sheriff, and disgust had rolled in her stomach at how he had presumed to touch her and keep her in manacles. She remembered his words to her.

"He said I was like Mother," she said out loud. "Spirited."

Sir Edward nodded, an almost sad wistful smile on his lips.

"You are like her, and not just in appearance," he agreed. "She did what she believed to be right, often at great risk to herself. No doubt she would have approved of the path you have chosen."

Marian felt a slight lump in her throat and focused on handing her father the bread roll she had secreted about her person when she had eaten her supper earlier. In the candlelight, as she held a smile on her lips, she hoped that he didn't noticed how damp her eyes were.

After dinner, Much retreated from the camp into the forest on the pretext of finding more firewood. The others were only too glad to let him leave it seemed, which only made him walk faster.

There was nothing wrong in trying to find something good in each day! His mother, god rest her soul, had always managed to and Much found that he relied upon that teaching a lot more than he used to now that he was outlawed and living in the forest. How else could he deal with the hunger and discomfort and constant threats upon his life?

He stopped finally, sitting down on a tree stump and moodily kicked at the forest floor. There had to be something in the day that had been good. Robin was still alive after one of his typically life-risking plans, that was good of course. Will's ingeniously hidden weapons had worked, that was also good.

That led Much onto remembering something that was most definitely good. Before Robin had dragged them away, Much had been having a pleasant conversation with one of the castle's serving girls. Meg, her name was, he recalled now with a smile. She'd come in with some food for the minstrels and asked about Much's guitar and well….they'd gotten talking.

She'd been nice, interested in what Much was saying, interested in Much. That had been a welcome change.

She was the sort of woman he might have ended up marrying if Robin hadn't become an outlaw. They might have met when Robin visited the castle, talked about their days and where they came from. They might have had further meetings in the market, or the tavern.

They might have been married by now. They could be living in Bonchurch, with their children.

Much sighed, kicking at the forest floor again. It was no good wondering about such notions. As long as Robin lived in the forest, so would Much. How would his master survive if Much wasn't there to keep an eye on him?

Perhaps though, Much thought as he got to his feet, perhaps when King Richard returned and they were all pardoned, it wouldn't be an idle daydream. He knew of a woman, hiding with her mother at a place he had directions to memorised by heart, who had been interested in him once. He prayed that she still would be.

Heartened, Much headed back to the camp. The others could say or throw what they liked; he had found his something good.

He had defended Allan.

Little John growled, stripping the bells from his staff and tossing them noisily into a corner of the camp. It had been instinctive, seeing Allan defenceless and set upon by guards, to make sure his former friend had been safe. Of course, as soon as he'd realised, he'd knocked Allan out with a punch and a yell. But it couldn't change the fact that he'd protected a man who'd turned his back on him, on all of them, for money.

Money. Little John spat angrily. Money that should go to the starving families in Nottinghamshire's villages, to those who needed it or they died.

At times like these, Little John thought that Allan should be the one who died. Better that than he work for Gisborne, telling him all the outlaws' secrets and plans. Better that he be silenced.

But then Little John would remember Royston White. Roy had attempted to kill Robin once. Little John had been angry then, as angry as he was at Allan. But Roy had explained in tears how his mother's life had been used against him and Little John's anger had turned towards the Sheriff.

Roy had been redeemed, after he had told of his reasons. But Allan's reasons condemned him. For money, Robin had said, what else?

Allan was always complaining about how easy the poor had it with the gang delivering money to their doors, about how the gang should get something themselves. For money he'd betrayed them, the poor and the gang, betrayed them all for the money he'd always wanted.

Little John shook his head, remembering Allan swiping at Robin as oil bubbled beneath them. One thing he knew for certain, the next time they were in a fight involving Allan, Allan could defend himself.

The food was good, Allan'd give Guy that. No squirrel or rat here, but good plump chicken and bread. It had been a while since Allan'd had fresh bread. He reckoned it was a few months back when that baker had repaid the gang with his wares after they'd helped patch his roof. It hadn't lasted long, but it had been beautiful.

Allan swallowed, the mouthful of chicken suddenly not as pleasant as it had been. The gang.

He could see them now; all standing up on that high ridge glaring down at him as he'd scrabbled around like some kind of animal for his money and their forgiveness.

A half-empty tin mug crashed against the wall. It didn't make him feel better.

Robin had always looked down on him, what did he know about surviving, really? He had friends in high places, a high-born lady risking execution to help him out. Robin was playing at being poor, like it was a game until the king returned. He didn't know what it was really like to survive on your wits and spin stories for your supper.

Allan did, and he wasn't going to live like that again, not if he had the chance to get out of it.

So this was it, here he was. He was in Nottingham Castle, as Sir Guy's 'man', whatever that meant. He'd probably have to kill people, he'd done that before to survive, to keep Tom safe, to save the others. He'd never done it like Guy did, with pleasure.

Allan tugged at the collar of his shirt. His new clothes felt tight, all constricting. He'd complained about the number of patchings he'd had to do on his outlaw clothes, but he didn't think new clothing'd be this uncomfortable.

He could imagine exactly what the others would be doing now, out in the forest. Much'd be cooking dinner, complaining or singing – sometimes, it was difficult to work out which was worse. John would threaten to throw Much in the lake and Robin would laugh, probably thinking about Marian and when he could see her again. He always got that look in his eyes when he was thinking about her. Djaq would laugh and roll her eyes and Will'd probably be working on something new, a new weapon or something.

Djaq and Will. They'd curl up together by the fire once it got dark and cold. Back when he was still one of them, Allan'd slept at Djaq's back and the three of them had kept each other warm. It had been……..good, comfortable.

They probably didn't miss him. Allan had seen the look in Will's eyes that morning (anger, betrayal) and Djaq, she'd looked upset, properly sad. Like when Tom had died and she'd talked to him about her brother. Allan had done that to her. She's probably never forgive him.

Another cup hit the wall. Allan tore into the last chicken leg angrily.

He hated wanting to be back there. Here, was what he'd always wanted. Money and security, decent food and clothes without holes in.

Oh yeah, and a Sheriff who wanted to hang him for entertainment and Marian who'd likely treat him like he was worse than the Sheriff and Gisborne who'd want him to kill his friends.

Allan shoved his plate away, not even bothering to throw it. Suddenly, he really wasn't all that hungry.

Will had done a fine job on the instruments. A corner of Djaq's lips lifted as she eased the sword out of the flute in her lap. He was becoming a finer craftsman every day; long hours waiting for one of Robin's plans to form would do that. Dan Scarlett had been right in his assessment of his eldest son's skills.

A hand she knew well pressed to her shoulder and handed her a full cup of water.

"You haven't drunk anything since breakfast," Will said, sitting down beside her with his own full cup. "It'll make you feel better."

Djaq gave him a look, disliking that he saw what she kept hidden, such as the headache she could feel creeping at her temples. But he was right, the water would help. So she took several mouthfuls and pressed her leg against his. His presence was as soothing as the drink.

"Much is right, it has not been a good day," she stated at last, staring out at the forest.

"Marian's still alive, even if she is a prisoner," ventured Will. "So's Robin and…….."

"And Allan?" Djaq finished for him. "The others want him dead."

"Sometimes I want to kill him," admitted Will. "It's what he deserves."

"You do not believe that," Djaq dismissed, remembered the pleading look in Allan's eyes when they'd caught him looking for his money. No one could fail to see the truth that had been there and Will was a man who saw past the surface. "The others do, Robin is very angry and John."

"I'm angry too. He betrayed us, Djaq, joined up with the Sheriff," Will sighed, looking unhappy. He paused before asking. "Was it really all because of the money?"

Djaq shook her head, hearing Allan's voice.

"It was not all of it. Security, perhaps, for when the king returns," it was Djaq's turn to sigh now. "He was stuck."

"We can't trust him now, can we."

Will's flat tone caused Djaq to glance up at him. He looked defeated and her heart moved. She understood his feelings, she felt the same way herself. There seemed to be no way forward after such a disheartening day.

"He is angry at Robin for not giving him a second chance," she said quietly. "He was willing to kill Robin if it meant his own survival. He is changing."

Will was silent, but Djaq fancied that she could hear his thoughts. Will was unable to hide his feelings; they always showed in his face.

"But I do not know what he is changing into," she said in answer to Will's unasked question and let the silence swallow them once more, hoping that she would stop feeling cold and stop seeing blue eyes when she closed her own.

-end