I would like to thank Steph (BackwardsMuffin) for the inspiration for this fic... Well, I say that. I was talking to her when inspiration hit me, actually, but it's almost the same thing.

Enjoy...

Hooves could be heard echoing throughout Sherwood Forest, the only sounds at all that morning besides the continuous chirruping of birds. There were travellers on the Great North Road, bound for Nottingham. Five riders; a lady and her guard. But there are Outlaws in this forest; no one can be guaranteed safe passage, especially not during the last hours before dusk.

Robin Hood watched them pass below him and signalled to his men. He did not need to turn; he knew that they would be watching. Sure enough, from his vantage point in the tree he watched as the front rider was knocked by a swinging log from his horse, sending him tumbling to the ground. The others brought their horses to a stop, fighting to control the panicking beasts. Robin smiled. These would be easier pickings than most, he reasoned.

He shot a white-feathered arrow from his tree, embedding it in the front of the lady's saddle. To his surprise, she did not turn her head in a desperate attempt to locate her attackers, but merely regarded the arrow with curiosity and pulled it from the leather. Her guard began to draw their swords.

"No," she ordered. "Dismount, all of you. There are, after all, outlaws in these woods."

The soldiers did as they were told without question, and Robin took a moment to admire their loyalty to their mistress before dropping almost silently from his tree. His men took their cue, and in seconds the peaceful forest came alive with the fierce battle cries of five men. Robin himself stepped out from the barricade of foliage, a wry smile on his face.

"This is an ambush," he announced. "And this is how it works."

"The poor are starving," Will Scarlett continued.

"Tell us what of value you are carrying," ordered Much.

"Leave nothing out," Djaq cut in

"If you are telling the truth, we will take one tenth," Alan A Dale calmly explained.

"Lie," Little John hissed by contrast, "And we take it all."

Robin strode, hands on hips, to the stand in front of his men. "So what will it be?"

"The truth, then, obviously," the lady declared. "Although if you were paying any attention, Robin of Locksley, you would know that I do not carry much on my person for fear of being robbed by outlaws. Or should I now address you as Robin of Sherwood?" She looked down on Robin, the same smile he was exhibiting worn on her face. For a moment he was confused until, at the end of her speech when she removed the hood she wore to keep her hair in place as she rode, the recognition set in.

"My Lady Grace," he spread his arms in welcome and played a low bow. "Forgive me, I did not recognise you, and was not aware you had business in Nottingham."

"That much is evident at the least." Lady Grace dismounted her horse; a beautiful white mare; and stepped forwards. Robin took her hand and brought it theatrically to his lips, keeping his playfully cheeky eyes on hers all the time. Suddenly, neither could keep it up any longer, and dissolved into laughter as they embraced.

"It's so good to see you again," Robin stated, looking his old friend over. She had grown more beautiful than their last meeting; a feat he had sworn would not be possible; yet there were signs of age already on her face. She was only late in her twenties, but lines of weariness had begun to crease her brow. Concern fluttered inside Robin. Times were hard in the South as well, it seemed.

"Does anyone know what just happened?" Much enquired, looking around the rest of the gang for assistance.

"Gang," Robin turned to face them. "This is Lady Grace, daughter of the Sheriff of Hampshire. Your Ladyship, this is my gang of ruthless outlaws."

"I resent that," Much whined.

"Don't pout, Much," Alan clapped him on the back. "It makes you look like a girl."

"Oi..."

"Be quiet you two," Robin commanded. Much sulked, but the two complied. Grace laughed.

"So the rumours are true. I almost did not want to believe them, what with the horrors they contain."

"Horrors?"

"Tales have reached us Southerners of a Robin Hood of Sherwood. Some claim you to be a barbarian; attacking nobles and leaving them for dead on the roads. Others are more... Shall we say, sympathetic?"

"Spread by the Sheriff, no doubt," Will murmured.

"Quite likely. I have sensed a pattern; the stories framing you as a hero are popular among the peasantry, while those claiming you to be a murderer tend to spread between visiting nobles. Someone has it out for you, Robin."

"There are many people who want me dead. What brings you to Nottingham, Grace?"

"My father's business, such as it is."

Robin read her suddenly sombre expression, and his own immediately became serious. "What has happened?"

"The same that is happening throughout England. Prince John is replacing his Sheriffs with men more suited to his own tastes. My father is an old man. I do not know how long he will be able to keep his position, or how long his health will out even then"

"And what can we do for you?"

Lady Grace's face softened. "Nothing, really. I am here visiting your Sheriff on business and I thought I would call in on an old friend. Although, I did not expect the villagers of Locksley to tell me I would find you in Sherwood Forest."

"A detail. So what does bring you to Nottinghamshire?"

"For a long time my father has been too unwell to travel, so I go in his stead. Although, the longer I can keep his ill health a secret from the likes of your Sheriff the better. I am here to discuss the stories we have heard of your county's obscene taxes."

Relief washed through the outlaws. "I am glad that word has finally reached people of influence," Robin confessed. "Although I do not know what your visit will achieve; the Sheriff is not easily swayed in such matters as taxes."

"Not if he is anything like the rumours say. My father warned me he would be a challenge."

"What will you say if they ask for an explanation for his absence?"

"Oh, something. I'll tell them there was a disturbance at home that he did not want to leave unresolved; that should satisfy anyone who does ask. Now, I must go; he is expecting me at sunset, and I couldn't possibly keep him waiting; he might think I was in league with his enemies."

Again the suggestive smile re-appeared and Grace, as well as her four guards, mounted her horse. "Here, take this," she threw a velvet purse down to Robin's waiting hands. "My donation to your cause. And a lot more than a tenth, I can assure you."

With a click of her tongue Grace urged her horse onwards, her guard once again moving into formation around her as they continued at a steady trot down the Great North Road.

So far, it had been a good day. A productive day. A day in which nothing had been stolen. In which no outlaws had intercepted any taxes or, embarrassingly, broken into the castle and taken them from under the Sheriff's nose. Yes, it had been a good day indeed, all things considered.

That same Sheriff sat in his Great Hall, gleefully dropping shilling coins one by one into a chest at his feet. It was actually on the table, but so where his feet, so it wasn't an inaccurate statement.

"Fifty pounds," he said out loud. "Fifty glorious pounds, this week alone. Fifty beautiful, gleaming pounds, all for me and my little project..."

"Fantastic, my Lord," Guy of Gisbourne interrupted him, striding into the room and down the stairs. As usual he was devoid of any happiness at all in his tone, and was accompanied by the creak of leather. Either he had many outfits of the same style, the Sheriff mused, or he never washed. He hoped it was the former; he was supposed to be the disgusting one around this castle.

"Fantastic indeed, Gisbourne. It would be so good if we could manage the same next week."

"Yeah, I came to inform you that the Lady Grace of Hampshire has arrived. Without incident, by the look of it."

The Sheriff's shoulder's sagged; Gisbourne had been in a foul mood since the whole Marian business, and quite frankly it was raining on his parade. On every parade he had had since, for that matter.

"Oh good," he said, meaning the opposite. "Well, where is she?"

"In her room; she did not want to begin business until tomorrow morning."

"Wonderful."

"My Lord, I thought her visit was an inconvenience."

"It is," the Sheriff snapped, getting up from his seat at the table. "Do you really think I need some pretty from the South sticking her nose in my business? A clue: no. I will tell her what she undoubtedly wants to hear and then send her packing."

Gisbourne nodded, otherwise unmoving from his stance at the foot of the Great Hall stairs. The Sheriff hated how he could do that; stand, sit, lean, or undergo any other position without the slightest movement. It seemed to come completely natural to him, and it irritated the Sheriff to no end.

"You say she had no incident on the road?"

"None that my guard could report."

"Your guard? So you did not meet her yourself?"

Gisbourne shifted uncomfortably. "No, my Lord. The Lady Grace and I are old acquaintances; I did not think she would want to see me until she was well rested."

"Gisbourne, you have a mysterious habit of making enemies of women. Lepers, remember, all of them. Now, make sure this Grace woman has every comfort she needs."

"You think we can get something from her."

"Indeed. She is rich, Gisbourne, and she is here to complain about the taxes in Nottinghamshire. If I play it the right way, she will be... only too happy to assist her poor fellow Englishmen." He turned to Gisbourne, looming a good few inches over him yet again, and laughed a wheezy laugh. Gisbourne also smirked; as far as he ever got to true amusement; but the gesture was not entirely genuine.

"Now now, Gizzie," he crooned. "There will be no foul play, if that sooths that horrendously active conscience of yours. At least, no more than usual."

He laughed again and strode past Gisbourne up the stairs, his good mood rekindled. "Put that away," he ordered the general consensus of guards, and waved absently to the chest of coins on the table. After all, the day was not yet over, and he would not leave his precious gold lying around for anyone to help themselves to it.

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