A Forward Note to My Readers:
Warning: Spoilers, easily.
This is mostly for my own satisfaction. The end of the Robin Hood series left me with such a hollow feeling, like it hadn't ended. This is for closure of the series, at least to me, and I don't expect to go much farther than the return of King Richard. On the original characters that will pop in, they are needed to a degree and will only really be serving to fill the spots so that Robin Hood will be six. I may add others, seeing that each character had an important part and was filled in by someone else somewhere along the way. Djaq by Tuck, and no one actually replaced Will Scarlett, but that may happen here. We'll see. On Kate, I'm making her grow up a little. She's not a character that I hate, but I don't think what she did in the third series was right.
Only the five knew of the death of Robin Hood. Despite that, those who didn't see the grave knew that something was now different. Robin of Locksley never showed up at the lad's rounds any longer and when questioned they only said that Robin Hood is still in Sherwood and not to worry. They hid the grim sparks in their eyes as they struggled to move on as a group. It had not been long since his death at the hands of the poison, but regardless of their wrenching promise to move on, they were still having a hard time accepting it. Much, unsurprisingly, was waiting for his late master to walk around the end of a building, through the trees to their camp, emerge miraculously from a group of people while handing out food and money with that wide grin that meant that everything was ok.
However, only a few days later, as if they weren't allowed to rest their heavy hearts and minds, word reached them of something shocking. An army came to Nottingham. To the castle rubble. But they weren't an army with swords, bows and shields. No, they were armed with hammers, chisels, horse carts of dark stone and metal, saws, and such an assortment of tools that one would think they were here to raise the castle. They were. By the end of the week spires rose like some foreign plant rooted in the soil by the workers. The halls of the castle were rebuilt, courtyards, towers, and a high and seemingly impenetrable wall were raised in such a speed. It was no wonder that it took so little time. The army that arrived to create the dark castle was as large as the one sent by Prince John to raise the lands to the ground. There were soldiers and peasants alike, working side by side, grim and silent except for the occasional yell of instructions.
While impressive, this did not bode well for anyone in the area, especially those who helped fight back.
Many of these men were forced into the labor to repent for their crimes against the Prince. Others were gathered so they could willingly repent for either themselves or their parents or loved ones. However, whether they were willing or not, the labor was hard and many dropped, only to die hours later in the poor care they were allowed. Women were brought along as well to pitch in within a few days of the start of the work, to care for the horses, to prepare meager meals and beds so that those working could work longer and harder.
With Robin gone, hope seemed to vanish with the fall and a gray settled over the area, not just to his friends, the lads, but to the villagers that remained.
Archer stuck around the camp, learning of his half brothers and their ways. He was wary of becoming one of them, but he had become Robin Hood over Robin's grave. In such a short time he changed from the womanizing, merchant of weapons to something vaguely reminiscent of their leader. There was a reluctant lean towards him as a leader, if he would accept. Until then, Tuck led their raids on the rich with Much as second in command. His leadership in the battle changed almost everyone's view of him as only Robin's sidekick. He was no longer a sidekick, no matter his goofy ways and denial of their dinners being made of squirrel.
Kate took a surprising strength from Robin's death. She saw him as a man who fought for something worth dying for. Not only that, but she wanted to finish it for him and give a solid idea to the name Robin Hood. She was the first to speak after the castle was rebuilt, only a week after his death. She would carry on in his name, with his love, and for his purpose. In another of their silent meals she stood suddenly, seeming annoyed and set her plate off to the side.
Only Tuck looked up at her, half expecting this, but let her speak. He knew when to let things happen, knowing they would turn for the better.
"We cannot sit here any longer! We must do something, anything! Last we heard the King was returning within the month. Byzantine Fire is not the only thing that Prince John will have accumulated by now. Look at Nottingham castle!" She was half pleading with them. "It has been remade in a week with nothing but a few soldiers and an army of peasants. What can his army be like now?"
As she grew louder and a more desperate for them to listen Archer raised his head to look at her with Much next. The latter seemed hesitant to say anything, knowing that it would set her off. He still loved Kate, but he could hardly say anything about it with grief so close to his heart still. To her heart. The only one who hadn't looked at her was John, and she stared at him as he seemed reluctant to see her. The quiet, painful fire in her eyes hurt him. "Little John." She said, finally making him look up. He looked at her and sighed, then also set his food off to the side to finish later.
"Why?" He asked. He had been through this before with Robin, reluctant to leave the forest and the people that needed him. "We cannot leave the people here. They need us. They'll need more soon enough! If the castle is open and a new sheriff comes from Prince John, taxes will be the last thing they will have to worry about. Most of the people here are now considered traitors. No amount of work in the castle will save them now." He looked to the others for help, but they remained silent.
"Don't you remember what Robin said Little John? This isn't just about Locksley, or Nottingham, or anywhere else, this is about England! If the King.. no when the King returns he will be met by Prince John's army. We can do this! We did this before against the Sheriff. We can do it again against the Prince." Kate looked a little unsure at these words, and looked around as well for help. It was silent in the camp.
Little John spoke again, "No, last time, we had the villagers. Last time, we had a way in. Last time we had Robin!" A thick silence settled over them as Little John said the one thing that their hearts could barely tolerate. Even Kate was bothered by this. He was right.
Without a word Kate strode to her bed, pulled out a cloak to ward off the chill of the night and strode out without a word. She only said quietly while pulling her hood up, "I think you're wrong." before disappearing into the night with nothing more to say. She needed to think. There had to be something, anything, more to this.
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Her family had been charged with the stables. Not that she minded. Her brother was in charge of breaking the younger horses in, and her father saw that the horses were taken care of medically. She was the one to do the daily maintenance of feeding, cleaning, and tacking. This had been a family job for a long time, and she, and anyone else for that matter, saw no reason to change it. They could make saddles and harnesses easily if one broke, and as what tends to happen with family businesses, they all had an eye for the creatures. They had their usual roles, yes, but they all knew something of the others' jobs as well, just to be safe, and this made them something of a well oiled machine. So, it wasn't a surprise to anyone that they would be charged with the work horses, and even given a barn to do so. The three wondered how long they would be allowed to use the barn after the construction was complete.
The barn was situated along the main road to the castle currently and resided outside of the gargantuan walls that protected it. It leaned against the dark stone, the brighter wood standing out oddly from it, with a small house built into the side for the residents. It was hardly a home, but it was comfortable enough for the three. She and her brother shared a room divided by a simple screen while her father held the other, smaller room for himself.
While business was good for their family, they knew one thing and one thing only, this did not seem like it was good business for the long haul. Living in the heart of the construction filled each day with an ominous feeling, the dark, gray stone, the clouds that were only a shade lighter, and on some days even the workers seemed to be a peculiar tint of gray themselves. They were starving, that much was true. Many of them were sick and needing water they would not get easily. Food was scarce and it seemed that not even Robin Hood's men could intervene. The drop that started the flood was the beginning of the outer wall that would once again protect the city around Nottingham. An ominous sensation filled every man, woman, and child when they thought of the wall being completed around them.
Currently, that area was filled with meager tents and beds for the workers, a small kitchen dotted the landscape here or there, but even the smoke that they usually put off only seemed to put a damper on things, and only to put the rotten fruit on top, guards, armed with weapons to keep the workers in line, were stationed here and there. As the work dragged on they seemed to become fewer and scarcer, but this was due to one thing. Hope filed out of the workers as they had filed in on the day of their first arrival.
This gray eyed peasant girl got the chance to brighten the day a little now and then. Despite the grayness of the world, her slowly changing disposition to the same grim outlook, she persevered in at least giving them a moment of change; a small dash of color in the bleary landscape. Her hair was a gentle russet color and her eyes the color of Sherwood in the summer just before a storm. Not for her own sake, she wore simple dresses of a similar green when she made her rounds, as did a few of her friends, and they made rounds in the camps, hassled by soldiers now and then when they gave food and water from their own wells where they could spare it. Perhaps it was that she came with food and water, perhaps it was the slight change in color that she and a few others made, but regardless of the catalyst, it seemed to help the workers build for another day.
Something was different this time, as she left the barn after setting out the food for the horses to eat. A basket was set in the crook of her arm with flasks and skins of water and vegetables and bread from their own home, but this time it seemed everyone, even herself, had a gray air. She paced quietly to one of the women tending to a fire to create the meager stew. The woman turned and looked at her, a weary smile on her gray face as she took what was offered. "Thank you, Rowan." She said kindly while the girl looked at the faces of the men leaving to work.
"Something is different today. Whats going on?" Rowan asked her kindly while giving a sick man a small skin of water. Another went to a well, but grim, man. "A change like this across Nottingham is not a good sign." She turned back to the woman. Her smile had faded.
The woman crossed over to her and whispered lowly. "A plague has descended over the workers. Many of them have been quarantined against the wall they built yesterday. We have been ordered to give them no food or water and that the soldiers will provide medicine." Rowan knew they would not have it.
She had one more question for the poor woman and she would no longer badger her. "Was my brother's friend among them? Carson?" The woman turned to look at her and the other knew the answer. Her expression turned to pain quickly, "They said they would pay. This is it, isn't it?" The woman fell into a brooding silence as she busied herself over the stew that wasn't even warm yet and Rowan left her to finish her rounds in the camps. Every now and then she would see the brightly colored dress of one of the others who did the same, but it was only for a flash. She now knew something of the men's despair.
Rowan set her basket down beside the small fireplace and spoke to her father. He was not currently needed to maintain the horses pulling timber and rock. "Father, Carson has found his punishment." She found this hard to say, but continued on and said, "I am going to talk to Warwick and see about the medication." He suddenly became very aware of what she was about to do and a warning look fell over his aged features.
"No, you will not." He stood from his chair by the fire and walked over to her. "I will not lose my daughter to that man. You will not go, he will throw you in with the rest!" His face turned to pleading just as suddenly, "Please..", and held her hands gently while staring down at her.
She hated it when he did that, and in better times she would have smiled, laughed, and made a joke about how much of a softy their family was when it came to each other. This was not the time and the smile she tried to adopt faltered. "That will not happen. I fear that this plague is the least of our worries." He looked to interrupt her and she cut in, "I do not wish to argue with him, father. My goal is to see what the plague is and perhaps what I can do to help. Nothing more."
His fingers slid up to her wrists and he stared at them, trying to make sense of what she would do. He knew she could be a trouble maker, a prankster, and a real pain. Growing up around nothing but the men in her family made her like this. He massaged the tender skin there and then finally let her arms slip from his hands, allowing her to go. "I will not allow you to make trouble, Rowan. Not in our name. We have been a quiet, decent family. This is why I am letting you go see if you may help. If you cannot, be back her immediately. We have harnesses to repair." His smile became a little sad and he stepped away to tend to the fire.
"I will be back soon. Considering what we both know, Warwick will probably not allow anyone but his men to dispense of the medicine." Rowan smiled faintly and started on her way. The man was quartered up at the castle now, getting ready to take his position as Sheriff of Nottingham with the blessings of the Prince. This was more than enough, for any of them, to know that this one would be as vile as the last.
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Rowan walked along the quiet street beside the overbearing castle wall in silence. Here and there archers leered down at her from their posts, wondering what such a girl was doing, heading to the castle, with nothing more than a small loaf of bread. She craned her neck and looked up at them, waving and smiling a little infectiously, before skittering off to the portcullis to find the soon-to-be Sheriff. She expected he was not in the Sheriff's quarters, as the man had a strange, almost religious, outlook on the position and considered it reverent. She saw no reason so love a position so, but then again, to many, she was just a simple stable girl. Quietly she passed the two guards at the portcullis and trotted up the steps and into the magnificent hall that maids were decorating in fine fabrics. In the middle stood a large table with many men standing around it, all great in stature but seemingly cloaked in a sort of shadow.
At her footsteps they looked up, almost as guilty conspirators, and noted her. A sharp word from them and she was speaking, almost stuttering at the suddenness of it. "Yes sir, I wish to speak to the new Sheriff for a brief moment." The men consulted one another while Warwick eyed her wearily.
Finally the man spoke, "For only a short moment Ms. Stoddard." He looked at the men consulting each other once again and then barked, "You know what to do, get to it!" He was a man of authority, though not much of one for fighting himself.
Rowan shuffled further in to allow the dark men to pass her while Warwick paced over to her somewhat proudly. He stood a little away from her, reminding her much of the last Sheriff by his reluctance to be near a woman after being crowded with so many men. "Well? Be quick with it. I have work to do."
She jumped into words, startled once more by the harsh shortness in the way he spoke. "Of course. I just wanted to congratulate you about becoming the future Sheriff. It is quite the achievement." The nice thing about Warwick was that he was not as wary of women as Vasey had been. She, despite not being used to the harshness of him, knew well enough what she was doing. In fact, he was looking quite pleased. She had not yet congratulated him on this. He figured she just needed some warming up. "I've brought this for you. My mother taught me how to bake it. It's a sweet bread." She held out the basket with both hands delicately.
Warwick plucked it from her hands with a dark smile. "Yes, I always did like her bread. Thank you Ms. Stoddard." He noted the fine weave of the basket and walked across the room to set it beside the table. Perhaps he would eat it for lunch. Yes, that particular victory would go sweet with the others soon to come. Today was a good day indeed. "Anything else?" He also took after Vasey in his pompous attitude.
For a half a moment she was silent and then asked, "I heard there is a plague within the camps. Is this true?" She seemed to take on a submissive stance, her hands crossed and in front of her while she spoke in a slightly worried voice. She, of course, was worried. A plague was nothing to be looked upon as a simple matter, especially now with so many people in a confined space and the work needing to be done quickly.
He turned and studied her for a moment, a small chunk of the bread in his gloved fingers, "Ah hah! Yes, there is a plague amongst the workers, but there is no need to worry my dear, we have medicine." He walked across the room and stood beside here, strangely close but with some kind of intent. "To those who can buy it." He offered her the bread, and with the look in his eye, she did not turn it down. She chewed slowly to buy herself time.
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A while later, she and her father sat out in the open tack area fixing saddles and harnesses in near silence. She couldn't hold it though, and stood suddenly. The harness fell to the ground with a loud thud with the intent to yell. She withheld herself and paced with a wild look of exasperation. "They cannot pay for it! He knows that! It is punishment, I am sure of it. It must be all the people that followed Carson against him in the second day of construction." She kicked the harness, immediately regretting it and trying to hold in the whimper of pain. "Its not right."
Mr. Stoddard looked up at his daughter with a worried glance, "You cannot do anything about it." He picked up his hands in a defensive manner when she scowled gently at him. "We cannot buy it for them, you know we would if we could, but I have heard of their numbers and there are too many. Robin Hood could help…"
"Robin Hood has withdrawn to the forest again, only helping the villages. He won't come here." Rowan's tone became short and she stood rigidly. Her fathers look made her pick up the harness and continue repairing it, but did not sit down.
He sighed and went back to his own work quietly, saying in a reprimanding tone, albeit a soft one, "That man fed and clothed you. You should have more respect for what they do. There is a reason for it." He looped the leather strands through the holes and pulled it tight with a calloused hand.
Rowan said nothing further to her father and continued to repair the harness with increased vigor that was borderline abusive. He found her amusing, but found her even more amusing when she needed both hand but was too stubborn to sit down. She worked with the harness on the fence, balancing unevenly so that she would, from time to time, have to stop her work and catch it before she fell. They worked until sundown when her brother returned tired, but with a small grin on his face that meant it was a good day. They all cleaned the horses, watered and fed them, and then put them in their individual stalls before heading off for dinner and then to sleep.
Only the occasional whicker from one of the horses broke the night air, as everything else, the birds, the insects, the men, were all silent, as if it weren't just Rowan who had a hard time sleeping tonight. She laid in bed, knowing her brother was awake as well, tired and drifting, but not asleep. They only talked momentarily about Carson before blowing out the lights and turning to attempt sleep.
In the early hours of the morning, Rowan was pulling on a dress and a cloak, having heard the first cries of people across the camp. She looked at her brother's shadow on the screen and saw that he was doing the same. They finished at about the same moment and headed down the stairs when they heard someone running and crying, "He's back! He's back! The Nightwatchman! He gave it to the infected, he did!" The two grinned at each other, thinking the same thing about a certain someone, and broke into a thunder down the steps to meet with their father.
He looked pale and pointed a finger at Rowan. Immediately she shook her head and backed up, blocking Tobin from making it down the steps. Tobin saw the finger and shook his head as well, "No, she was in bed all night father. We were both awake and we both know she would not have another way past my bed." His hand dropped, but then slid over his shaved head.
"Then who?"
Author's Note: This turned out a lot longer than I meant for it to be. The rest will probably be about half of this, around 2000 words instead of 4. Hopefully. We'll see how that goes, eh? Review please? =3 A friend of mine proofed this and I know what I need to do to make this better. AP writing totally killed my sensory descriptions.