"Don't test me," he says quietly.
The Sheriff isn't quite sure of what to make of the man in front of him. After all, it is just Hood. The justifiable crusader who is sick of bloodshed and obsessed with being the hero of the laypeople. Who would want to be the hero of the laypeople?
"Where. Is. He?" The words are spaced out now for more emphasis but they are still spoken quietly. For the first time that night, possibly in his life, the Sheriff feels a prickle of unease. The other man's stare is hollow and unwavering. His hands on his weapons are steady.
"I won't repeat myself, Sheriff." There is no trace of mockery as there have been in times before.
"That insufferable manservant of yours just wouldn't shut up, so I did the only thing I could think of..." he mimes cutting his tongue.
The next instant he feels pain; raw, unadulterated pain shooting up his arm. Hood has shot him. Actually shot him. An arrow is growing out of his hand that is fastened to his chair!
"You shot me!" the shock is the most prevailing emotion that he feels. Goody-two-shoes Robin had shot him!
"Where?"
"You shot..." he is interrupted as something sings by his left ear. A second later he feels the sting and the trickle of blood. At the same time another bolt lodges itself into his thigh.
"Stop!" he gasps, high-pitched, clutching at the arrow emerging from his leg.
His head is jerked roughly back by his hair and a naked blade is pressed to his cheek. The other man's breath is steady and when he looks into his eyes they are dead.
"I won't ask again," he says in that terrifyingly chill monotone.
"You can't kill me," the Sheriff gasps out in panic. Hood wouldn't jeopardise the lives of the people of Nottingham for one manservant, would he?
Robin chuckles and if anything the Sheriff becomes more scared. It isn't remotely humorous.
"I was in the King's personal guard. I can kill a man from a hundred paces. I was handpicked and trained. The things I can do..." Robin's voice drops to a deadly whisper that has a hint of decrepitating amusement. "I'm an assassin. After what I do with you...you may wish you were dead."
And for once in his life the Sheriff believes him. There is pain throbbing from three different localities of his body, blood running in rivulets down his hand and Robin Hood looking at him in calm contemplation. There is no trace of mockery, mercy or forgiveness in his face only hollow pools of darkness of a broken man.
"Third house down main street, shackled, basement..." he gasps out and his hair is let go so his head can sink forward in anguish. When he next looks up he is alone.
Four days later with clean bandages wrapping his wounds Gisborne enters his chambers to inform him gleefully that the manservant has been spotted in the marketplace.
"Should we hang him immediately?" Guy asks cheerfully.
"Don't touch him," the Sheriff replies, maybe a little too quickly. At Guy's puzzled expression he decides to elaborate. "As long as Hood is alive, don't harm the manservant." The memory of dead eyes and a brief glimpse into the darkness within is still strong. "We don't want to break him." He whispers quietly. "That manservant holds him back to reality. I don't want to see what he would do if he loses that." He looks up realising he has an astounded audience to his temporary philosophising.
"Get out of my sight" he snarls at his hapless protégée, sounding much more like himself. As Guy stumbles from the room the Sheriff leans back wishing the nightmares would cease, but the taste of fear and the image of a tormented, created assassin is burned into his retinas, and for once...for a small, fleeting second...he feels sorry for Robin of Locksley. But that soon passes.