Welcome! Here is an original story based on the Robin Hood legends. It will be very long and epic! I've already written at least half of it, but I need the impetus to pull it together, edit, and complete it. Please read and review, and enjoy!

Prologue:

It was May Day in the tiny hamlet of Harvens. The mulberry bush, hidden in the alcoves of a small stone house, bore fruit overnight and come dawn, doves of white and grey rested on its branches and fed.

Through the doors of house, blanched by the incoming light, a woman lay dying. A girl sat perched on a wooden stool beside the bed, her eyes transfixed as though by witchcraft on her mother's face.

"I'm still here," the woman said. With great effort she turned her head to look out the window. "Those pigeons," she called, delirious. "They'll finish off the berries."

The girl hurried to scare the birds away, but her mother held fast to her arm. "Don't. Let them eat. It's a sin to deny a creature a simple pleasure." Her eyes glowed with an eerie fascination.

They sat in silence for one minute, two. "What will you do now, my girl?"

"I will send for the midwife. She must have a remedy for you."

"What I mean is, what will you do when I'm gone?"

"You're still young, mother," said the girl gently, her voice tinged with fear. You're not going to die."

The woman smiled, bemused. "If I were to die, say, in some distant time, how would you care for yourself?"

"The neighbors would help, I'm sure. I would take in washing, hire myself as a servant."

"That's no work for you. You are a wild girl. You are not fit to work as a servant." It was half praise, and half condemnation, and Evelyn bowed her head.

"You must not do it alone. You must go to the baron and tell him-"

"My father? But will he- "

"He'll take you in." The woman laughed hoarsely. "I've always known."

"I can't go to him now. I want to stay here, in this house. And you'll be well again."

"I know this aching in my side. It's calling me to God. And you to your father."

"This is my home. He is-almost a stranger to me."

"This is no place for you. Not alone. This is a land of spirits. And the Green Man roams these woods at night with his men."

The girl pursed her lips. "I'm certainly not afraid of Robin Hood."

The woman's eyes alighted with a strange fire. "You should be. Be afraid of any man who is not your own kind. Go to Perevil, and tell him who you are." Her words carried all the furious energy of a last request.

"What-what if he doesn't believe me?"

The woman reached out her arm to her daughter's face. She saw herself in this girl, in the dark weight of her hair and her sloping shoulders. Her gaze so enhanced by longing-this she knew from the baron, who was cursed never to be satisfied. And the woman laughed. "He'll know you! I hardly doubt that!" Her breathing grew labored and heavy and her voice was hoarse with phlegm. "Call for the Friar! I must make my peace with God!" She coughed like an old man and the girl started. Her mother was still so young. This was simply not possible.

"I will call the midwife- or the baron, he can help us now! He will loan us his physician! You will live!"

The death rattle set in, so hoarse and unearthly that the girl cried out.

Leuruna was dead by noon.

Chapter 1

Evelyn had seen the baron several times throughout her childhood. He seemed a kind of sprite that could summon new clothes and sweets with a wink. He had even summoned her, and sitting with his servant on horseback on the way to the Inn, it had seemed she was spirited to another land. The baron was always a kind of foreigner to her- he could not be her father or any staple of her life. But she accepted his kiss with obedience, and learned over time to curtsy. In their brief visits, acceptance and not love grew between them. His interest had waned, and though a gift or two of game would appear from time to time, she had not seen him in years.

But here he was before her, and her future lay in his hands. She never had seen a man as clean as the baron, and he exuded the scent of strange herbs. Her father was still and his movements were courtly and angular, as though he were on the verge of dancing. His short beard was chestnut and very curly- had it been on any other man she would have imagined its texture in her hands, but it seemed too great of an impertinence to think of touching him. His lazy eye that occasionally drifted to right only contributed to his patrician otherness. The wandering eye was considered an evil among her people, but the nobility were ever the exception.

Two other men in rich embroidered tunics stood beside him. They moved like puppets, their every movement a reaction to his. When he walked, they inclined at the waist.

The pristine magnificence of this manor, its otherworldly height and breath, intoxicated her, and she would have liked nothing better than to turn her heels and run. For the first time, she was ashamed of her rough hands and the fine layer of dirt beneath her nails.

Perevil looked with bemused curiosity on the ragged girl before him. "Who do you say you are?"

She remembered her promise and summoned the courage to speak.

"You are supposed to know who I am." She said.

Perevil laughed, loudly, and his retainers followed suit. "What are you then? The angel of Annunciation? I can't make it out."

In dawned on her that this was no fairy tale-there would be no instance recognition and embrace, and her statement was presumptuous and glaringly foolish. But the words would not come, and she could not redeem herself.

"I am Evelyn. She told me you would know me. Again, my Lord," she added with a quick curtsey.

The color drained from the baron's face and Evelyn thought that, for all his splendor, he would vomit. "And your mother- she is dead I suppose?"

"Yes, My Lord, she was only just buried."

Lord Perevil paced and his long cape traced the floor. He bit his lip, and turned to her with wet eyes.

"Your mother is a fool. Come to me, girl."

She was angry and tried to pull away, but some power drew her to him. He held her shoulders.

"How old are you Evelyn?"

"I will be seventeen come St. Dominic's day, my lord." Her expression was still sour, and the baron noticed.

"Now, my girl," said the Baron. "My strong, lovely girl. Do not be bitter with me." He nestled his face into her hair. "We are blood," he whispered.

"I wish to walk with the girl," he said, and his retainers scattered.

He led her to garden that could have been Eden, it was so broad, so brilliantly plotted. There were countless alcoves for lovers to hide and pools of water where thrushes gathered and cleansed themselves. A warm breeze scattered the scent of lilies and Evelyn grew faint. They walked quietly to the far end of the path, where a yellow rosebuh stood. The baron reached out to take her arm but still, she shied from him.

"You are angry with me," he said, smiling gently.

"You said that my mother is a fool."

"She is-a great one. I knew she was proud, but I never knew the extent of it. She knew how I loved her, Leuruna…" . He had not said her name in years, and the sensation was bewildering.

Evelyn was silent, and he continued. "Your mother knew that my wife had died. If she had come to me I would have married her without hesitation. There would be little glory in marrying a woman of no birth, a Saxon even. But I have long known that the scorn of men has little value."

Evelyn now gazed at him, warmer. "But my point is, she did not come to me. She knew how I loved her, that if my bride were not already chosen from the finest family in the south, that if my father were not eagerly awaiting a high-born heir, I would have taken off with her- gone to Normandy or Saxony-anywhere. I should have done it anyway. So your lovely mother took her pregnant belly and left- no warning, and she took with her all that I valued."

"And my mother-she was your servant?" asked Evelyn.

"In a way. Before she came to Perevil she would perform in Nottingham with when the troubadours came to town-she was a dancer and had a pretty voice. I'm sure she told you this."

"Yes, mother was a glee-maiden."

"She saw me, and knew I was the baron's son. I will never forget how she teased me- the entire town was laughing, and yet I could not forget her. She said that I was cross-eyed and when I fought in the crusades I aimed for Jerusalem and freed Rome by mistake."

Evelyn held back a giggle.

"Yes, you've heard that one I imagine. I am still sport for all of Nottinghamshire, and I can thank your mother for that. But nothing could keep me from her. I was there at every performance only to let her mock me again. One night, after she had been particularly cruel, I confronted her. I lied to myself and said I would stop her from defaming me. But she wrapped her arms around my neck, and I took her to Perevil." The baron sighed.

"Our time together was too short- I thought she would remain my mistress when I married Lady Perevil, but it broke her heart to consider it. She sent you here?"

"Yes, Sire. She had me promise to come to you."

"I am glad of that. It shows that she still trusted me. But I could have taken care of her. She could have died in a comfortable bed." They sat side by side, staring out the silver pool of the garden. The baron then turned to Evelyn, and she gazed up at him. "And you are very much her daughter. And you are mine too." He touched the bridge of her nose.

"Do you have any other children, Sire?" It felt strange to say other, as though she really belonged to him.

"You mean do you have any half brothers or sisters? No, they're all buried in the churchyard. Lady Perevil bore me a sickly lot- dear, dear babes, but only my little heir Edmond made it past five. He died four years ago. Funny, the others died so sadly, but it was only a little cold that carried him off."

The baron's story transformed her surroundings. The cheerful garden, the gold and blue flags, the high turrets-all the bright elements of the castle, pervaded with a history of lost children, seemed bittersweet. The sun warmed the stone tablet where she sat with her father, and she thought of the shimmering rays through the window on the morning of her mother's death.

His mind drifted to the small graves in the churchyard, and from there to his departed wife. Catherine. She understood the necessity of leaving her father's people with their sweet-tongued accents and the lovely low hills of her homeland. She embraced the necessity and embraced marriage as a deadly serious prospect. She was a very young woman, but she knew from birth exactly what was expected of her and did not tremble at the altar. The witnesses thought her almost immodest in the resolution of her vows.

Their marriage was happy because it was her duty to make it happy. There was no poetry in her for Perevil did not expect such things in a wife. Catherine was a fertile woman, but her children were weak and died young. Perevil knew she meant him no harm, and did not reproach her. She in turn did not acknowledge that he had a child off another woman and behaved as though his sins were above reproach.

Her final child carried her off, and she was not sorry, because she had done her duty to the utmost and she was prepared to die. He trembled at the thought of her illness, of mortality in general, and he looked with pleasure on his daughter.

"But you're a healthy girl. Look at you- you're strong, lively, though you do not smile enough. If only I had married your mother, I should have a brood like you."

"Sire," she said cautiously, "That is cruel."

"Yes, it is cruel. You are a good girl to say so."

Perevil lead her indoors to the great hall, where his retainers were eating. Their dogs fought at their feet and one hound, paws on the table, lapped up a bowl of soup. The knights looked on in amazement as Perevil entered, clutching Evelyn's hand.

"I must explain myself," he whispered to Evelyn. "Or my men will be wondrous confused."

"Honor and protect this girl," he called out. "She is my natural daughter."

The knights said nothing, only smiled and nodded politely. The baron's lost child had been a source of speculation for years. She would be a perhaps a source of consolation to him in his declining years. They looked at each other, searching for greed or ambition in one another's faces. This girl would be another route to their lord's good graces, another way to win his ear, and each knight suspected the next of the same thought. But every face was still and benevolent.

Perevil nodded, pleased at the gentle reaction of his retainers. He guided the Evelyn, through the hall. The dogs sniffed at her feet, at the scent of earth and animals at the hem of her skirt, while she looked at the ornate carvings overhead. He led her to the chamber where he slept. Why not show her a few of the wonders he had collected? He rarely had guests, and he would enjoy her simple amazement.

First he guided her to the mirror, and stood beside her. She was nearly his height, though his bearing made him seem much taller.

"It was sent here from Italy," whispered Perevil with religious reverence. "There are only three like it in all of England."

It reflected her so clearly that she could feel the breath of the girl before her. She had seen herself in dark still water, in polished shields and in the of a hilt of a sword , but never had she been more than a trembling image. Here was a human, fleshed out. Her father laughed at her reaction

She did not like what she saw. Had she seen herself that morning she would not have minded. Everyone that she had known or played with resembled her. But the past few hours had spoiled her vision, and made her long for richer things. From the servants who shamelessly failed to conceal their shock to the breathtaking tapestries that lined the hall, everything conspired to mortify her. There was the film of dirt over her skin, her matted hair, and the heavy, shapeless wool garment-a hideous earth-green-that hung like a sack from her shoulders. Her own father seemed celestial beside her, in his brilliant tunic with silk accents, with his smooth, clefted face and shining hair. She thought of the ladies, the subjects of her father's tapestries, who sat in cool elegance in an impossible garden. She thought of the great hall, lined with the foreboding carved faces of long-dead baronesses, with features of haughty, unassailable beauty. She wanted to run.

"Don't look so forlorn, daughter," said Perevil.

"Father, I do not belong here."

He sighed. It had been cruel of him to show her off before she was properly dressed. But he cared very little about what others said about him, and he had to admit, it had been a bit of a pleasure to shock his retainers.