Title: "Render to God"
Author: Kat Lee
Rating: G/K
Summary: Young Robin is growing up.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, names, codenames, places, items, fandoms, titles, and etc. are always © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Any and all original characters and everything else is © & TM the author and may not be reproduced in any way without the author's express, written permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: I have no idea if anything was ever done with Robin's parents; I only know that I've never read or seen anything about them. This is my take; consider it an AU if you wish.
"Render to God the things that are God's. Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's," the green-clad boy chimed repeatedly, tossing the single coin he possessed up into the air and watching, with big eyes, as the golden, afternoon sun sparkled and glittered on the twirling metal.
Though he'd said the same chant five times already, his father still looked upon the lad with kind eyes and a growing smile. He knew his son's chanting would soon begin to annoy him but knew, too, that boys would be boys and was thankful that at least his child was even now focused upon the Lord's words. He'd need to come up with a new sermon to shift his child's focus and was already beginning to work on one when they turned a corner in the Sherwood Forest and found their path blocked by guardsmen.
The smaller of the two men pointed a thick, hooked staff at them. "Halt! Who goes there?"
"Merely a servant of the Lord's," the Preacher replied, his head ducking humbly down. He placed a staying hand on his son's thin shoulder just as the lad, oblivious to what was happening, spoke again.
"Render to God the things that are God's. Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's."
"Caesar's long dead, boy," the other guard commented, snatching the child's coin out of the air, "but the Sheriff will thank you rightly for your tax money."
"He is but a child! Children do not pay taxes!" young Robin's father cried disdainfully.
"They should." The guard sniffed indignantly. "Every one will sooner or later, thanks to the good Sheriff."
Thanks to the 'good' Sheriff, indeed, the Preacher thought. Every one will be forced to hand over every coin they ever made, from the simple folk like us who can ill afford it to the lame and widows.
"Dad, it's okay," Robin started to speak softly. "If the Sheriff needs my coin worse than I do - "
"The Sheriff has plenty of money, son." His fingers curled on Robin's thin shoulder and pulled the boy behind him. He knew the ruffians would not leave them in peace so easily. Lord, help me, please, with whatever is about to transpire.
"Who are you to say that the Sheriff has plenty of money?" The guards stepped closer to the Preacher, who still stood, stooped humbly, between them and his son.
"It has been said, sir, that money is the root of all evil, and the Good Word," he continued, patting his Bible and receiving courage from the old, leather book, "tells us that it satisfies no one. That is why no one ever has enough money: The more money you have, the more you want."
"Does your little, black book also tell you to spout back at the Sheriff's royal guardsmen?"
The Father's thin, withered cheek ticked. "This little, black book, sir, is the Lord's word."
"Really? Then, maybe I should read it."
The man needed to do more than read it. He needed to eat it. He needed to be filled by the Lord's every word, and then maybe, he might stand a chance of mending his ways and being saved. The Preacher recalled the scripture of Jesus saying that those who would find it hardest to enter Heaven was the richest; surely, this scoundrel and the Sheriff he served topped the list.
But he looked at the guard and smiled. "Yes, please. Allow me to read you a scripture, good sir, and then perhaps we can pray together." He opened his Bible only to have the smaller guard's staff knock it out of his hands. The Preacher's face turned purple when his Bible hit the mud. He fell to his knees after it, but his son was even faster, snatching it from the puddle and gingerly wiping the mud away.
The guards, of course, found the scene before them, of a father and his child so concerned with the Good Word, that they burst out laughing. Their crude, uproarious laughter made the Preacher's face burn. He clenched his Bible with hands made tight and hard from the fury lacing his veins. His knuckles were pure white; he shook inside.
"Dad," Robin spoke softly, "it's okay." His tiny hands touched his Father's around their family Bible. "Let's just go."
"Yeah, it's okay." The guardsmen ceased their laughter and sneered down upon them. "Tell me, Preacher man, does your Bible or your God protect you from punishment of the law? You're trespassing - "
The Preacher's thin voice shook as he spoke, "This forest is for the use of all the people."
"It was until this morning."
A jolly voice suddenly broke into the conversation. "My goodness, I know this can not be what it would appear! Surely, you, Sir Frederic, are not holding Reverend Hood up from reaching our church's revival? And you were about to help him out of that mud in which he slipped, were you not?"
The younger guard's sneer grew more vicious, but the older man whispered warningly to him, "Careful. He's a favorite of the King, you know." Then, aloud, he spoke, "O-Of course, Brother Tuck." He reached down and snatched the Hoods, both father and son, up out of the mud and set them upon their feet.
"Brother Tuck!" Robin was elated to see the man and rushed to his friend's side. He looked back at the guards but held his tongue; he knew he was not to look upon evil.
Reverend Hood raised his head proudly now that another of the Lord's men had joined them. He faced the guards with a smile and held out his hand. "My son's coin?"
The guards kept smiles upon their faces, but their eyes were hard, cold, and vicious as the coin was slapped back into his hand so hard that it would leave a mark upon his palm. Reverend Hood knew that this was not the last he would see of these two of the Devil's workers, but he refused to let his fear show. After all, he had nothing, really, of which to be afraid for he had the God of all good and Angel armies on his side.
Smiling, he turned his back on the guards and walked away, leaving them to their evil mission in life. He placed the coin in his son's hand and patted him on his back. Their eyes met, and his smile turned true. His son had stayed beside him the entire time, showed no fear, and remembered his lessons. Robin was growing up fast and would soon become a good man. He hoped he would continue to take after him, hold steadfastly to his lessons and the Lord's, and perhaps even pick up the cloth after him.
Yet, as they moved away from the guards, young Robin glanced back one last time at those who belonged to the Devil and would later return to hurt his father, to whose hand he now tightly clung. He would always remember his father, the lessons he'd taught him, and the Lord's words, but something had stirred inside him when he'd seen his father fall and instinctively known that the guards would have loved to have pushed him into that mud hole. He would hold true to the Lord, but his path in life would be different from his Papa's. He would not simply turn away from evil but would come to fight it wherever he found it, starting with those same two guards in just a few more months when, suddenly and all too soon, he would be left orphaned and become the man the whole world would one day come to know as Robin Hood.
The End