Robin's POV, aka chapter two:

o0O0o

Dashing downstairs, he collected Katherine, who was so happy she could barely speak and ushered her outside to the barn.

Long ago he had marked the side of the north side of the Locksley barn where he often shot. It was so pockmarked from a lifetime of practice that Robin thought he might have to switch to the south side of the structure, and soon. There was not such a large target at Knighton; he doubted Marian would want them ruining the new stables she had had built.

"Are you sure you do not want to wait until next summer, Daughter?" he asked, having no intention of doing so.

She landed him with a glare, and said simply, "I am sure, Father." She reached her hand out eagerly for the smaller bow.

"Very well," he smiled. "The first thing you must learn is to string your bow. I am afraid I cannot teach you to shoot if you cannot handle your own weapon."

She nodded, and asked, "Will you teach me?"

Robin laughed. She was so good-natured, but so small. It warmed his heart to hear her ask him to teach her how to shoot. "I will, of course."

With no small reverence, he passed her the smaller bow to her waiting hand. "Now," he said, "this is your bow. Treat it well, treat it with respect. You must take care of it, so it may take care of you. That is the first lesson." As he said the words, he remembered the last time he spoke so highly of his weapon – in his odd proposal to Marian.

Katherine nodded again.

"We are shooting recurve bows, Katherine. The English Longbow is stronger and gets a further distance-"

"Then why do we not use those?" she queried, lifting an eyebrow at him and suddenly reminding him of Marian, despite the lighter features.

"Because they are also much bigger than you, and have a very difficult draw for one seven years old." He smiled at her. Robin knew that one day he would teach her to shoot a longbow, and then she could decide for herself which design she preferred. For now, the recurve would be easier for her to handle.

"Now," he said, handing her a string, "I'll teach you to string your bow.

It took three tries, but she got the feel for it quite quickly.

"Good job," he told her warmly. She smiled at the bow, a blush creeped across her face.

"Thank you!"

"A few more things. Since the bow is in your hand, safety is also your responsibility. Whenever you nock an arrow, you want to make sure no one is going to get in your way. Never aim at someone," he handed her the smaller armguard and began tying his on his left arm. She struggled a bit with the ties, so he bent over to help her.

"Father, what if I am in danger?" she gave him a knowing look which made Robin suddenly uncomfortable.

His fingers fumbled on the slipknot he was tying. Just how many legends of Robin Hood had his children heard? "Well, yes, then that is different of course. But for lessons, you will not be shooting at anything but the barn. We will save hunting for later," and tactical defensives and strategic offenses for the indefinite future, he finished in his head.

Quickly, he counted off ten paces from the barn, and laid a stick down. He walked her through some finer points before saying, "Now, draw your bow."

"Already?"

Robin nodded at her. "You have seen enough archers to know what to do. These are practices, I will give you some more suggestions in a few minutes, but I want you to get a feel for it first."

"Alright," she conceded in a way that told him she thought he was quite mad.

She let her first arrow fly. It landed nowhere near to where she was aiming.

"Not bad," Robin encouraged. "Try again."

She shot three more arrows when Robin stopped her. He had been watching closely, but wanted to know if she was conscious of what she was doing with her right hand.

"When you draw the string, where are you bringing your right hand?"

She thought for a moment, and when she did not know, she closed her eyes and mimicked her previous actions.

"The apple of my cheek," she said, opening her eyes.

"That, Daughter, is your anchor. Mine is my chin," he indicated it, "and your Mother's is her jaw-line. Always bring your hand back to that same spot on your cheek," he pinched her there for emphasis.

Katherine grinned happily. "Does everyone have a different anchor?"

"Yes, but you can learn other anchors. I do not recommend it. You should always go with what is most comfortable. Some people may try and tell you that your anchor is wrong, but ignore them; go with what feels right."

"Yes, Father," she said obediently. Then she burst out, "Do anchors change?"

The question surprised him. But perhaps it should not have – children had a way of asking questions all of the time, and sometimes, they proved very insightful. "Hmmm… I suppose they could. Mine never has, but that does not mean others' have not." Robin continued the lesson.

"As you draw your bow, take a breath, and as you aim, hold it." She was shooting with both eyes open, which was good, and she did not seem to be aiming "down the arrow," but rather, only at her target. Of course she would do so, archery was in her blood.

Robin watched as his eldest kept pulling back and letting go. He sat down and lounged in the grass, still wet with dew, and pondered. Keeping to his theories, her style (as much of one as she had developed in thirty minutes) was as calm as her personality. She was unruffled: even if she missed her target, despite getting close to it, she just kept going.

Marian had a theory, too - that anchors told a great deal about the archer in question. For instance, Marian brought the arrow to her jaw, which showed that she was stubborn. Robin brought the arrow to his chin. This told Marian that he was willful (she confessed with a grin). He wondered what Marian would say about Katherine's anchor. And he wondered how she settled on the traits that were revealed by the anchor; they made little sense to him.

"Father, are you not going to shoot?"

Robin shook off his ponderings and joined her. Remarkably, she seemed content at just being with him, without competing against anyone else for his undivided attention. Robin noticed that while it took her a few more groupings to get comfortable, she soon took to it like a duckling who takes to water knowing how to swim.

A few minutes later, she let out a shriek of delight. Robin turned to see where the last arrow landed – right in the middle circle of her target. Not a direct bull's-eye, but near enough for an impressive first lesson.

They went to pull their arrows out of the side of the barn. Robin showed her how to unstring her bow (the direct opposite of stringing a bow), and the two returned to Locksley Manor. Katherine held her bow in her left hand, her arm guard still on, her right hand was firmly clasped in Robin's.

"How often will my lessons be?" she asked gleefully.

"I was thinking once or twice a week."

Katherine grinned and jumped over a puddle, landing neatly on the other side.

"This was fun, Father. I can see why you liked being Robin Hood," she said carelessly, clearly unaware of the magnitude of her words.

He stopped suddenly, mind reeling from the words that had just come out of his daughter's mouth. "Who told you I was Robin Hood?"

"Oh, everybody," she said, completely unconcerned.

"What does everybody say?" What would they say?

"Only that you are a good Lord and know the needs of your people. Mother, too. Although they call her 'Lady'." She tugged on his hand, annoyed that he had stopped. He saw that she wanted to find her mother and tell her about the lesson.

"And what do you think?" He held her fast for a moment, slightly desperate to hear her reply.

"About Robin Hood? Well, you are a Lord again. So you accomplished all your goals. That must make you as right and just and accomplished as everyone says."

Robin could tell she was no longer interested in the conversation, that she took this knowledge for granted. He let it drop for now. But he knew that if one of the brood knew, all of them knew. Old Henry's Pants! The child in Marian's womb probably knew he was Robin Hood. Oh, the conversations that would come.

Archery lessons just got a little more interesting.