This is the final chapter. To all readers, present and future (thinking hopefully ), thank you for reading.

Disclaimer: The original, non-parodied versions of these characters belong to the BBC and TA. No copyright infringement intended; just mockery, rudeness, ridicule, snorts, yuks, and the usual snarks. Vampires, on the other hand, are in the public domain!

Chapter 4

Unable to repress his do-gooder traits, Robin ended up, against his better judgment, cooperating with Giz and rescuing Archer. Now they were stuck with Archer in the gang, too. Is sucking one's half-brother dry a form of incest or just simple expediency, he wondered?

Next stop, the Battle of Nottingham. Things were not going so well. When did they ever? Trust a Gisborne—Isabella with her poisoned knife, to be precise—to mess it all up. What's worse, Robin had to listen to a dying Gisborne pour out his love for Marian one last time. Yadda, yadda. Robin strove to maintain the compassionate façade of a great leader, but some days—and this was one of them—he had a harder time loving everyone with magnanimity. He had things to do and places to be, for cryin' out loud. Nevertheless, he knew Marian would find out and expect him to behave for Gizzy's death scene. Well, she couldn't fault him for what he was thinking, which, not to put too fine a point on it, was Die already. Before I strangle you myself. I don't have all day. I'm only hanging around here holding you hand because Pops told me "Always do the right thing." Talk about "do as I say, not as I do" parenting. Oh, what was that you said? Never mind. Aren't you done yet? Don't you know there's an army at my gate?

Thankfully, Marian's standards for showing compassion for all humans no matter how worthless they were (even if they became dinner) had diminished of late. The two of them were just having too good a time as a married couple to indulge in so many guilt trips. Besides, Marian had seen so much stupidity ever since series two started that even she agreed reforming some people was just too cost-ineffective. The clincher came when she finally realized that compassion cost time, and unless they revised their modus operandi, Richard would die of old age before he got back on his throne. So compassion was now on Robin's back burner.

It was then that Isabella reappeared and came at Robin with her new toy, the poisoned knife, and Robin was almost but not quite quick enough to fend her off. At the last instant, however, Isabella stopped in mid-swipe with a look of horror on her face. Robin grabbed the knife from her, then she screamed and ran away. Puzzled, Robin turned around to see what had spooked the Gisborne witch, and he saw a familiar if not quite welcome sight.

"Oh, it's you. What are you doing here, er, Malcolm?" Then speaking in a stage whisper behind his hand, Robin added, "You don't mind if I call you 'Malcolm,' do you? I think it would be best if we don't start people asking too many questions."

Malcolm shuffled over, wearing his carefully tattered robes designed for maximum alms-collecting. "Uhh, sure. That's quite all right, my boy," he mumbled conspiratorily.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I just had a thought this morning. In fact," Malcolm interrupted himself, "could I see that knife a moment?" Puzzled, Robin handed the knife over, and Malcolm sniffed the blade with concentration. "Ah, ha. As I thought. She used it."

Robin's eyes narrowed. "She used what?"

"Welllll." Malcolm hesitated but then wisely decided to come clean. "Guy came to me yesterday when I was hanging out at the Trip and asked quietly if I had any really potent stuff, stronger than what's on my darts. I said, sure. What for? He said, 'my sister will need it to commit suicide before we hang her.' He offered me a pretty penny for a bottle of it. I can always use the cash, you know." Malcolm paused.

Robin put on his best menacing look and pressed harder, "Go on."

"Ummm. Then this morning I got to thinking. That young Gisborne was always a bit dumb like a stump. Could never work the game out more than one chess move ahead. If he wanted his sister to commit suicide, he'd have to stand there and make her do it. If he just handed her the stuff.... Any two-bit scholar could guess what would happen next. So I came to see if I could catch up with her. I wouldn't want to cause more trouble."

"No, you wouldn't," snorted Robin. They both fell silent for a moment, while Robin sought an advantage from what was left of the situation at hand and briefly thought over the pros and cons of patricide. He came to a typically masterful decision. "Listen, Malcolm. Since you're here, how about you doing me a little favor. I have an army knocking on my gate upstairs. I'll need a couple of hours tops to sort them out, but afterwards, if you tie up this one loose end for me, then we can have a nice chat over a late dinner."

Malcolm brightened at the prospect of a free meal. "Sounds capital to me. What do you need?"

"See that old fellow over there: black brocade, white hair, missing tooth? He thinks he owns this castle. Used to be Sheriff, but Prince John demoted him. We just can't get rid of him, though. He hangs around like he belongs here, causing no end of trouble. You'd make a lot of people really happy if you take Isabella's knife here and give him a little cut. Nothing messy. You can make it look like an accident. OK?"

"You sure that's all right, Robin? No one will mind?"

"Absolutely not, Malcolm. You just go right ahead, get it done, and not worry about it. Couldn't be easier." Robin gestured toward the Sheriff who had been wandering aimlessly about the crypt all this time.

Still, the man hesitated. "I...." Malcolm was not used to being a man of action, having failed to take many appropriate actions in his life.

"Seconds on the meat course." Robin pressed the knife hilt into Malcolm's palm.

"But..."

"Unlimited refills of Nottingham's best ale." Robin lifted his brows impishly.

"Fine." Malcolm succumbed to irresistible forces and squared his shoulders while looking with determination at the disturbing figure now screaming at no one in particular.

"Good, then. I'll see you when the dust settles." Robin turned to go.

Before either of them could take a step, out of nowhere—because this is so typical of the story of Robin's life, or at least the one written by the scriptwriters—Isabella ran back in and grabbed the knife from Malcolm. This time she succeeded in slashing at Robin. Realizing what she thought she had accomplished, Robin pretended to be horrified, and in her glee, Isabella spun around and tripped on her skirt causing her to fall on her own knife. Robin brightened immediately at the prospect before him, lifted her dramatically in his arms, and asked her for one last kiss. Predictably, she smiled happily and reached for him. He quickly drained her body.

Looking on, Malcolm was totally puzzled by Robin's actions. "How'd you do that? Get her all limp like that?"

Robin, swiftly wiping his mouth, replied casually, "Not to worry, Malcolm. Did you know that drinking human blood is an antidote for most poisons?"

"You don't say! Never heard of it. I should think I would have known. Certainly is effective by the looks of you, though." Malcolm shook his head a little in wonderment.

Robin retrieved the still-poisoned knife—Isabella had used enough poison on it to kill an army—and handed it carefully back to Malcolm while pointing to the gibbering Sheriff, now flapping his arms and making bird noises. "No time like the present," he cheerfully asserted.

Malcolm nodded and added, "See you at dinner."

"Absolutely. Meet me in the private dining room." Robin winked and left whistling.

Robin bounded up the stairs and into the well-appointed chamber he had arranged for his private celebratory dinner that evening. The rest of the gang along with that Archer joker were having a drunken party with assorted wenches in one of the other halls, while a general buffet of whatever was left in the kitchens had been put out in the courtyard for the Nottinghamians. He liked to think of them as the People's Army of Nottingham. That had a nice ring to it. Everyone was having a good time, and it was quite the wind-up to a good day's work. Robin was more than typically pleased with himself this evening, and now for the pièce de resistance. There should be two guests awaiting him….

Ahh, and there they were. They sat at the heavily laden table with an extra place set out for him. Marian was exquisite in red-trimmed black brocade. Had she dyed her hair black? It looked more … raven, than he recalled. And her ruby-red lip color was intoxicating.

And there was Malcolm, well into his cups and looking rosy-cheeked—well, at least one cheek was rosy given that the other was covered in white scar tissue. How could someone make such a mess of his life? Robin, who knew full well he had abandoned everything to become an outlaw, nevertheless shook his head in bewilderment. "At least I never wandered around in rags looking like something scraped out of the gutter," he thought. "Then again, the man has some interesting potions and a total lack of qualms." That was the problem with healer women like Djaq and Matilda. They could mix the most interesting potions, but they wouldn't let Robin have the really useful ones for his own devices. Maybe he could create a special post for Malcolm, something particularly suited to his … demeanor … such as, Gentleman of the Privy Chamber. It was a little odd sounding, but Robin was sure people would get used to the title and soon think it quite important. Anything that had a prepositional phrase and was capitalized easily gained an aura of grave consequence if you always spoke of it in the correct tones. Malcolm could be his special right-hand man (or left-hand, whichever hand was still working for the old git) for matters too impractical for Much or too devious for the semi-departed Allan. Yes, Robin needed someone like that on hand. (Robin made a mental note to discuss Allan's future prospects with Marian right after dinner.)

They were laughing and chatting when Robin strolled in. Marian swept up off her chair and swirled over to Robin, placing a slightly damp kiss on his cheek. "Good evening, My Lord," she said, laughing.

"Darling Wife," Robin declared, as he swung her around. "I'm so glad you found your way in here."

"No trouble at all, Robin. I simply arrived and took over the Sheriff's apartments. It's already settled. The maids are changing the linens and sweeping out the bird feathers as we speak. I sent the birds out the window, well most of them. Would you believe that man also had a large collection of gowns in his garderobe? I've never seen so many silks, velvets, and brocades! They are a little large for me, but I'll have them taken in and fitted. This one," she did a little twirl for him, "was easy to gather in with all the cross ties attached everywhere. I can't imagine who his designer is, but I fear you will have your work cut out for you with untying me, later."

"Not something I would fear," Robin leered, but added with an innocent face and a slight bow, "it is a noble reuse of precious resources, my love. I applaud your industry and creativity." They turned to the table and saw Malcolm eying them both as he gnawed on a turkey leg. "So, Malcolm, you have met my lovely wife."

Malcolm nodded and took another swig of ale before answering. "Marian is a jewel. Good work, my boy," he said with heartfelt paternal sincerity.

Marian continued, "So I asked where to find you, and the castle steward led me here. I've just been getting acquainted with my father in law." She smiled silkily. For a moment, Robin thought he saw fangs, but they were gone as he blinked.

"I know he isn't much to look at, Marian," Robin apologized, "but he's been a great help to us, today."

"Oh, yes. So I have learned, Robin. Malcolm has been explaining his skill with poisons and daggers to me. And he's also told me about this amazing blood antidote you have taught him."

"Ahh. That." Robin looked embarrassed. "It saved me, you know." In a quick whisper to Marian's ear, Robin added pleadingly, worried she might be annoyed with him, "I'm so sorry I couldn't share. Next time, I promise."

"That's quite all right, my love," Marian answered him aloud. "I can look out for myself. Next time, it will just be the two of us, but tonight," she turned back to Malcolm with a flourish and a smile, "we are family. Come, Robin, and join us. I had our steaks cooked very rare, just the way you and I like them." Malcolm waved his drumstick in jovial acknowledgement.

Late that night, Robin Hood, also of Locksley, Earl of Huntingdon, and the de facto ruler of Nottinghamshire, sighed contentedly in the Sheriff's big four-poster bed, Marian's very pleasant weight and warmth still provoking the occasional tingle and preventing him from dozing off. "Marian?"

"Hmmm?"

"Should I lobby to become Sheriff, or should I just settle for being Earl?"

"Sheriff. And Earl."

"Really? You think it could be done?"

"We would be a masterful Sheriff," Marian mumbled drowsily, yet not too asleep to forget to think of politics. Marian really did get a cerebral thrill out of the political game, and that's one thing Robin loved about her.

Robin never missed a well placed emphasis. "Oh, we would, would we?" He pulled her in tighter, but she pretended to be limp, much to his irritation. "Don't tell me that you are sleepy already. Am I boring you with these mundane plans?"

"Quite the contrary. You are finally being interesting," she teased, opening her eyes at last. "In fact, we must definitely be Sheriff as well as Earl. We can build our own little kingdom here in the Midlands, with our personal zombie guard under Allan's leadership, and Prince John will soon discover that he needs us more that we need him. What fun we shall have!"

"Good idea, then," he grinned impishly. "I love the way you think. But is that all that interests you here in this bed?"

"I don't know. I'll need to look around," she lifted the covers but didn't get a chance to look very far. Vampires thrive best on at least ten passionate climaxes per night, and Robin had only counted eight thus far.