Djaq had never run so quickly in her life. She had her head down as she pushed forward, her eyes screwed shut to stop the tears. Why had they agreed to this plan? She knew the answer to the question, even as she repeated it over and over in her head. It was because Much was worried. It was sad, but the frenzied part of Djaq's brain suggested that it was also sweet. Robin and Much were closer than anyone she'd ever seen. They were closer than friends, tighter than brothers. There wasn't really a word for what they were. They were Robin and Much, and that was that. Much had become increasingly worried about Robin's recklessness. He had tried everything. He'd tried reasoning with Robin. He'd tried pleading. He'd tried yelling. With each failed attempt, he'd grown more and more desperate to prove to Robin that he was endangering himself.

So, he'd resorted to putting himself in harm's way. Djaq knew Much well enough to know that the man was not suicidal. He was always one of the first people up in the morning, ready to watch the sunrise. He relished in the time he spent with his friends, especially when they spent nights sitting around the fire, telling stories and laughing together. The core of the matter was that Much loved living. He definitely didn't have a death wish. The thing of it was that Much valued Robin's life more than his own. Djaq supposed that it was part of their unique relationship. If Much thought that endangering his own life would save Robin's, he would move forward in an instant.

It wasn't like they'd rushed in without a plan. They merely made it look like they did. That was kind of the point. Much had considered every aspect of his plot, making only one assumption: that the Sheriff would leave them all in the jail cell to stew. Clearly, Allan had thought the same thing. He had certainly seemed jarred enough when the Sheriff had announced his own scheme. She clenched the note in her fist, feeling it crumple slightly. She was so focused on running that she slammed headfirst into someone. She felt on her back, but quickly scrambled to her feet.

"Djaq?" Robin's voice served as something of an anchor, bringing her out of the mad maelstrom that was her thoughts. He looked every bit as upset as she was, and she hesitated to think about how much worse he would get when he read the Sheriff's letter.

"Robin," she started, looking around Robin to see that Little John and Morgan were right behind him. They were staring at her, very aware that something had gone wrong. "Robin, it all went wrong." Without another word, she handed the letter to Robin. He nearly ripped it in half as he tore it open, his eyes darting over the words. He looked up at Djaq, unsure of what to do. Half of him said that he should reprimand her for encouraging Much to do something so stupid. Half of him wanted to rush into Nottingham and free his best friend.

"Why?" he finally asked, unable to keep the hurt and confusion from his voice. Djaq bit her bottom lip.

"He was worried, Robin," she tried to explain, but she knew that she couldn't. "You'll have to talk to him about it."

"First, we need to stop and think," Little John ordered. He didn't usually give orders; that was Robin's job, but at times like this, he considered it his duty to reel everyone in. "We go to camp." Robin looked ready to argue, but he glanced at the note in his hand, realizing Much's entire point. He needed to listen.

"We go to camp," he agreed softly.

---

Morgan had never seen him look so horrifyingly dejected. They had returned to camp, attempting to gather themselves, attempting to think about what was happening. After pacing back and forth for several minutes, Robin had gone to his bed, lying on his stomach, staring into the dying fire. Djaq had left camp, needing time to herself, and Little John had gone for firewood. Morgan supposed that Robin needed someone to talk to. She sat next to Robin's bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She didn't say anything, but offered her presence.

Robin glanced at her, staring for a moment before he finally spoke.

"Have you always had that ring on your finger?" he asked. Morgan shook her head.

"No. I just got it a little over a month ago," she replied, giving him a gentle smile. She knew full well that she wasn't the one that Robin needed to be talking to. He needed to talk to Marian. He needed to talk to Much. But, as neither of them was available, he talked to her.

"Do I really have a listening problem?" he asked. "Am I a bad leader because of it?" Morgan knew that Much had initiated this whole plan to make Robin think, but she doubted that he meant for it to be like this. Morgan gingerly put a hand on Robin's shoulder, giving it a light pat.

"You are a good leader, Robin. Michael used to say so all the time," she confided. "And we wouldn't follow you if you were a bad leader."

"But I do have a listening problem," Robin concluded. Morgan paused, not sure how to handle that one. She couldn't help but think that the other would be far better at this sort of thing. Sometimes, she was just too blunt.

"Robin, you're normally good at listening, just not when you're upset. And you've had a lot to be upset about lately. I know how upset you are, about Marian and all," she comforted. "It's hard to be away from someone you love, especially when you're betrothed and all."

"How did you know that?" Robin asked, sitting up. He couldn't recall telling anyone about his proposal to Marian. Morgan stared back at him, not understanding what he meant.

"Because I was there," she answered slowly, "usually that's what happens when someone proposes to you." Robin glanced down at the ring on Morgan's finger, his eyes widening in understanding.

"You and Allan?" he asked.

"Aye, who did you think?" Morgan asked, smiling. The smile quickly slid from her face as she came to a realization of her own.

"You and Marian!" she whispered. Robin nodded.

"Of course," he muttered. "It is hard. It's really hard. I don't mean to drown people out, least of all Much, but I miss her so much." Morgan gave him half a smile.

"Understandable. Look, Robin, this is something that you need to talk out with Much. I honestly don't think I can help, I have a listening problem myself," she admitted, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Robin scoffed amusedly, sitting up and nodding with new fortitude. Djaq wandered back into the camp, followed closely by Little John, who was carrying a large pile of wood. He immediately started to build the fire back up. Djaq took a seat next to Morgan, simply waiting.

"I have a plan," Morgan announced suddenly. She paused, considering her statement. "Well, sort of half of a plan."

"And what does this sort of half of a plan entail?" Robin asked.

---

Allan maintained his indifferent expression, but he felt sick on his stomach. The Sheriff was grinning, pleased with himself to no end, though that was hardly irregular for him.

"So, we torture the stoic one, let the other one hang about until he hangs," he plotted out loud. "If we start now, we should break him by tomorrow afternoon." Allan didn't know what disgusted him more, the fact that the Sheriff was guessing on how long it would take to break a human being's spirit, or the fact that he was probably right. He vividly remembered his own time in the torture room. He remembered every punch, every slap, every crack of the whip against his skin.

Before, torture hadn't meant anything to him. He'd always managed to slip out of punishment before it ever came to that. He'd taken beatings before, but they were merely beatings. Torture was different. Torture was deliberate. Torture was drawn out. He had to think of something, anything to keep Will from that fate. He swallowed, putting on an air of confidence that he wasn't so sure he had.

"What if we could get him to break before?" he asked. The Sheriff looked at him, eagerly awaiting the information that would lead to such a thing. Guy also looked intrigued. Allan said a quick prayer, hoping that he knew what he was getting into before he took a breath and continued.

"I'm not saying that the torturer is good at what he does, believe me," he muttered, "but it does take a while, doesn't it? What if we tried something new?"

"Yes, yes. Get on with it," The Sheriff urged.

"Alright, which one is scarier? The woods at noon, or the woods at night?" he asked. He didn't get an answer right away, and he tried asking one of them directly. "Giz?" Gisborne didn't answer him. Allan suspected that the man was boycotting his nickname, but it also occurred to him that Guy of Gisborne wasn't about to admit to being scared of anything.

"The answer was 'the woods at night,' but thanks for playing," the former outlaw grumbled. "Things are scarier if you don't know what's going on, okay?"

"Yes, but what's the point?" The Sheriff asked, glancing over at the fruit bowl on the table. Allan sensed the older man's boredom and cleared his throat.

"The point is, people are scared by what they can't see. A scared person breaks faster than a calm person. So, what if we make sure he gets a good look at the instruments of torture, then throw a hood over his head?" Allan blurted out. For a moment, he thought that he had failed miserably. Then, a light seemed to shine in the Sheriff's eye. Allan had seen it before, and he didn't like it. It was joy, but the Sheriff didn't experience joy like normal people did.

"You are brilliant, dear boy!" the man proclaimed, practically dancing as he walked over to Allan, putting his hands on his shoulders and giving him a vigorous shake.

"Giz, this is the reason that he is my new favorite!" the Sheriff crowed. Gisborne made sure that his boss wasn't looking before he rolled his eyes.

"I'll go get the outlaw ready then?" Allan asked. The Sheriff patted him on the cheek.

"Go!" he commanded. Allan nodded in lieu of the expected salute and walked off to the dungeons. The Sheriff sighed after him. "Oh, Guy. Our little boy is growing up so fast." Guy resisted the urge to stab himself in the stomach with his sword. Sometimes, he questioned the Sheriff's sanity. He revised that thought. He always questioned Vaysey's sanity; he sometimes questioned his peculiar behavior.

---

"Torture? That's how you plan to help?" Will asked, backing away from Allan. Allan sighed, expecting the reaction.

"Trust me, Will. It's the only way I can get you out of here alive," he muttered, opening the cell door. "Now, come on. There isn't much time." Much gave a derisive scoff.

"Surely, you don't expect him to willingly walk to a torture chamber," he commented under his breath. Allan ran his fingers through his hair, stepping into the cell.

"Will, please. Trust me," he repeated. Will hesitated for a moment before nodding, walking calmly out of the cell. Allan led him down to the torture chamber, shuddering at the sight of the wooden post.

"Is this where they kept you?" Will asked. Allan didn't respond, unable to make himself speak. Will assumed that his silence meant 'yes.' Suddenly, he had a better understanding of how Gisborne had persuaded him to become a spy.

"What's your plan, Allan?" Will asked. Allan looked at him, swallowing hard.

"I'm sorry, Will," he muttered, drawing his sword. Will backed up an involuntary step.

"Allan, what are you doing?" The last thing that Will saw before blacking out was the hilt of a sword flying at his face.

---

Renton carried the covered body out of the castle with no challenge. People often died in the dungeons, and their bodies were usually deposited in the forest.

"Another one for the woods," he explained hollowly to the guard at the portcullis. He felt as though he was doing something helpful, but his deeds of just minutes ago made him feel uneasy.

He forced himself to remain calm. The guard raised the portcullis, and Renton had to force himself not to break into a run. He walked calmly out, sparing a wave as he went. He was surprised at how taxing his task was. The carpenter looked as skinny as a twig, but he was heavier than he looked. He was young, too. Eighteen, maybe nineteen. No older than twenty. He heaved a sigh as he neared the woods.

Once he had decided that he was out far enough, he stopped to take a breather. He heard the snapping of a twig and looked around. Allan had told him to expect as much, and that detracted greatly from his panic.

"Don't move," a voice said. Renton breathed a sigh of relief. That was Robin Hood for sure.

"Hello, I don't mean any harm. I've actually come to help," he announced, turning to face Robin. The man looked tired and angry, and he was aiming his bow straight at his forehead. Not a good combination, to be sure.

"Rent?" another familiar voice asked. Morgan peeked out from behind a tree, moving forward. "It's alright, Robin. This is Renton. He's a friend." Robin mulled it over for a moment before lowering his bow.

"Hello, Morgan. Good to see you," Renton greeted pleasantly.

"Likewise. What are you doing out here, Rent?" Morgan asked. Renton nodded at the body in his arms, removing the blanket that covered him. Djaq gasped and moved forward, surveying the bloody mark on Will's forehead.

"Oh, please, don't panic, miss," Renton stuttered quickly, "He's fine. He's just unconscious. And a bit heavy." At that hint, Little John stepped forward, taking Will from the exhausted looking guard. Once relieved of his duty, the man removed his helmet, wiping his forehead clean of the sweat.

"Anyway, I'm glad that you were already out here. Allan's bought some time, but he won't be able to help any longer," he stated solemnly, "So, he told me to tell you that the Sheriff and Gisborne don't know about any entrances or exits near the blacksmith's quarters."

"Why can't he help anymore?" Robin asked, "Too busy running errands for the Sheriff?" Renton shook his head, missing the scathing tone of Robin's comment.

"No, not at all. He's creating a diversion. He says that once the alarm is raised, you need to break in through the back entrance, get Much, and get out. Morgan, do you know which entrance?" Renton asked. Morgan nodded.

"I know of it. What kind of diversion is he making?" she asked.

"He said that you'd ask, and he said not to worry," Renton answered quickly. "Now, I've really got to get back. If I'm gone to long, they'll send in a replacement guard, and that'll make it harder for you to get to Much." He felt that he didn't need to explain anymore and quickly started back towards the castle. Robin turned his attention to Djaq, who was cleaning Will's head wound.

"He's alright. Just has a bump," Djaq diagnosed. "He should wake up soon." Robin nodded, glancing back at the castle. Just how had Allan managed to get Will out of the dungeon? Why hadn't he also helped Much? One look at Morgan told the Lord of Locksley that she was thinking the same, though she was probably far more worried about what kind of distraction Allan had conjured up.

"Morgan, how well do you know that man?" Robin asked.

"He's a good bloke. Loyal to the king. The only reason he works at the castle is to support his family. He's got two children, and the wife's expecting another. We can trust him, if that's what you want to know," Morgan promised.

"Then we'll wait here until we here the alarm. Djaq, see if you can't get Will back on his feet before then," he put forward. "Let's hope this distraction of Allan's works."

---

Sorry to end on a cliffhanger! I promise to get the next chapter up as soon as possible!

In the next chapter, I promise that you'll find out the answer to most of your questions. I hope.

Sorry about the distinct lack of fluff in this story! That's kind of why I took such a lighthearted angle to writing the Sheriff's bits. XD

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed! Please review!