Dang, it's been a while since I updated this. Sorry about that. I've got at least the next chapter, but possibly the next two, planned out rather thoroughly, so hopefully that will help speed up the process. Anyway, the first scene of this one is set right after the end of "Turk Flu" and the rest of the chapter is set between "Tattoo? What Tattoo?" and "A Thing or Two about Loyalty". Mostly behind-the-scenes stuff that will help give everything else better context. Enjoy!

Chapter VI: Iron Ore and Old Friendships

Guy clanked his third tankard down and wiped the foam from his face with the back of his hand. "Another," he growled at the tavern keeper, shoving a couple of coins across the table at him. In a matter of seconds, he was resupplied with ale and kept drinking. Good Lord, but this had been a wretched day. First, a cave-in killing a handful of his best miners; then, Vaisey goading him to make an example of one of the men before abruptly sacking the rest to replace them with slaves; then, the slaves escaping; and finally, Robin Hood and his band of miscreants causing so much fire damage to the mine itself that several of the most iron-rich tunnels had entirely collapsed and the rest were either inaccessible or left in very poor condition.

As if that wasn't enough, there was Vaisey treating him like a simpleton or using him to vent his anger at every opportunity. Relieving him of responsibility over the mine one moment (as if the problems with it were his fault and not the result of Vaisey's own stinginess with the resources that would make it function properly) and then tossing it back to him when he decided the smoldering ruin was too much of a bother to deal with himself, enlisting his help to trap Robin Hood at the fair but being unwilling to let him keep his potential winnings, and blaming Guy when his plan backfired and cost them the mine and the silver arrow.

To cap it all, he'd made quite a prat of himself trying to talk to Marian. Even with her lovely long hair sheared off, she was still so beautiful that he found himself tongue-tied nearly every time he spoke to her. She had seemed to like the gift he brought her, though, no matter how he had botched the presentation of it. Not that she had actually worn it to the fair. Perhaps she had only pretended to like it.

He had wounded the Nightwatchman, at least. It hadn't been much more than a scratch, unfortunately, but apparently even that was enough to send the masked coward running for the hills. The thought made him smirk into the rim of his tankard.

Just then, the tavern doors opened and a man walked in. He was of average height and build, with tan skin, black hair, and hazel eyes. Guy's eyes followed his progress, though he felt no real curiosity. The man sat down heavily at the table next to his and let the bulging pack slung over his back fall to the floor, then called for ale and bread, which he devoured within minutes. He was chewing his last bite of bread when he happened to look over at the black-clad man watching him from the next table, and then a broad smile lit his face. "Guy?" he said, standing up. "Guy of Gisborne, is that really you?"

Bemused at being on the receiving end of so jovial a greeting, Guy blinked and looked at the man more closely. He had to squint at him for a moment before his features came into focus. He obviously expected him to respond in kind, but Guy's mind was completely blank.

"Don't remember me? Perhaps a quick sparring match would jog your memory. I'd wager I can beat you this time."

Guy's eyes widened and he felt himself smiling incredulously. "Lambert! Never thought I'd see you again," he said, getting to his feet (somewhat unsteadily) and clapping the man on the shoulder—much to the astonishment of the other patrons, who had all fallen silent. His mind was awhirl with memories of all the hours he'd spent sparring with the blacksmith's son in the square between Gisborne and Locksley as a boy.

Guy's mother hadn't wanted to deny education to any children on the estate who wanted to learn, but Lambert, a younger son who had been apprenticed to the alchemist in Nottingham, had been the only boy with the interest and time to spare to take advantage of that generosity. He had attended Guy's lessons with his tutor, and despite their different stations, the two boys had discovered they had much in common—particularly an interest in swordsmanship. Those were lessons to which Lambert was not granted admittance, but Guy had shown him everything he learned anyway, and they would practice it together with a couple of sturdy branches they whittled to resemble swords.

Lambert and his family had moved away from Nottinghamshire when Guy was fourteen, so Guy's memory of their friendship was unsullied by Lambert's having had any part in his parents' deaths or his own banishment. As a result, he was truly happy to see him now. "And that's a wager I'll take," he said with a smirk, "having taught you everything you know about wielding a sword. What brings you back to Nottinghamshire?"

"Work, or the chance of it," said Lambert somewhat ruefully. He retrieved his pack and they both sat down at Guy's table. "I've been experimenting with a substance that will make me a fortune if I could just get the formula right, but I'm afraid I'll have to find someone who can sponsor the project—I've used up most of my own money already."

Guy signaled the tavern keeper to bring a fresh tankard for Lambert and passed over the coins to pay for it. "May your fortunes be better than mine," he said.

"What ill fortune could have befallen the lord of Gisborne Manor?" said Lambert with jocular skepticism as he accepted the tankard and raised it to Guy in thanks, but he faltered when he saw Guy's expression darken. "Forgive me, I didn't—"

"There's nothing to forgive." Guy looked away and crossed his arms. "You would have had no way of knowing."

"Knowing what?" said Lambert.

"I am not the lord of Gisborne Manor."

"Then your fath—"

"My father is dead, as is my mother. They died in the fire that burned Gisborne Manor to the ground when I was sixteen. I was blamed and banished. There has been no Gisborne for seventeen years."

Lambert seemed to be at a complete loss for words. After a few moments of heavy silence, he managed to murmur some vague expression of condolence and sympathy, to which Guy responded with a slight nod. They both drank on in silence. Half a tankard of ale later, Lambert frowned. "How came you to return to Nottinghamshire, then?"

"I had been in Lord Vaisey's employ for several years when he gained his position as Sheriff here," said Guy. "He installed me as steward of Locksley while Huntingdon was at war in the Holy Land. A few months ago, Huntingdon returned, but it only took him a few days to get himself outlawed, and—"

"Robin of Locksley, an outlaw?" Lambert cut in, surprised. "I know he got up to all sorts of tomfoolery when we were boys, but what'd he do to become an outlaw?"

Guy scowled and let out a sound somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. "He publicly defied the Sheriff, and has since committed a number of other offences. He thinks the law does not apply to him."

Lambert rolled his eyes. "That sounds like him."

"Indeed. Once he was outlawed, he was stripped of his lands and title, and I was granted lordship of Locksley. Conditionally, at least." The last three words came out rather bitterly. "But," he continued, not wanting to dwell on the distant past anymore, "as to my more recent ill fortune, Robin and his gang of outlaws destroyed the Locksley iron mines this afternoon—not that I was having much luck getting the workers to do their jobs before that."

To Guy's surprise and mild indignation, Lambert's face lit up. "I think you and I might be the solutions to each other's problems, my friend," he said.

"How so?"

"The substance I'm working on is a powder so flammable that when you ignite it in a confined space, it can shatter solid stone into rubble in an instant." He snapped his fingers for effect. Guy's eyes widened. "Used correctly—and very carefully," Lambert went on, "it could be just the thing you need to get your mines up and running—better than they ever were before."

Guy thought hard for a moment. "I'm not quite capable of funding any projects with my own money just now—after harvests are in, perhaps. But, as Master at Arms, I do have access to portions of the shire's armory budget."

"Armory," Lambert repeated, suddenly looking wary and alarmed. "Guy, I will not allow my black powder to be used as a weapon. If the money comes from the armory—"

"No, you misunderstand," said Guy, shaking his head. "If you're right about this, then investing in the black powder will enable me to bring in more iron ore, which is what the greater part of the armory budget is used to purchase anyway."

"I see," said Lambert. "But still, you must promise me that the black powder will not be used as a weapon."

"You have my word." Guy held out a hand for Lambert to shake. "When shall we get started, then?"

—-—

The Present (Eight Weeks Later)

Marian hummed to herself as she prepared new comfrey poultices for Guy, something she'd been doing every day for the last week. The first couple of days had been uncomfortable. She wasn't used to spending so much time with him alone, and no matter how determined she was to give him a chance to become a better man, it was very difficult to hold onto that resolution in light of his attempted assassination of King Richard. But, to his credit, he had not once tried to justify his actions, and the vulnerability he could never quite mask around her tugged at her heart. It was plain to her that he considered himself unworthy of her kindness because of what he'd done, and, ironically, no other attitude could have done more to encourage her to continue to extend it.

She knew there were likely several more difficult conversations ahead of them, but she wasn't in a hurry to get them all out of the way at once. Sometimes simple companionship was just as good for getting to know someone as soul-baring discussions.

Today, however, her plan to avoid any deeper subject matter than favorite foods and pastimes was forgotten when she saw Guy's men harassing a family of Locksley villagers on her way to the manor. She was too far away to make out what anyone was saying, but the guards were yelling as they roughed up a man while his wife held their two young boys back from trying to pull them away from him. Marian pressed her heels into Rhiannon's sides to urge her on, and didn't rein her in until she was practically on top of Guy's men, who scrambled away from their victim at once.

"Has this man wronged you somehow?" she asked, forcing her tone into cool politeness.

"We had a disagreement, milady," said the taller of the two. His voice was rough and unpleasant. "It's naught to trouble yourself with."

"No? Well, perhaps I'll trouble your lord with it."

The shorter man shrugged indifferently, and Marian felt her composure slipping. She turned away from them to incline her head at the family of villagers, who looked up at her in silent gratitude, and then nudged Rhiannon again and headed for the manor. By the time she reached it and swung down from the saddle, she had worked herself up into quite a foul mood, and she burst through the doors into the great room, where Guy was sitting poring over a few scrolls, without so much as knocking.

"Marian!" said Guy, leaping to his feet at the sight of her. His expression went quickly from one of poorly concealed delight to one of open alarm when he registered the hostility of hers. "Something troubles you."

"Yes, something troubles me," she said angrily, stalking farther into the room. "I just encountered two men in yellow and black surcoats bullying a harmless family of villagers, and they didn't seem to mind when I said I'd be informing you of it. Are they so accustomed to manhandling the people of Locksley on your orders that they are comfortable doing it for their own enjoyment as well?"

"Perhaps there was a disagreement."

"Oh yes, I'm sure the villagers disagree heartily with the mistreatment they receive."

Guy stiffened. "I see you are determined to believe I am an uncaring despot."

"I only believe what I have observed."

"Then your beliefs are quite incomplete, Marian," he said, his voice rather cold. He picked up one of the scrolls he'd been examining and held it out to her.

"What is this?" she asked, caught off-guard so much that some of the anger and indignation left her. He jerked his head, inviting her to read it for herself. She did so, but only became more confused. "Iron ore output projections? Black powder?" She looked up at him. "What does it mean?"

"It means I have commissioned a friend on a project that will, I hope, ensure the safety of my miners while increasing production tenfold."

It took a moment for the meaning of this to sink in, and when it did, Marian was left feeling contrite and somewhat ashamed. She couldn't look at Guy.

"I will have words with my men about what behavior is acceptable concerning the villagers," he said. "What you saw today will not happen again."

Marian closed her eyes, promising herself that this was the last time she would jump to the worst conclusions about this man. "Thank you," she muttered.

—-—

"You're sure you don't need to do any more tests first?" Guy asked, pacing restlessly in front of Locksley Manor. Everything had gone so smoothly with the black powder so far that it was making him nervous. With his luck, something had to go wrong.

"Oh, believe me, I've tested it thoroughly enough." Lambert patted the lid of a small barrel in a satisfied way. "It's ready for a proper demonstration, and if that goes off well—which it will, I'll clear it for you to use in the mines. I've got three barrels ready for you so far."

"Excellent. What do you require for the demonstration?"

"I already have everything I require, but if you want some of the men who'll be working with it in the mines to see it, you might invite them. It should be quite the spectacle, if there's anyone you'd like to invite for other reasons…." Here Lambert paused, smirking knowingly and nudging Guy with his elbow. "A certain lovely young lady, perhaps?"

Guy felt himself go red. He scowled and shoved Lambert away, but Lambert just laughed, and when the sound of hoof beats reached them a few seconds later, grinned broadly and said, "Speak of the devil." Guy's insides instantly seemed to twist into squirming knots. He whipped around to see Marian riding up to Locksley on her horse, looking especially beautiful today in a blue bliaut trimmed with gold. Things had greatly improved with her since their argument a week ago, but she had informed him the day before that his wounds had healed to the point that he would no longer have need of her poultices, so he hadn't expected her to come to Locksley today.

"That's my cue to be off, I think," said Lambert. Guy felt a brief, wild urge to beg him to stay, but he was already leaving, his gait irritatingly jaunty. Guy turned to face Marian again, forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply. After all the time he'd spent with her lately, he would have thought that he'd be more master of himself around her, but no. She still made him feel like a green lad of fourteen.

Having reached the manor, she dismounted and handed the reins to one of Guy's servants, then walked over to him. Perhaps it had something to do with her relaxed, even cheerful expression (definitely not something he was used to seeing), but Guy found his panic ebbing away. "My lady," he said, still not quite as composed as he would like, taking her hand and kissing it.

"Was that your friend Lambert?" she asked, looking off at the man in question's retreating back. They had run into each other once or twice since Guy had informed her about their project.

"It was. He and I just settled the final details of the black powder project."

"Then it's finished?" she said, returning her full attention to Guy.

"The miners could be using it in the mines as early as tomorrow." Guy ran a hand through his hair and glanced in the direction Lambert had gone. His cheeks felt hot again. "We're, er, he'll be giving a demonstration in the morning. Would you like to come? I can assure you that you've never seen anything like this before."

"Sounds exciting," said Marian with a teasing smile that made Guy feel as if his legs would not support his weight. "But, I'll only come if you agree to join me for a picnic afterward, around midday?"

"Of course," Guy said at once. The Sheriff could do without his presence during his midday meal for one day. Even if he was angry, it would be worth it.

—-—

"Gisborne!"

Guy closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose. Ever since the burning of his tattoo, he had found it much harder than usual to tolerate Vaisey's abuses and demands. Praying for patience, he walked into the great hall of Nottingham Castle. "My lord?"

"Would you care to explain where the money in the armory budget has been going lately?"

Vaisey didn't look at Guy as he spoke, and he used that quiet, calm voice he reserved for when he was an inch away from ordering dire punishment on someone for failing him. "Have you hired new guards, perhaps? Paid for them to actually be trained? Bought them better armor or weapons, hmm? It had better be something like that, because if I find that you've been using my money to shower that peasant-loving leper of yours with gifts—"

"My lord—" Guy could not let him continue another moment. "I have invested the money in a project that will significantly improve the yields of the iron mines."

"Is that so?" said Vaisey, his skepticism that such an investment could be fruitful already obvious. "And what, pray tell, does this project entail? Sure you haven't been swindled by a charlatan, are you?"

"Lambert is no charlatan, my lord. He is an honest, hardworking man, and I have seen what his invention can do. If you have doubts, you may come to the demonstration tomorrow morning and see for yourself."

Vaisey fixed him with a flat, disdainful glare for a moment, then looked away again. "Very well. But for your sake, Gisborne, I hope I'm not going to find that my time and money have been wasted."

Please review; I'd be delighted to read your reactions to this chapter. :)