Author's Note: And back to Nottingham for the long awaited exchange.
Please leave a review, let me know what you think. Haven't written an ending yet, so we'll all have to see how it ends :)
Twelve rings of the bell in the nearby town sent a slight shiver down Allan's spine, feeling cold all over despite the warmth of the noon sun.
The Sheriff laughed at Allan's involuntary shudder, "What's the matter? Pining for your missing master?" Allan shook his head, walking away from the short, balding man and into direct sunlight. He could still hear the echoes of bells from the Klun chapel just a short distance away. Alone for the moment, he closed his eyes, fighting the worry inside him. If this parlay goes foul, whose side would he be on? Fight Robin or fight for Robin: either way, he'd have to define his loyalties, and burning bridges was Allan's least favorite thing to do. He'd have to do everything in his own power not to let it come to that. And with this decision made, he nodded his head to himself.
"I must hand it to Hood," a chilling voice came from behind Allan's back, "Thinking to arrange a parlay with me in broad daylight… in a church… shows a good amount of planning on his part." Allan spun around, facing the Sheriff's cold, and twisted smile, "Fortunately, for our side, I have no interest in staging his capture… not yet anyway." The Sheriff gave a rather frightening chuckle, "By the by, did you enjoy your reunion with your old gang, boy? Warm enough welcome for you?"
"By warm ye mean a dislocated shoulder and rope burns, then yea, very warm, sir," Allan kept his gaze on the chapel, watching for any sign that Robin would be there. "Shouldn't we get goin', Sheriff?" he asked, changing the subject, "The bells already rang noon."
"Don't you worry. We're merely fashionably late," the Sheriff teased with a flick of his wrist. "Klun chapel, noon, with no guards but your sweet self. I believe we appear to meet each of Hood's demands," and with that, he began the walk into Klun, Allan following just a pace behind.
The whole town seemed empty, and not just that everyone-was-busy-working empty, in Allan's opinion. Empty as if everyone had been ordered away: eerie, spooky, deserted empty. In the distance, he thought he heard the bray of a horse, and Allan grew instantly wary… we appear to meet each of Hood's demands… an ambush? His hand reached for his forehead, softly slapping himself as he realized the truth. Burning bridges may just be unavoidable at this point.
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"How good of you to join us, Vaisey?" Robin sat on the sanctuary steps, his bow and quiver resting across his lap. Allan looked around the chapel as they entered, watching as the rest of the gang stepped out all around them, Will firmly shutting the thick doors behind him.
"My pleasure, as always, Hood," the Sheriff dipped an elaborate bow, and as he bent over, a thin but long wooden box fell to the ground from inside his long black coat, clattering to the stone floor. "Whoops," he chuckled as he straightened, kicking it down the aisle, towards where Robin sat at the other end.
Robin stood up slowly, cocking his head to eye the box before his feet, his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, "I warned you what would happen if you ever harmed anyone to get to me, Sheriff."
The Sheriff laughed, "One of my fondest memories of our first days together," he pretended to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. But Robin did not laugh. The Sheriff took a few steps, closing the distance between him and his opponent, "In truth, I am not reneging on any promise to you. But the stakes are much higher this time. Much more than any tax money or any poor outlaw's life is at stake. And you haven't even so much as picked up my present to you," he mockingly pouted.
Allan looked around, his former friends drawn closer in a circle all around the church's perimeter and the exchange; his look caught Djaq's eye, and he smiled. Djaq shook her head in disbelief, but Allan caught the traces of her own toying grin. He motioned for her to come closer with a silent nod of his head. She looked around her quickly before making her way over to him. Her dark eyes looked up at him in suspicion.
"Miss me?" Allan whispered almost inaudibly.
"Like usual, no," she replied, turning to look forward once more.
Before she could return to her place, Allan gently snagged her sleeve beside him, "Did you clear out the town before coming here?"
She turned to look at him once more, her wide eyes betraying her surprise, "Why?"
"Because it's empty. Not a soul," he answered, keeping his eyes forward so as not to draw attention.
"An ambush?" she asked, also looking ahead of her again.
"Not that I know of. But we know the Sheriff well enough not to put it passed him."
He could hear a soft, tickling chuckle, "We know the Sheriff. Not in the same way as you anymore, Allan." And with that, she walked a short distance away, keeping her focus on the action in the aisle.
Allan snorted in irritation; he had tried to warn them, and still nothing changes. That's the virtue of honesty for you, he snorted again.
The slow, sinister rolling of laughter drew his attention back to Robin and the Sheriff again, the disgusted look on Robin's face as he opened the next small box even pained Allan's heart.
"What is this?" Robin sneered. The Sheriff's laughter quieted just a bit as Robin reached in, pulling out a length of chestnut hair—long, silky, and with a gentle wave to its strands. "What is this?" Robin shouted again at the top of his voice, throwing the hair and the box together on the ground.
"I believe," the Sheriff cocked his head in defiance, "that is a box that any wig maker would covet." His eyes narrowed, half in command, half in an effort to savor the fuming but silent wrath on Hood's face. "Are you ready to listen to my… request now?"
Robin closed his eyes for a second, drawing in a deep breath before returning the Sheriff's stare, "What do you want? And don't think it'll be enough to stop me, for I will never stop undermining your abuses or helping those that need it most…"
"In the name of all that is good and wonderful, for King and country, yes Hood, I know," the Sheriff interrupted, his mocking smirk drawn across his face. "My demand is much smaller. Just a simple piece of parchment, you must have seen it lying around your camp. About this big," he held up his hands, "with just a few signatures and seals around the bottom. Rather ordinary-looking document of treason I should imagine."
Robin smiled, "The Pact of Nottingham. I see."
"Glad you see," the Sheriff clasped his hands behind his back, leering even wider, "Because, as you know from your previous… gift, someone else will most likely never see again."