A Study in Scarlett
Chapter Ten
Word Count: 3,080
Rating/Disclaimer/Summary: Same as chapter 1, really
Author's Note: So now I've reached the part where the movie begins, or at least... the interaction of Robin and the Merry Men, in particular his awkward beginning with Will. I'm not the first to do this, and I did use the dialogue from the movie. I'm not going to claim that I did this better. I just had to take a stab at it. It's a scene that makes one want more reaction from both sides... all sides... but I'm a writer who dislikes omniscient point of view and wasn't willing to go over the same scene three times (I wanted reactions from Robin, Will, and Azeem) so this is just Will, as he had the most to share. The movie mostly stuck to Robin's perspective of things, and while I wanted Azeem curious about Will at this point, that can be shown later.

Maybe. I'm a bit thinking I'm insane for doing this and that I don't know what I'm doing, but this story has taken over my life a bit, and I need it out of my head, so I'm still trying.

The Start of Sibling Rivalry

"Will."

He looked up at John, though the big man had to wonder where the lad's head was at again. Seemed like Will was more distracted than ever. Fanny had claimed there must be some girl, but John doubted it. While Will did go back to town more often than some of the rest of them, he wasn't there that often, and never more than a day. If the lad had a girl, he kept it a good secret, though it wouldn't be that hard for the man, seeing as he never said much more than a smart remark to anyone.

"John. What—you need something?"

He didn't, but he'd decided he did. Will wasn't even fighting with Wulf when the boy provoked him, and that didn't feel right. "Aye. We've need of new rope laid at the river. The one that was there cracked in the winter."

Will stared at him. "No."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean... no. That's got to be some kind of... excuse. What is it they've got planned for me? A dunking in the river as revenge for telling everyone Bull got his name because—"

"None of that now," John said, still not wanting to think about what Bull had done when his size had been called into question. None of them needed to see that, but Will had seemed amused by the chaos he'd caused. He'd almost seemed like his old self.

It hadn't lasted.

"Thaw came, and when the lads pulled the rope, it came apart. Must have happened after freezing over in the winter. Needs redone, and you're the best at it. You know how it went when Bill tried his hand at it."

Will laughed. "That was a good one. That's not even the deep part of the river, but the fool was sure he was drowning."

"Well, it's few of us around here what don't fear that. Most of us don't know how to swim."

Will tensed up, no longer laughing. "Fine. I'll set the rope."

"Will—"

"What you really need is someone who can actually make good ropes and not someone who can cross a stupid river without tripping over his own feet."

John watched him go, not sure why he bothered. Will Scarlett always seemed to make more trouble than anyone else, even when people were trying to help.

Will hummed to himself as he settled the rope in place. He thought he had it laid across even better than the last time, since it blended in well against the riverbed but still sat ready against the places most men would venture to cross. One rope, an entire river, and it should be fun to watch, too.

He almost wanted Bill to try it.

"Think it's ready?"

Will nodded to John's question. "We could have someone test it if you like, or we can wait about for someone to come by."

"Weather's turned, should be nicer, and we've got a decent chance of seeing someone come by. We can wait and see if we catch anyone today."

Will knew part of that was a test for him, but he didn't care. The rope would work, and he didn't need any of them to like him or approve of what he'd done. He knew no one ever would, and he was fine with that. He didn't need anyone, and half the time, he didn't know why he bothered with John's bit of rabble. Especially Wulf. That boy was nothing but a nuisance, though he thought himself special since he could poach a deer or two.

They'd all poached deer, all but Harold, and it wasn't anything special.

"Someone's coming," Wulf said, making his way to where Will and his father were crouched, waiting. Will had to admit, the boy was a decent enough scout. "Should be at the river soon."

"Well, then, best get everyone ready," John said. "Will, the rope's yours."

In case he did it wrong, John didn't say, but Will knew what he meant. He waited, watching the other side of the river as two horses came in through the trees, stopping at the edge. Interesting. That had to be a Moor, didn't it?

That made this one very rich. Two servants, one a Moor. Will was going to enjoy this.

He waited for the man to wade into the river. He was more careful than most, testing the path with his sword as he went along. It wouldn't do him any good.

"There's hope," he called back to the others with a smile.

Will took no small satisfaction in yanking the rope and dunking the man under. That was always good, though for some reason this time, he had to do more. He smiled as he gave the man a bit of a song. "There was a rich man from Nottingham who tried to cross the river. What a dope, he tripped over a rope. Now look at him shiver."

He could hear the others snickering at the rhyme. "Beg for mercy, rich boy!"

The nobleman searched the water for his sword. "I beg of no man."

John had the other men on the move, and half the group caught the servants on the other shore. They had both of them surrounded and gained control of the horses as Will and the others on their side of the river walked out of the trees.

"This here is our river," Will told him, "and each man that wishes to cross must pay a tax."

"I'll pay no tax," the haughty rich man said. He tried to give them a smile. "As you can see I have nothing. Not even my sword."

Will wasn't the only one angry with him for that one. John marched out of the woods, ready to give the rich man a good thrashing.

"Bollacks," John cried. "Any man who travels with two servants and claims that he's got no bloody money, is either a fool or a liar."

"He's a liar," Will called, sure of that if nothing else about this man.

The rich man studied John. "Who are you?"

"John Little," John introduced himself, pointing his staff at the rich man. "Best man of the woods."

The others cheered for him. The rich man didn't seem impressed. "Well, best man. You lead this rabble?"

"Aye, I do, mate," John said, both proud and warning at the same time. "And if you tosspots want to travel through Sherwood Forrest, it's gonna cost you…that gold medallion."

The rich man looked down at his trinket. "This is sacred to me."

Like it being a cross would make any difference to a bunch of men who were starving. Religion had little value to any of them, being nothing more than a false hope and more taxes. Will knew a few that had true faith, but mostly he thought that was for the rich, who could believe in a god that gave them everything. The poor had nothing. Some saw that as a reason to believe, to hope and beg for better times, but not Will.

"It's sacred to us, too, mate," John told him. "That there will feed us for a bloody month."

"You'll have to fight me for it."

This rich man sure did think he was something. Will would enjoy watching John teach him that he wasn't.

"Love to, mate," John told him, tossing the rich man a staff. Wulf came running, giving his father a second staff. John took it, shedding his cloak. Wulf grabbed it, rolling it up in his hands.

"Be careful, Father," Wulf warned him. "He walloped twelve of the sheriff's men."

"Is that so?" John asked, amused, since that tale seemed to be growing. It was only five when the boy first came back to Sherwood telling of his rescue, adding numbers to it each time, as though it would make Will feel less for only killing one of the two that had him. Now this rich man was supposedly the one that did it. Will didn't believe that. "I reckon I'm gonna enjoy this."

"Hey," the rich man called to Wulf, looking a bit upset. "That's your father?"

Wulf grinned with pride, nodding at the man before running out of the way of the fight. They all lined the shore, knowing they had no need to intervene in John's fight. He wasn't just intimidating because of his size. John was the best fighter they had, and Will knew it.

He didn't even come close to what John could do, and he'd never tried, no matter what Wulf said. That boy made things worse with his stories and assumptions. Will had never tried to replace his father in this place, and he never would.

Strangely, the rich man was doing fine against John at first, matching him strike for strike, but John came through for them in the end, sending the rich man down into the deeper water.

"He's drowning," Will cried, enjoying this more than he should. Especially when he saw that John had the medallion.

"Lost something?" John asked the rich man, holding the medallion out on his staff. "Thanks for the taxes."

"Looks like the little rich boy is lost for words, eh?" Will asked. That one probably thought he could never lose, making John's victory that much better.

He heard the man calling to his servant, who urged him to get up and move faster. That wouldn't be enough, though he apparently wasn't ready to quit. He went toward John who was about to reach the shore.

"Watch it, John!" Will called out in warning, a bit too late because the rich man knocked him down anyway.

"We're not through yet."

"All right, my old cocker," John agreed, amused by the man's determination to keep fighting. "You want another good whacking? You should have one."

They went at it again, fighting about as same as before, so Will wasn't sure why the man thought he was going to win this time. It looked about the same until the rich man managed to get behind John, thinking that was some sort of victory.

"It seems like I've made it passed the gate, John Little. Or should I call you Little John?"

John glared at him, not the only one angry with the rich man.

"Hit him, Father!" Wulf cried, urging him on. "Whollop him!"

Maybe it was the anger. Maybe it was more than that. John fought the rich man back, getting and keeping the advantage. He struck, knocking the rich man down over the waterfall, into a deeper part of the river.

"Swimming time again, old chum."

"Where is he?" Wulf asked as his father searched the water. "Do you see him?"

Will hoped they didn't find him. One less nobleman could only be a good thing.

"It's a bloody shame. He was a brave lad." John said, shrugging helplessly even as he smiled. Not one of them would really miss him, and they needed the food the medallion would buy.

Out of nowhere, the rich man came up from the water, knocking John back. Will almost swore. He knew the big man couldn't swim. Barely any of the men knew how.

"Help!"

The rich man caught John as he flailed, and Will frowned. He didn't think that part of the river was that deep. It couldn't be, though Will wasn't much of a swimmer himself so he'd never tested it too much. He knew the safe way to cross the river, and that was enough.

"Do you yield?"

"I can't bloody swim," John said, and Will could tell the big man was panicking. "Help!"

"Do you yield?"

"Yes," John answered, and Will swore under his breath. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The rich man was meant to lose.

"Good," the rich man said. "Now put your feet down."

John stopped flailing, putting his feet down. The water only came up to his thighs. Will shook his head. Unbelievable.

"I'll be buttered." John laughed, but this wasn't at all funny. Will would like to beat the man himself, but John had yielded. So much for food for a month.

"The medallion," the rich man insisted.

"Give me your name first," John said, and Will knew he didn't like this. John was impressed. That wasn't good. It couldn't be.

"Robin of Locksley."

It was worse than Will had thought. That rich bastard was his brother. He felt sick.

John was clapping man on the back, laughing with him. Laughing with the same bastard that had thrown Will to the sheriff when he was only a boy. The things he'd seen and done in that dungeon still haunted him.

And now John was inviting the bastard to eat with them.

No. This couldn't happen.

Will would make sure that Locksley did not stay. He was not welcome here, no matter what John thought now.

Will found himself a place in the tree, watching the others at the fire. He wouldn't have gone over to it even if Locksley wasn't there, but he sure as hell wasn't joining them now. He didn't know why one fight meant everyone in this group respected Locksley. It didn't make any sense. Will had fought beside several of them. He'd saved Wulf's life once.

None of that seemed to matter. They still hated him, but Locksley... they were nicer to him than they'd ever been to Will, with the exception of John. He was the same, more or less.

"That's Much, the miller's son, Harold Brownwell," John said, introducing Locksley to the men. They didn't need it. They were already worshiping at Locksley's altar. "And that stumpy one there is David of Doncaster, but the lads all call him Bull."

Locksley smiled. "Because you're short?"

"No, because I'm so long," Bull said, gesturing and getting ready to undo his pants.

Will grimaced. He was surrounded by idiots.

"No, Bull, save it, save it," Locksley told him. "Save it for the ladies."

Lucky him. Bull actually listened to him. Will had not needed to see that.

"Give the man some mead," John ordered, and the bottle was passed to Locksley. Will didn't know why he was still sitting here. He didn't need to watch this. Locksley took a drink and passed the bottle on. "Now I made that myself."

Harold passed the mead over to Elmer, skipping the Moor.

"Has English hospitality changed so much in six years that a friend of mine is not welcome at this table?"

Will didn't believe that. Locksley was calling the Moor, his servant, a friend? This from a rich nobleman who wouldn't let his brother—well, he hadn't known that Will was his brother—so much as cross the front gate? Who had him arrested for the crime of mentioning his mother's name?

"But he's a savage, sire."

"That he is," Locksley agreed, and that sounded more like he had when Will met him before. "But no more then you or I. And don't call me 'sire.'"

Will snorted, but no one heard him.

"With regret, I must decline," the Moor said. "Allah forbids it."

Religion. Again. Though Will figured he was more sincere in his faith than Locksley was.

John shook his head. "You bloody lost me."

"Why is it that so many of you are hiding?" Locksley asked, and Will wanted to throw something at him. What the hell did he think, they came here for fun? That they loved living in the woods? Or maybe they were all idiots. Will was sure Locksley believed it.

"We're all have prices on our heads. Even the young lad there," John said, nodding to Wulf. "The blasted sheriff, he says we owe him taxes."

Locksley considered that. "Your ghosts will only keep the sheriffs man at base so long."

That bastard. Coming in here like he knew better than the rest of them. "They've worked so far. You have a better idea?"

"You can always fight back."

Of course. There it was, what Will had been expecting. Oh, rich boy wanted something all right, and it was no small price. He probably didn't see it that way, since they were all just peasants and he was a lord, but he was asking far too much of them.

"I reckon I must have cracked that noble our of yours," John said, laughing. He shook his head. "These are all good lads here. They have hearts of oak, but they're farmers. It would be lambs to the slaughter."

Harold nodded. "They say the sheriff was raised by a witch."

The Moor seemed interested in that. "A witch?"

"She knows every man's thoughts," Wulf said, believing all the lies and stories they said about her. "You can see evil in her eyes, and she flies."

John shook his head. Fanny would have taken a few swats at his bottom if she was here. "That's a load of codswallop, Wulf."

Will focused on Locksley. He'd seen the witch, and she was hideous, but not that frightening. No, the real problem here was Locksley. "What does a rich son of a devil worshiper care about a bunch of outlaw peasants?"

"My lord was a kind and generous man," the blind man said, still loyal. Maybe that was the one Gisborne had wanted to find at the ruins. "Who among you dare to believe—"

"My father was no devil worshiper," Locksley said. "And I'll have words with any man who says otherwise."

Will could almost respect the man for that.

Only almost.

"But he's right," Locksley said, surprising Will again. "I was a rich man's son. When I killed the sheriff's men, I became an outlaw like you."

And there went any respect or anything else Will might have been willing to grant him. Locksley was just a rich noble who didn't give a damn about any of them.

"You are nothing like us," Will snapped, jumping down from his tree and walking away. He wasn't about to listen to this nonsense. Locksley was going to be the ruin of all of them, and Will wanted no part of him.

He heard John's words even as he walked away.

"That there's Will Scarlett. Take no notice of him, he's full of piss and wind."

Will told himself he didn't care. He didn't need John to like him.

He'd make sure Locksley was gone in the morning. He wouldn't let that noble use any of them.