Disclaimer etc.: see Prologue/1st chapter.
I like this chapter. Admittedly, not a lot happens, but there's a lot of Sheriff in it. :D Vaizey is fun to write…
Thanks to my reviewers: MontyPythonFan, pixiespryte, robinsangel92, LialaSword, Starzangel, The viEns of hIStorY, domslove, robin and marion forever, water raven, Ash Light, RixxiSpooks, I'm Glad You Know Who I Am. and Chaos-Shadow05. You guys are all brilliant!
R&R feeds the Muse, and enjoy!
Unintended Consequences
9 - Remembrance
The Sheriff clasped his hands together in mock-prayer. "Robin of Locksley!" he proclaimed, in a loud, overly-theatrical voice. "Beloved of the people, praised by the King!" And irritating thorn in my side, he added silently.
He figured it might not be so sensible to say that out loud. He was supposed to be praising and flattering the deceased (he cackled mentally) Hood, not insulting him.
But anyway.
"The man who threw off the shackles of authority!" Vaizey continued, still keeping his drama-queen (or drama-Sheriff) voice. "Who robbed from the rich, and gave to the poor!"
The crowd of peasants were beginning to shift. Vaizey suspected boredom (and a short attention span). He hurried up.
"Your hero!" he exclaimed. "Your favourite son!"
I love dramatics, he mused. Should have been an actor. He mused for a moment on the ignominy and penniless-ness of an actor's life. Or not.
He smiled and looked out over Hood's peasants – they might be on Gisborne's lands now, but their hearts firmly belonged to Locksley himself. "Is dead."
There was dead silence, just for a second.
And then Locksley village erupted.
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Much rolled his eyes as the Sheriff made his proclamation, and the villagers exploded into indignant and disbelieving shouts. Robin was shaking with laughter beside him, and Much elbowed his master firmly in the ribs.
Robin didn't stop.
"Hey, Robin," Allan whispered. "Lookin' pretty good for a dead man!"
"Feeling pretty good for it, too!" Robin whispered back, still grinning.
"What are we going to do about it though?" Much asked softly. He glanced between Allan and Robin. "We can't let them think Robin's dead!"
Robin nodded. "I know." He unfolded from his crouch. "Follow me," he whispered, "and listen. I have an idea."
Much exchanged a glance with Marian.
They both rolled their eyes, before following the others.
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Vaizey was having fun. He knew he probably should be – he should be conducting this memorial in a conscientious and sympathetic manner…
But really. Hood had been an outlaw!
And a darned annoying one at that.
So, therefore, Vaizey was allowed to feel a tad victorious about his death.
"Order!" he yelled. "Calm down!"
After a few encouraging (or not) prods from the prominent guards, the peasants quieted. But Vaizey could still see shellshocked and terrified faces. He smirked.
"Awww," he cooed. "Lost all hope? Your favourite hero gone? Doomed to slavery beneath Gisborne's thumb evermore?"
Guy, stood behind the Sheriff's makeshift podium, was smirking. Vaizey couldn't see him, but he could feel Gisborne's victorious, and mildly evil, smirk. The Sheriff let him smirk. It added a certain joie de vivre to his performance, he thought.
I so should have been an actor.
Vaizey brought himself back to his original speech. Where was I? Ah yes, Gisborne's thumb… "Your little lives wrecked forever, because Hood is dead?" He paused. "A clue." A slow smile crept across his lips as he regarded the sullenly glaring peasants. Boy, is this fun. He nodded slowly. "Oh yes."
There was silence, except for the gusting of the breeze. And then…
"I beg to differ!" a voice called from the crowd.
Vaizey blinked. "You do?" That voice is oddly familiar, he mused. Sounds like one of Hood's men… Murch or March or Mulch or something like that…
"I do indeed!" the same voice replied, accompanied by a stirring of the peasants.
Vaizey scanned the crowd for the speaker. He had the oddest feeling that this wasn't good. "Where are you?" he demanded. "Show yourself!"
He was thoroughly ignored as someone else spoke up. "Yeah! I'm not bein' funny, but how d'we know Robin's dead? You ain't shown us a body!"
The murmur of discontent that had rippled through at the first voice accompanied this one too, but louder.
Oh great, the Sheriff thought distractedly.
"And it's not like you've got a good record when it comes to lying," a third voice commented, gruff and deep.
That sounded like Hood's man-mountain… "I was told he's dead!" he protested. "By a reliable source!"
"Who was that then?" Voice Number Four—a young voice this time—asked. "Gisborne?" There was an unsubtle snort of laughter which was echoed by the inhabitants of Locksley.
"You would not know something reliable if it bit you!" Voice Number Five chimed in. This one was strongly accented – it sounded like a Saracen, and there was a burst of laughter in response.
"Show yourselves! All of you!" Vaizey barked. This wouldn't do – these faceless voices were showing him up quite thoroughly. "Who are you?"
"The question is: who are you?" a sixth voice called – one that Vaizey recognised. "Are you Vaizey, Sheriff of Nottingham, or a lying, stealing murderer?"
"Marian?" Gisborne choked out.
"Marian!" Vaizey confirmed in shock.
"Well," Voice Number Seven answered, "considering he's already tried to have two people killed, and has succeeded in one case… I'd go for the latter."
It wasn't only Vaizey who recognised that voice. Cheers erupted in the crowd, and the Sheriff was suitably pole-axed. "Hood?" he bawled. Locksley emerged from the crowd, his little gang arrayed behind him – the liar, the carpenter, the man-mountain, the Saracen, the man-servant and the Lady.
The Sheriff gaped.
There was an insufferable smirk on the outlaw's face, and he made a little mock-bow to Vaizey. "The one and only."
Vaizey spluttered. "But…"
Hood grinned. "Beloved of the people," he continued, "praised by the King! Irritating thorn in the Sheriff's side!"
"I didn't say that!"
"But you thought it!" Hood retaliated. He smirked, and adopted his drama-outlaw voice. "The man who threw off the shackles of authority! Who robs from the rich and gives to the poor!"
Vaizey folded his arms. "You can stop copying me now," he ordered.
But Locksley wasn't quite finished. "The hero," he completed. "The favourite son."
The one whose name Vaizey still couldn't quite recall—he'd call him Mulch—rolled his eyes. "As if his head wasn't big enough already," the outlaw moaned.
He was ignored.
Vaizey sighed. "Why won't you just stay dead?" he moaned.
"Oh, that's not nice," Hood chided. "Is it?"
A rumble of affirmation, from the outlaws and from the villagers.
Vaizey rubbed his temples. That damned unreliable shadow-person… I knew I shouldn't have trusted him! I am surrounded by idiots!
Locksley ducked towards him. "Got a bit of a headache?" he asked, mock-concern in his voice. "Not feeling so good?"
"Must be his conscience," the Saracen girl barked out.
The scruffy kid with the axes and the liar laughed in tandem – the Saracen girl joined them. "Conscience?" Axe-Boy began.
"Him?" Liar continued.
The three of them glanced at each other. And smirked. "Nah," they completed in union.
Vaizey rolled his eyes, and turned his attention to the unexpected addition to the outlaw band. "Marian?" he asked softly. "What are you doing associating with these…" His lip curled as he struggled to think of a suitable description.
"Ruffians?" the man-mountain offered.
"Scoundrels?" the liar presented.
"Vagabonds?" the carpenter suggested.
"Thugs?" the Saracen proffered.
"Brutes?" the man-servant proposed.
"Outlaws?" the Lady propositioned.
Hood smiled as all eyes turned to him. "Heroes?"
There was a heartfelt murmur of approval.
Vaizey got fed up.
He turned to Gisborne, who was still gawping at Marian. He rolled his eyes—why is everyone so incompetent?—and poked Guy in the shoulder. "Wake up, lover boy," he snapped.
Behind the Sheriff, Hood cleared his throat.
Vaizey glanced back. Robin raised his eyebrows, and glanced down. The Sheriff's gaze followed – Marian's fingers were firmly intertwined with Hood's. And when he said 'firmly'… He meant firmly.
He scratched behind one ear as, once more, the inhabitants of Locksley village had a laugh at his expense.
Well. Technically Gisborne's expense. But whatever
Vaizey turned once more to Guy. "Wake up, ex-lover boy."
Hood was smirking at him. Vaizey could just feel it. He gritted his teeth.
Gisborne's gaze hardened, and he turned to the Sheriff. "My lord?"
"That's better," Vaizey praised. He jerked an infuriated thumb back over his shoulder at the outlaws – the smirking outlaws.
Vaizey was getting tired of people smirking at him.
"Get them!" he snarled.
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