Right. this is weird. For some reason I found myself re-watching s1. Now I had not written fanfiction for ages and nothing in english either. Also this had not been beta read or whatever. I'm really finishing this fic beacuse want to know how it ends myself. :-p I have all these neat little pieces of it on my computer.

You can go along for the ride. If you like.

/Trixter, only albeit none the wiser

Chapter 9: Costume

This is the day I die.

Today. This day. Death.

Amice Urry repeated the thought to herself almost pensively. It had lost meaning somehow, as if she had spoken it too often. Words sometimes did that to her. She would repeat them over and over until she felt confused about their meaning. Death. Death, death, death. Why was it called that anyway? It sounded weird. Life interrupted by a 'd' and a breath. Death. In another life she would have liked to write poetry. Now it seemed another life would never come.

She was still standing in the middle of the cell. She had been for most of her stay here, didn't want to get her pretty dress soiled. When she didn't stand she sat perched against the wall, a tiny spot close to the bars. She had traded a ring for a shawl but instead of wrapping herself in it she had merely sprawled it on the floor, folded it up like cushion and spent the nights freezing in the thin blue silk of her dress. The other inmates thought she was mad.

She let her long, pale fingers caress the fine cloth of the gown, gathering the shirt in her hand and savouring the feeling as it slid across her skin and fell down in shimmering folds. She recalled how it had looked on her as she had prepared for the imprisonment. In the mirror her reflection had seemed fairylike against the dusky room, something unworldly. She wasn't vain in the normal sense of the word, but ever since she was a little girl she had found a strange comfort in watching herself. As if the mere familiarity of her features were soothing in a way that her mother's hands never were. The value of people was something vague and insubstantial while the value of things could be measured and counted. Likewise, Amice had thus concluded in her blushing youth, if she was fair then she was also valuable, in a strictly material point of view. It was something which could be counted on. She still counted on it.

The door to the prison was opened and a couple of friars came into the hallway splitting the dungeon in two. Briefly light spilled into the cells, crisp and bright morning sun. Time was pressing on to her final hour. Always in a rush. She looked at the friars. One was very fat and seemed somewhat hung-over, the other a scrawny young man with a face scarred by teenage acne. She sighed. It was the wrong prison, this. Had she been kept in the real prison Robin Hood would have saved her a long time ago. She felt sure of this. He had met her once and must have felt the connection as intensely as she did. Now he would have looked for her blindly. Who hid a jewel among the trash after all? She had dressed for him. Waited.

"Well then Brother Gilbert," the fat friar said to his younger friend, sounding rather annoyed. "Here it is. You want souls to save? In his wisdom God have collected them for you." His eyes landed on Amice. "This one apparently dressed above her station." He turned to another woman in the cell. "I know that one; lady of the night. Hello Melinda. And next to her a beggar. Immortal souls ripe and ready for the harvest."

Brother Gilbert looked crestfallen. "Please Brother Tuck, I did not mean to anger you. It's just that we keep missing both Laus and Prime - and more often than not Terce as well - and sometimes you are not up until after Sext!"

"Bah, prayer doesn't need hours. How would one get anything done!"

Amice had been listening to the discussion without interest once she realized they were not, in fact, rescuers at all. Then the door quite unexpectedly opened again and two more friars stepped in, stopped and stared at the ones already present. They wore the same clothes. Same order then, but they didn't greet each other. Instead they seemed mutually confused. The two new brothers were rough looking, Amice noted. The one she got a good look at had a distinctive face with intensely blue eyes. He was the first to speak, and he did so with a broad accent and in a language which surely wasn't Latin.

"Paxus Vobsicus, brothers," he said grinning. "Looks like you beat us to it."

"Pax Vobiscum," Brother Gilbert responded scowling.

"Not being funny but that's wha' I said." He shrugged. "I'm Brother Felix, gents, this here is Brother Roy. Of the holy order that is…" Then the one he had named Brother Roy - who was still mostly cloaked in shadows - seemed to give him a rather annoyed look and he fell silent. Something in the way Brother Roy moved caught Amice's attention.

"Friar Tuck," the fat friar responded, "Brother Gilbert."

"God bless."

"And to you."

"I don't think I have seen you around before," Brother Gilbert said suspiciously. "Are you from here?"

"We're passing through." The sound of Brother Roy's voice caused Amice's heart to leap. She took a swift step forward, clinging to the bars and staring blatantly at the friar. Yes! Just a small glimpse of his face, but the brooding intensity was there and it spoke his nature. He reminded her of a cat; the way his voice growled and purred; the bold agility and deceptive softness of his lean body; how he seemed to seek the shadows and make them his own. Robin Hood.

The conversation between the brothers became blurred, melted into the background as she had eyes for him only. He turned to her then, giving her an almost invisible nod to reassure her. There was so much love in that short interaction she almost swelled over with pride. She had to be brave now. She had to help.

Softly she moved to the far corner of the cell, where the privy was located. It consisted of a bucket which always seemed half-full no matter how often they emptied it, and today was no exception. Some of the other inmates gave her suspicious glances but decided to move away rather than to question her. Being a recognised nutcase had perks. She lifted the bucket and carried it carefully to the bars, setting it down by her feet.

"Enough!" she shrieked. The conversation stopped and the two real friars turned to her quizzically. "I've had enough of your God! Has he not damned me?" Bother Gilbert paled but Friar Tuck merely sighed.

"Oh dear, and it is not yet Sext," he moaned. "My headache is not improving. I feel in the pressing need for more wine."

Amice ignored him. "I curse you!" At this she gave out a defiant roar and threw the content of the bucket at the brothers. It splashed on the floor, causing the male inmates on the other side curse and shout insults. Before she knew it they had replicated her move, throwing their privy bucket but aiming at the women's cell rather than the friars. The stench was suffocating. From either side of the prison inmates were scoping up mud from the filthy floor and throwing it at each other. Amice almost wept as she saw her beautiful dress get soiled. She slipped and fell as the cell boiled with the uproar. Someone had started to bang wildly at the bars with the empty bucket and behind her someone else was singing an drunken northern battle hymn in a raspy voice. In the chaos a man from the other cell cried about the blue angel, and Amice knew it was her he meant. Save her! Save the blue angel! Yes! Save me. Save me!

She looked around the prison, searching for Robin but couldn't see him. Then the guards came rushing in, cursing the stench and pointing their halberds at the cells without daring to come closer. It was then she realized where Robin had gone. He hand his friend came up behind the guards, hitting them hard before taking the keys. Robin tied the confused guards to the bars while the other friar opened the door of both cells. At this both sides of the havoc clashed with each other, pulling clothes and scratching each other as they tried to win the fight and the escape the prison simultaneously. Amice waited until she felt someone's hand close around her and she let herself be pulled outside. She was disappointed to realize it was the one who called himself Brother Felix.

"Bloody hell," he cursed. "Wha' did you do that for?"

She pressed her lips together. "Where is Robin?" she asked harshly. "He will worry for me!"

"Robin has business elsewhere," the man spat. "I'm Allan by the way. Allan-a-Dale. Mind you, 'e will have a world of trouble getting the plan in order now. Idiot!"

"I had to help! That stupid friar was suspicious of you; could you not see as much? Robin!"

"Don't!" Allan pulled Amice into an alley pressing his dirty hand to her mouth. "You shut it or we're done for."

She tried not to inhale the stench and turned her head to the end of the alley. Guards were moving swiftly towards the open prison, drawn like drones to the mother bee. She relaxed and Allan let go of her mouth.

"Sorry about that," he grinned. "Well maybe this will be good anyway." He scowled. "Plan was to free you first, then we'd dress like guards and move to 'elp your lover in the dungeons. It's an old trick, mind you. We thought it might work because the little bit of truth. There really was a break-out in the open prison." He shrugged. "You threw us off the time table."

"Oh," Amice frowned, suddenly scared. "Will Robin be in danger?"

"Well, danger is our middle name. We're outlaws." He grinned again. "Not being funny but we smell like shit. Look, I got a little mate o' mine down the Black Sheep. She could get us some nice clean clothes. You mind?"

Amice shook her head, wondering absently how big the chance were of a 'mate down the Black Sheep' having any blue silk gowns. At least she would be clean when she met her rescuer.

I will not die today, she thought as they slipped away down the alley.

I will not die.

Death no longer sounded as strange, now that it was once again far away.

The plan had not been excellent, but it had involved some rather time-consuming planning. Robin felt annoyed that it had been overthrown. He was moving rapidly towards the meet-up, not dressed as a guard, as he had expected, but as a reeking friar. The streets were in an uproar. He walked close to the buildings in order not to stir any attention, at the same time trying to asses the new situation. Guards everywhere! And where there weren't guards there were delirious prisoners who suddenly found themselves in unexpected freedom and realized they didn't know where to go. In some places both these groups came together; guards surrounding shrieking, dirty prisoners while trying not to get too close to the stench. It was chaos. Unfortunately chaos on the streets usually meant the castle guards tightened the external defences. It would be hard to fool even the worst guards now that they were in attention.

When he came to the meet-up Djaq, Little John and Will were waiting for him.

"What happened?" Djaq asked in a hushed voice, as soon as he came into earshot. "You stink!"

"I do," Robin admitted grimly. "The girl decided to 'help'."

"Strange kind of help," Will scowled, "Where is Allan?"

"He took the girl. We'll meet up by the cave."

"Change of plans then?"

Robin nodded. "I need to get out of these clothes."

Once dressed again in his normal garments and a rugged-looking mantle, Robin sat down in brooding silence. They could not risk the castle now. That meant they had to get Gerome LeChas into safety some other way, preferably on the way from the dungeon to the gallows. But where was the weak point? Would they take him right through the castle or around? They had not researched this and Robin had learned the hard way what lack of forward planning might cost you.

"Robin?"

Robin flinched and looked up, only to see Marian's maid stand cautiously before them.

"Edith? What are you doing here?"

"Marian said to tell you they take the back-way," she looked hesitantly at the outlaws, "Sherriff's barred the front. Like they bar it up like when it's all wild. Think he's scared, milord. Don't say I said so."

"What, that Vaysey is scared of his own shadow or calling Robin a lord?" Djaq asked with a crooked smile.

"Djaq," Robin reprimanded her lightly before turning to Edith. "Marian is in the castle?"

"Ay, is, sir. Is that wrong?"

"Wrong? Why would it be?"

"Not sure. You sound displeased, sort of."

"I'm not." Robin was silent for a couple of moments, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand rather than the relative proximity of Marian. It was unexpectedly difficult. "Right then, that settles it," he said as he settled on a course of action. "Edith, Much is in the castle kitchen. He is dressed as a servant - got that shirt of with Vaysey's emblem. I want you to find him, tell him there has been a change of plans. Tell him not to feed the guards after all. Tell him to bring the food unspoiled to Fletcher's square. Djaq, Will, you will go out into the town. You will tell people there are free food servings by Fletcher's square. We want as many people as possible there. We want havoc. John, you and I will free Gerome. When the guards push though the crowd in order to get to the gallows, it will be easy to hide, easy to get away. We do not escape right away." He fell silent in order to emphasize the last point. "They will be looking for LeChas. We hide, wait until dusk. The widow Smith will let us stay with her pigs."

"Not the pigs again!" Will complained.

Djaq snorted. "You sound like Allan."

"Allan will be at the Black Sheep," Robin continued. "Djaq, go there once we got LeChas, make sure he doesn't drink too much." Robin fell silent, looking at the looming castle and felt a twinge as he remembered what treasure it hid from him. "Tell him to bring the drink back to the camp instead," he concluded. "Right then. Let's get started."

When everything calmed down Much would think back and remember that the plan really did go ahead smoothly. It was not uncommon, especially in the old days, that Fletcher's Square was used to give out free servings of castle leftovers on special days. It was for the poor but everyone considered themselves poor when there were free things being handed out. Of course, now almost everyone was poor for real.

This was a market Wednesday and the whole display with the guards and stinking prisoners had left the people of Nottingham in an unusually cheery mood. It was amusing since it didn't concern them. They came and filled up the area from Fletcher's square to the castle wall, queuing up to get some mostly cold stew and gossip about the morning's events. It had been easy to get Gerome LeChas out and bring him to the widow Mathilda Smith's famous pigs.

The pigsty was a common hide hole for the outlaws, albeit not a very popular one. They liked the widow, who was a defiant good-natured old woman, but her pigs were rather less hospitable. Huge animals with blotches of black on the pink skin; peering on Much with open hostility and some kind of resentful animal intelligence in the beady eyes. Will hated them even more, sitting with his back as far against the wall of the shed as he could.

Still, this would all have been good had it not been for the fact that Gerome LeChas was the most intensely boring man Much had ever met. For hours he drawled on about some magnificent opal or something, which apparently was a book that had been lost to humanity. He made the loss sound like some kind of doomsday which would condemn mankind to darkness. Then he went on to recite long winding passages about the fate of man in a godless world. Much didn't understand most of it, but even Robin seemed plagued.

"Won't he shut up," Will murmured next to Much and they shared a glance.

"I have never once wished for sun as I now wish for dusk," Much agreed. "That is the truth."

It was then that he remembered that he still had the herbs; the ones he had been supposed to sedate the guards with in the initial scam. Right there and then - amongst the pigs and the never-ending monologue - it seemed like a gift from above.

"Do it," Will sighed as he saw Much finger with the pouch. "John can carry him. Just shut him up, I can't take more."

So it was that they had to carry Gerome LeChas from the pigsty, and they had to wait until it was almost dark to not arouse suspicion. They couldn't go through the town gates with a man knocked unconscious so in the end they had to crawl over the wall, pulling LeChas up onto a roof with much swearing. Allan and Djaq would be back in the camp already, with the girl and the ale. This all seemed to Much like he had drawn the short stick of scheme. It was cold and a sleeping man was a heavy burden to pull over a castle wall.

It was when Robin tied a rope under Gerome LeChas' arms to lower him down on the other side that it happened. From nowhere a single arrow split the chilly spring night and dug deep into LeChas' chest. There was a thump as it hit its target then nothing. Robin was still holding Gerome from behind, two ends of a rope in his hands and a slightly stunned expression. Then he took his bow and they searched for cover the best they could. Moments went by, slowly, breaths shallow and fast, but no more arrows pierced the night. Finally Much allowed himself to look at the arrow. It was fletched with a red feather and on the shaft someone had tied what looked like a tiny note. It seemed ominous somehow; reminding vaguely of one of Robin's less popular way to send Marian love letters in the old days.

"Robin," he whispered, nodding at the note. Cautiously Robin lowered his aim nodding at Will to keep watch. He split the arrow – in the night that single sound seemed dangerously loud - and pulled the note form the shaft. He opened it for everyone to see and Much read the curly letters with a sense dread. There was a single line.

I have begun.