Love reading all the responses, glad to know everyone is enjoying it so far. Looking forward to hear more thoughts. Enjoy!

Thanks goes out to Kegel for the beta!


Chapter Ten: A Jumbled Conclusion

Dawn came slowly. Through the barred window she could see the smallest changing of light, how it changed from a deep, dark black, to a crepuscular blue, to a finer shade of white, almost gold. Her heart pounded inside of her chest, thumping wildly in her ears despite her efforts to remain calm. How could anyone remain calm on the day that they were supposed to die?

There had been no more visitors since Guy; neither the sheriff, nor the doltish jailer himself had ventured near her cell. Part of her had been grateful for the solitude. It gave her time to collect her thoughts, to figure out what her last requests were, what she would say. Surely she would be allowed something; even the sheriff could not deny that…could he?

Through the night her thoughts had taken a turn for other, similar memories. They were not happy, despite how much she wanted them to be so. There had been a warning in her mind, upon her return, that things could end up like this. At the time she had told herself she could handle it, and find a way out. How wrong she had been.

In her mind she had imagined that things would be different. The incessant letters from Guy had been primarily a nuisance. Most of them had never been read, thrown instead onto the fire the moment they had arrived. Marian had tried her best to start her life over, to forget about Guy of Gisborne, as well as the man that lived in the woods. Robin…

He, like Guy, had been another reason why she had not wanted to return at first. She loved him, she knew, in a different way than she loved Guy. Part of her wondered if she really loved either of the men, or if emotions were toying with her, forcing her to believe something that wasn't necessarily true. She did not need a man in her life. She was self-sufficient, and had been for many years. She had her father to blame for that.

At the thought she had cringed. Her father had been the biggest reason for her return. He had not been as able-bodied as he once was when they had first fled Knighton, and over time his health had taken a turn for the worse. The man had been strong and brave, perhaps for her sake rather than his. But age, and failing health, had finally taken its toll.

The days following his death had been grim, and even now she could not truly recall them. She had gone about, doing whatever was necessary to keep herself from thinking. At dawn she had risen, taken her supper, tending to chores throughout the day. Once the sun had set, and after supper was eaten, she had gone to bed and slept. For near a week she had repeated this routine, until the night the letter came to her.

How Gisborne ever managed to get her anything was beyond her comprehension. For if he knew of her whereabouts, surely it was easier to simply ride there and demand she returned rather than plead on parchment. The maid that had attended her had simply said it came from a friend, and to her friend it had come from another. The letters were always well worn, and so it was easy to believe it had changed hands several times.

At first, she had almost thrown it on the fire. That part of her life was over, she could never return. Or could she? With her father gone, so was all that she knew in life as well. Everything else was too new, and she had longed for something familiar. Even as she had read the letter, she had cursed herself. But her mind had been made. She scratched a reply, something so simple that it could not be taken for either good or ill will, and handed it back to her maid. She suspected it would find its way back in the same manner it had come, and sure enough it had. A few weeks time, and another letter had come. Gisborne, had wanted for her to return.

And so she had. Her father's death would remain a secret between her and her servants. She would tell no one else. For if there was ever a desire for her to flee again, she could easily use that to her advantage. Surely God would forgive her for that small lie if it meant her safety.

There was another key to her safety. That was Lyre, a man she had befriended in her time away. She knew that she would need a friend if the time to flee came, but as time passed, and her position with Gisborne had become secure, Marian had done the only thing that was moral. She had sent Lyre on his way. What a fool she had been.

She knew that Gisborne envisioned the same life for them now as he had all that time ago when he had first proposed. Marian was convinced that they would not marry, but had consented in Robin's time of need. At least he was safe, she reasoned. And that was worth more than her life. For, to England, she was just one woman. And Robin, she knew, meant so much more than that to the populace. But it still did not change her thoughts about her situation to the better.

She longed to know of what had happened to Much; the man had accompanied Robin for so long that she was certain Robin would be lost without him. He would not admit it freely, but he cared deeply for Much, as though the man was some sort of a brother. She liked him as well, a smile crossing her lips at the fond memories that crept up into her mind.

Truly, that was her last request. To know what had happened, but she would not ask. She knew that it would betray that Robin and his men were weak if she were to ask. Weak, because Marian knew that Robin could not function without Much, despite how often Robin denied it. And if the sheriff knew Robin was weak, then he would strike, and Robin and his men, as well as Nottinghamshire, would suffer because of it. She would have nothing to say, and so awaited the time when the walk to the gallows would commence.

Yet the morning passed unto day, the very notion confusing her. The sheriff was never late for executions. In fact, he was often early. But as the shaft of light that shot through the measly window changed position, it was clear that whatever was to happen, would not do so today.

Her only visitor during the day had been the jailer, the man leering at her through the bars as he pushed through a small plate with a meager meal. Marian dared not to touch it, seeing the look in his one, good eye. A glare of lust, and it frightened her. She could shake most of whatever she came in contact, but the bars separating them would cause a problem. Not to mention that if she did end up besting the jailer, more questions would arise to support the accusation that she was working with Robin.

It was several long minutes the man stood there, glaring at her, before he lumbered off without so much as a sound. The food was a questionable bit, for if she was to die, why bother in feeding her? Another worry, for she couldn't help but wonder by what fate or fortune her execution had been delayed. Perhaps Guy had been meagerly successful in his quest to divert the sheriff. But if he had done so, why had he not yet come down to speak with her?

She wrapped her arms about her knees, pressing her forehead into them. She had to think, but she knew that no matter how well she did so, it would not bring her the answers she sought. It made her all the more uneasy, to not know what was to happen. And there wasn't anything she could do about it…she had no choice, but to wait.

It had been harder than he expected. His back hurt from the constant stooping, his arms feeling much the same ache from having driving the pick into the rock time after time. More than once he had nicked his fingers, the bitter sting causing him to wince as dust settled into the fresh cuts. Blisters had also begun to form on his hands, and now were almost burning as he touched them gently.

How long he had worked, Much did not know. They had stopped twice during the day, taking in both water and food. Nothing that was lavish, but at the very least it was fresh. No sooner had they finished eating that they had gone back to work. And even though he wanted nothing more than to stop, Eleri had prompted him to continue.

At long last, a guard had come through, had called for them to finish. Much had followed Eleri around, listening to her quiet instructions as they dumped the remaining coal into the bins, and set aside their tools. From there they were led through a series of corridors, each one darker and some even narrower than the one before. By the time they were even halfway through, Much was positively lost. If he ever had to find his way back through there alone, he feared that he would surely disappear.

The last tunnel widened, giving them room to walk in twos and threes rather than single file. Much wasn't sure what to think, coming to a stop as he glanced around the newest of surroundings. Part of him had expected to go back up. After all, he had come so far down it only seemed to be the logical solution. Instead they had been led to a cave. It was wide, spacious, and lit with numerous torches, but it was still a cave. A rat-infested, bat-hoarding, cold and dreary cave.

He shook off the chill, glancing about.. It seemed to have no real opening to the outside, or if it did, it was well hidden in another confusing twisting and turning of tunnels. It was as large…no, larger than Locksley Manor itself. Perhaps larger even than Sherwell's Manor. It was a good thing, too.

Now that he was here, he could see there were many others. Perhaps four times as many, littering the cave in small and large bunches from one end of the cave to the other. Small pits were alit with fires, each one small in nature, and rough, crude bedrolls were spread across the ground. He started, when a hand fell on his shoulder.

"We sleep here," Eleri motioned for him to follow. Numbly he did so, too tired to really protest. Near the wall closest to the tunnel they sat, one of the other workers from their group moving to light their own fire. It wasn't long before the dry timber that was provided caught flame, the sparks dancing in the air. Much moved his hands towards the warmth, trying to chase away the chill.

After a time, a third meal was brought to them. Children, mostly boys, carried around rough pails of water, and baskets of food to each person, giving out even amounts. It was mostly bread, once again, but this time it was near as large as both their earlier meals put together. He ate hungrily, for the first time not really caring that it was so bland of a palette.

"You should sleep, morning comes early," Eleri encouraged him, already moving to stretch out on her own roll. She had long ago removed the cloth that covered her head and face, her hair falling free of its binds and cascading down her shoulders. She had washed, as well, while he had eaten, using the bucket of water to splash her face, and clean her hands. Despite her efforts, her skin was still a faint tinge of ebony.

"Why are we doing this?"

"Because we're told to," she answered simply.

"I mean…I understand why…but why, exactly, are we doing it?"

"People pay money for coal. Some say that coal can burn, that it burns longer than wood. Others say that it is heretic magic, used by witches so they can practice magic."

"Witches?" Much frowned, rubbing his hands together to try and chase away the cold. He winced; he had forgotten about the blisters. "There's no such thing…is there?"

"No," she answered plainly. "But that doesn't matter. Silver does. Gold does. That's all anyone cares about."

"But why, I mean. So Alfred has a coal mine, why not hire workers? Why slaves?"

"Workers cost money, and make unreasonable demands. Mining's dangerous, and no free man would enter unless promised a pretty price. Slaves follow orders without question. There are no negotiations."

"Using Christians as slaves is illegal though…"

"Will you be the one to tell him that?" she wondered curiously.

Much turned to the tunnel that had led them there, disappointed to see it guarded by two men. He could easily take them down, he supposed. After all, he and Robin had more than enough practice battling through unfair odds and coming out successful. But that was with Robin, and Much had a lingering suspicion he would only end up lost.

"Well then," he frowned, turning back. "I gather he already knows."

"I have been here for seven years," she told him quietly, resting her chin on her crossed arms. "I have tried every thing known in my mind to try and escape. I'll spare you the agony and let you know there is no such thing."

"Then you….you weren't always a slave then?"

"I used to be free," she commented quietly. "Most of us once were. It matters not to Alfred. They're all the same."

"Who?"

"Masters," she spat out the word as though it were poison. "Cruel, spineless creatures. They care for nothing and no one."

"That's not true."

"What would you know of masters?" she wondered mockingly, rolling on her back to stare at the ceiling.

"I'll have you know that my master isn't anything like that," Much argued quietly, thinking of Robin. How she could say such things about a man she had never met was downright appalling.

"You speak highly of the man who forces you to slave in mines."

"I am not speaking of Alfred," he ground out. "He is not my master."

"So you were already a servant then? Makes sense; you were already so compliant."

"I was a free man. Actually, I am Lord Much, Earl of Bonchurch, if you must know."

There was a sharp laugh, and Eleri turned to look at him as she chuckled. "Honestly now, I have heard some fine tales spun in my time, but that, by far, is surely the most amusing."

"It is no tale!" he protested, shaking his head.

"You are no lord," she stifled a laugh. "Else you wouldn't be here. And the last time I checked, lords did not have masters."

"I wasn't always a lord, no," he confessed, growing agitated. How could she not understand? "My master granted me freedom, and lands of Bonchurch to be my own."

"And do not your people of Bonchurch miss their lord?"

"Well…no…I didn't actually live there…"

"A lord that does not live at his own manor. Tell me, then, where did you stay?"

"With my master, of course," he started, fumbling as she laughed again. Why did she keep doing that? It was so frustrating.

"I couldn't live there," he tried to explain. "My master and I, we were outlaws…are still outlaws. The sheriff would have us hang if he caught us."

"First a lord, then an outlaw. Next I suppose you will tell me that you are some sort of war hero."

"Well," he started hesitantly, "yes and no. It was Robin, my master. He did save the king's life. But I ran and fetched help, so you could say that it was some of my doing."

"The king?" she snorted, shaking her head. "Your lies are impressive, but I have heard many tales since being here. Perhaps your master had you spin stories for his own amusement, and then mocked you behind your back, but I neither require, nor do I desire, to hear such fallacies."

"I'll have you know that they are not stories," he snuffed. "Robin doesn't even like stories; or songs for that matter. And you're wrong about him. He's a good man."

"Good man? More in likely he's the one's who sold you to Alfred."

"That's not true. I was captured."

"He probably paid the men to make it look like a capture. He probably didn't have the guts to look you in the face when you realized the truth."

"He did no such thing!" he cried. How could she even suggest it? "Robin would risk his life for me."

"Would he?" there was amusement in her voice.

"Of course. He'll come. He'll find me."

"And why would he risk his life to do so, when he can find another servant for a cheap price? He's probably already bought someone. More in likely they're eating your food, sleeping in your bed, right now. "

"He wouldn't," Much argued. "He's Robin Hood."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

He faltered. Obviously the name was wasted on her. While he knew that Robin's name had spread considerably wide, he also knew that it wasn't possibly for everyone to have heard of the man. Especially not if she had been down here for the last seven years.

"It means…" he paused, trying to find the right words to describe it. "It means that he is not like other men."

"No different than all the other masters," she interjected. "They're all the same: arrogant, unfair, and unconcerned with anything that is not relevant to their own comfort."

"Not Robin."

"Will you tell me another lie, say that he's never done wrong by you? That he never has wounded your spirit, or caused you any ill harm?"

"He…" Much came to a pause, thinking it over. There were times, many times that he could recall, one instance or another. Times where Robin had said cruel, harsh words, or had used his misfortune for his own amusement. Not only that, but a few months back, Robin had tried to take his life. Of course, the man couldn't remember anything back then, let alone who he was, and it was near every day for a week that Robin had apologized for almost committing the deed.

"You see," Eleri said with a shrug. "I told you they were all the same."

"Those times do not count," he protested. "He did not mean them."

"And if the bad times mean nothing, how can the good times mean anything?"

For that he had no answer, but he was so positively flustered that he couldn't really even think. How could she say these horrible things about a man she didn't even know? Yet there was some sort of truth behind her words that he could not deny.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he shook his head. No, he would not think like that. Robin had been nothing but kind, and he was a good master, despite what Eleri said. She did not know, could not know anything about him.

"He will come," he stated quietly. And he believed it with all his heart as well.

He hadn't slept. Couldn't have, even if he had wanted to. Part of him was numb with fear, distressed by the idea that the sheriff would once again change his mind and carry through with the original sentence. He had walked through the castle courtyard that morning, jittered at the sight of the gallows being prepared. It wasn't until noon that they had been taken down, shortly after the sheriff made a public announcement about Marian's current fate.

There was a reward in the air as well. For Hood's capture, this time. Gisborne had snorted from the shadows as he watched the man address the gathering crowd. How many times had a reward been offered? None of them worked. They all loved the outlaw too much. Normally the thought irked him, but Guy could hardly care. There was only one person he loved, and that was Marian.

After his discussion with the sheriff, one that had turned out rather poorly, Gisborne had tried to speak with Marian once again. There was still, to this point, no doubt in his mind that she was innocent. She couldn't possibly be helping Hood, despite what the sheriff said. And though he had not secured her release…or even the promise that she would not hang, he had bought her a couple of days. In that time he had plans, all of which consisted of the same thing the more he thought about them.

He would grovel.

Not the most dignified course of action, but it was all he could think of. Aside from that, the sheriff would most likely earn some amusement from his doings. Perhaps enough that he would actually consider Guy's plea to heart. If the man even had a heart…

Time and time again Vaysey had told him he was weak. Marian would counter that argument, saying instead that he was strong. She talked about deeds…deeds he couldn't even think of doing in front of the sheriff for fear of earning disfavor. But he liked to impress Marian, and at times, at times especially when he knew that she was watching, he would do something…kind.

To a peasant, or a beggar…the lower the scoundrel the better. He had even once flipped a shilling to a small boy who had been swindled by a merchant. How Marian had been impressed then. Of course, she did not know that he took the coin from one of his own guards for repayment. The sheriff stiffed him enough; he couldn't afford to be giving money away like Hood.

The thought had been with him on the way to see her. He had even hidden a bit of food, a small flower inside his leather tunic. The dungeons were no place for a lady, and he knew that she would be longing for some pleasantry, no matter how small. Yet as he reached the door that led down there, he was denied access.

"Vaysey's orders," the one guard had answered.

He could have easily gotten through. There were only two of them, both men having been his own lackey's at one time. Yet the one thing that stopped him was the thought of Marian. No doubt if he continued on, Vaysey would have her punished in his stead. He couldn't fathom what worse fate the man could impose than death, but he wasn't willing to find out.

Frustrated, he had turned away. Arguing with the sheriff got him no further, and after a time he found himself here, taking ale in the local tavern. He wasn't a regular customer for their drink. Gisborne knew the castle had its own supply of the finest wine in Nottinghamshire for no cost. But the castle was the last place he wanted to be right now. He couldn't stand to pace there, knowing that he could neither see nor speak with Marian. He couldn't stand knowing that she was down there, locked in a cell without a single comfort in the world.

The sheriff still promised to hang her shortly after the wedding. Which, the man had mocked, would take place inside the jail cell or not at all. Despite how much Guy longed to make her his wife, he could not do so. As her husband it was his duty to ensure her safety, not hand her over the gallows. Yet what other choice did he have?

The more he thought about it, the more he began to worry. With this night drawing to a close, and the faintest hints of the early morning starting to show, Gisborne knew there were but two days until her sentence was to be carried out. Could he really trust her fate in the hands of the sheriff?

He could wait, he mused, until they were to wed. He could use the opportunity as a distraction, barrel out of there with his sword raised high, Marian pulled along behind. There would be guards, he was certain. And stairs…and corridors…and then most likely more guards. He let out a heavy sigh. They would be stopped even before they left the dungeons, and then there was no telling what Vaysey would do. Most likely nothing would happen to him; instead it was once again Marian that the blame would fall on.

The only way to ensure her safety was to take her from there. This created a rash of problems, however. For if he was to free her, it was obvious she could not stay. As Vaysey's right hand man, Gisborne had a lot of promise. He had lands, power…gold. Perhaps one day he would even become sheriff himself if he played his tokens right. But he would not have Marian, and her departure would always cast suspicion onto him.

He could always leave with her. They could marry, live a simple life. But the question of how he would provide for her was another complication. If he left, he would leave his ranks behind. Perhaps another shire would be looking for the services of qualities he so happened to possess. If that was not the case, Gisborne was neither inclined nor determined to find some measly, wretched job that was meant for peasant's hands. And he was selfish.

He did not want to give up his position, his title. As frustrating as it could be at times to be in service to someone like Vaysey, Gisborne knew that the opportunities that were possibly available were grand. He could not leave that behind. Neither could he let Marian die. To let her walk to the gallows, wife or not, was one thing he knew that he would never forgive himself for. But how to save her?

Escaping in a blaze of glory would not be possible. He could go to the guards and claim that the sheriff had given him orders, but it was unlikely they would listen. With the sheriff having informed him in person the first time, they would expect him to do so a second time. Another idea that was out the window.

He finished off what was left in his mug, wincing at the bitter taste. The wine back at the castle was certainly better. How could anyone settle for drinking this…muck? Gisborne frowned, running a hand over his face as he shook his head. He had to concentrate.

If he could not get Marian out overtly, then he would have to do so in secret. He could get to the dungeons easy enough…the problem came when trying to get past the guards without raising an alarm. Then there was the dungeon itself. He did not have the keys, and the jailer, despite how stupid he was, would not hand them over to anyone. The sheriff had last promised him his head if he did so, in regards to the last time Hood and his men had escaped.

Hood….

He grew still as he thought of the man. It seemed so simple that it was almost ridiculous. Gisborne himself was no expert in freeing prisoners. His duties lay with arresting them, and making certain they remained behind bars. Robin Hood, however, had sprung not only himself, but other prisoners, from each and every form of captivity currently known to man.

No…it was ludicrous. He would not ask the man for help. Not only was his pride at stake, but if the sheriff caught wind of Robin rescuing Marian, then there would be no hope for her. And then…he let out another sigh. There was little hope as it was already. The townsfolk had already begun whispering about the lady that would hang, each word grinding deeper and deeper into Guy as the hour drew late.

Again he tried to think of a way into the dungeons, and a way to safety after that, and each time he came to the same result. Robin Hood. It was infuriating. More so because Guy was beginning to realize that it was the obvious solution to the problem he found himself in. But could he do it?

Could he, Guy of Gisborne, sworn enemy to Robin Hood, ask the man for help? And would he help if Gisborne proceeded to demand it of him? He would. That much was obvious. Robin was too prissy to let anyone hang, least of all a woman. He had to be everyone's hero. And if Robin helped in setting Marian free, he no doubt would take the credit for an idea that rightfully belonged to Gisborne. No…he wouldn't allow it.

But would he allow her to die for the sake of his pride? Gisborne bit his lip as he took on another glass of ale. If she did die, then he would never have her. Giving her freedom and sending her on her way until the turmoil settled, there was always a chance. Certainly she would not forget what he had done for her, and would forever be grateful.

There were two days until the hanging. That was if the sheriff didn't change his mind out of pure boredom and carried out the sentence sooner. He could come up with a number of ways to free her in that time. But his mind was clouded with the outlaw, and try as he might, he could not drive the man from his mind. He knew then, that that was it.

There was only one thing that he could do.

TBC