Hello again :)

Becca and DeanParker: Well Robin's mistake has nothing to do with Sarah or any other love interest, you can trust me to have hi miserable until he is reunited w Marian. :- Weather Marian will meet up with Carter and Richard is a secret yet. ;)
Mizco: Yeah poor Robs... He will find out eventually, and he will probably find out before she returns.
Daze: lol, the misery will end... hm good question. But it will end! And it will end happily.
Gatewatcher: lol, are you implying that Marian is a person who tends to ramble a lot? I thought that was Much.. Oh what if it was Much playing mute, that would be fun hehe.
xxCCxx: None of them will die along the way. King Richard is a historical character so if you want to know what happens to him you can just open a history book. ;)
Jess: lol, sorry love... Don't want to get you all stressed up... It will end well, don't you turn into a nervous wreck on me.
LoonyLover: lol, the last two chapters were pretty much finished at the same time. That is why that update was so fast. :p
KeepingAmused: Ah a new reader to this fic, how nice. Glad you liked the Will/Allan, I do adore writing Allan... And there will be more Will/Djaq later on, but a little bit less angsty.
LadyElsii: They will get to see each other again, I'm just tormentning them a bit first hehe.

Thank for the comments! And keep them coming lol.

Chapter 12: The guard's wife

-In which a single arrow seals the fate of many

Melinda Baker was not a beautiful woman, nor was she rich or particularly charming. Her angular features looked nice in profile and echoed her determined personality, but in spite of her smooth skin and Roman nose she was undoubtedly plain. As she splashed her face in the bowl of water she studied the familiar face, frowning as the view got clearer and the ripples faded. In truth this world had more important issues than the state of the frizzy, brown nest that was her hair, but it is a rare woman who has not a single stroke of vanity in her portrait. Melinda was always annoyingly aware of her flaws in the early mornings, even though she wasn't one to whine about it. She grunted over the curls that formed a chaotic halo around her face, tugging the comb though another tangle. The naked sharpness that remained if she tucked them away was even less becoming, and thus she let a few frizzy curls escape the imprisonment as she tied the head cloth around her scalp. She gave her reflection a flippant smile, as if she wanted to say 'I do not care about you', and decidedly splashed the water surface before she rose and walked over to the fireplace. There was a breakfast that had to be cooked and a husband that needed to be sent off to work; indeed she had no time for girlish coquettishness.

A couple of months she had been married and it had been her initiative from the first look to the final bond. When Melinda knew what she wanted she wasn't one to wait patiently and flash her chosen one the occasional coy smile or bashful look. She was strong and determined; a matron-like character long before she was anything close to a matron. If fact, it was often joked that Melinda had been born matron-like, and when her eyes quite unexpectedly fell upon the kind, stuttering young man Thomas Baker he had been left to follow her lead. He did it gladly because Tommy wasn't the most desirable of men and he was notoriously afraid of anything that required initiative. They had formed an odd couple, he soft where she was hard, he shy where she was forward, he cautious where she was bold and curious. People had laughed at them, saying that it was the oddest couple where the cat led the dog by his tail, but what did they know?

Melinda felt a fond smile tug her lips as she let her mind stray to the man she had married, absently stirring the gooey gray porridge as she did so. She heard the familiar rustling as Thomas pulled out the chain-mail from the chest at the edge of the bed, and turned to give him a tender look. It had been Melinda's idea that Tommy should join the Nottingham guard. Marriage was a costly affair and the sheriff hired anyone with his limbs intact, even stuttering paupers. The fact that he had spent the first weeks mainly guarding the ground beneath his feet made little difference as long as it kept the coins coming to their little family. She watched as he took on the heavy garment, his movements clumsy like a bear on skis, and stifled a laughter. Even now he seemed misplaced in it and he looked at her with a slightly forlorn expression in his flat, round face.

"How-w do I look?" he asked cautiously and Melinda noticed that he lingered on the 'w'. It worried her because he only ever stuttered around her if his composure was crumbling; he was nervous out of his wits. Today was the day for the sheriff's celebrations and Thomas had a position next to Sir Guy. She had suspected right from the start that it was some sort of a punishment, even though Tommy hadn't said it out loud, and it had filled her with anger. Sir Guy had frightened him, and if it wasn't because he was a nobleman she would have told him a thing or two about common decency. You had to treat a kind soul like her Tommy right, he wasn't like other people.

"Handsomest soldier I've ever seen," she smiled reassuringly to calm her husband. Even though she knew it wasn't true it was true for her, and it forced a faint smile from Tommy's lips.

"I- I look like a w-walking sledgehammer I do," he answered jokingly. "'n I polished it up and all."

"Ay, a polished sledgehammer," Melinda grinned and filled a wooden bowl with porridge. "Come eat now love, won't have my lad go hungry while them nobles eat venison until their bellies burst open."

"Wouldn't mind s-seeing that," he muttered with a slight tremble in the soft voice.

"Maybe you'll get lucky; you got the best view of all."

Thomas smiled again and took a spoonful of the grey porridge, eating it with great appetite. He wasn't one to complain, her Tommy. When people scorned him for his stuttering he forgave them with a shrug and a smile. They don't know better, Mel. Leave it. He always did what he was told, avoided conflicts at any cost. He would avoid conflicts today as well and tremble like a mouse behind his powerful employers rather than ask to be replaced. Melinda pressed her lips together and suppressed a sigh. She knew that she was overprotective towards her husband but she couldn't help it. In so many ways Thomas was still just a child who choked on his own tongue when he got nervous.

"What will he have you doing, that dark one, Sir Guy of Something?" she finally asked him and sat down on the other side of the table with a bowl of porridge. Most days guarding was all about standing on a spot and shifting weight from one foot to the other, and Tommy shrugged.

"Whatever Gisbourne tells me, I suppose," he answered disheartened.

"I'm sure it will be fine Tommy," Melinda said cheerfully with a slight feeling of regret over bringing it up. "The nobles will be all jolly won't they? All that ale and wine. Perhaps you will get a promotion if you mind your words."

"B-better not s-speak at-t all then," Tommy frowned, instantly even more nervous about the prospects of the day. "Mel, I'm not sure—"

"Tis a job, Tommy! Just a job!" Melinda shook her head. "They may look like a weasel and a pig but I'm sure they neither bite nor soil themselves," she continued and grabbed her husbands hand reassuringly. "You just stand there and look all shiny 'n the day will be over before you know it."

"And then I will come home to you," Thomas said and the chain-mail rustled as he went over to give his wife a kiss goodbye. She felt his lips warm against her cheek and he moved his hand to cautiously untangle one of her stray curls.

"Aye," she smiled in response. "Then you will come home to me."

---

It was the day of the celebrations and the outlaw camp was waking up to a world painted in ice crystals. The winter's snow hadn't come to stay yet, but the mornings were crisp and frosty, giving the rug of brown leaves a decorative white brimming. Robin was filled with energy and Much watched him cautiously. He had been fine these last days. Ever so serene and composed, although a bit on the silent side. The problem was that Much didn't quite believe in it. He knew Robin well enough to know that you never really knew him. It felt like he was putting on a show, and if there was one thing that could make Robin loose his control it was Guy and the sheriff. Much would rather not have him meet with them just yet, but stopping Robin was a bit like stopping a river with a stick. He always found a way around you. The outlaw leader's steps were bouncy and vigorous as they made a little trail through the leaves in the camp.

"This is what we know," he said to his men. "The celebrations will be mainly in the great hall, but there is a speech to he populous planned on the castle yard."

"Ah," Much responded and breathed out a cloud of white smoke that dispersed in the air. "And how do we know this exactly?"

"Because I have asked around," Robin answered patiently. "Now, we can't get into the great hall without jeopardising our lives, but we can make an appearance during the speech."

"Aha," Much said again. "Yes, well that is—that is," that is bloody stupid! "That is a plan I guess. I'm just—exactly why are we doing this master?"

"Well," Robin looked a bit puzzled for a while, as if he didn't have a ready answer. "Well, the people need to know that Robin Hood is still here," he finally continued in his most persuasive voice. "It is a matter of making a stand, Much."

No it's not, Much thought bitterly to himself, it is a matter of getting revenge. You don't have a plan you just want to piss of the sheriff!

"But surely there are better ways to do that," he said out loud. "Making a stand I mean. What are we going to say exactly? 'Welcome back sheriff, just popping by to say we're still planning to rob you'?"

"Why not," Robin grinned. "It is polite enough."

"We are not supposed to be polite!" Much sighed and shook his head. "And I am sorry Robin, but this is a dumb idea. I mean, it really amounts to nothing, does it?"

"What is your problem Much!?" Robin exclaimed, suddenly edgy. "When did you become such a—such a wife?! Where is your sense of fun?"

"I don't have a problem! You have a problem and you just expect us to go along with it. And that is my problem. Because you are my master—and my friend. And I love you."

"Well, just as well now that it seems I will never—" Robin stopped the sentence half way through and gave out a short snorting laughter. "Never mind. I can do this of my own if you prefer to stay here sweeping the floor."

Now that is seems I will never get married, Much finished Robin's sentence in his head. That was the problem, Marian was dead. The sheriff's celebration was just an excuse to rage over the unfairness of the world. Not that Robin would ever admit that. "No that is not my point," Much sighed. "The point is you need to listen to us. You never listen!"

"I do listen!"

"John?" Much called out. "Would you say that Robin listens to us?"

Little John had been sitting silently with the carrier pigeon's cage in his knee and quite resolutely avoided the argument. For some reason the big man had taken a liking to Chuckles, and he had one finger tucked in between the bars, gently stroking the soft chest feathers.

"No," he grunted in response.

"There you go," Much continued addressing Robin. "You don't listen, John says it, I say it. If you listened o us you would notice that."

Robin took a deep breath and sat down on a log, absently chewing on his lip. "Fine," he finally answered in a voice that lacked the former enthusiasm. "We go to Nottingham, but only to listen to what the sheriff has to say. Is that better?"

"Only to listen?"

"Only to listen, nothing else. You have my word."

Much frowned. He still felt uncomfortable taking Robin into Nottingham, but this was a definite improvement to the original plan. In truth he would have to see Guy and the sheriff eventually; they couldn't just hide out in the forest forever. Thus Much reluctantly nodded his approval and choose to believe in Robin's words. In the end he was still the loyal servant and friend, and Robin was still the charismatic leader who wouldn't be subdued by anything. Not even reason.

---

The outlaws had made their way up to the battlement, overlooking the castle yard while remaining hidden behind the crenels. They had an open view over the city from where they sat pressed against the cold stones and Much leaned cautiously out from an opening in the parapet as he took it all in. This was Nottingham; his home, or at least the place where he had been born once upon a time. The angular shapes of the buildings were dull and gray under the thatched roofs and the smoke from the fires lay thick between the houses. This place was so familiar that he had wandered every street, but it had little charm in its current state and he felt no love for it. The buildings were deteriorating and from this view you could see chunks of chalk from the walls like little pools of snow on some of the poorest streets. He had not remembered Nottingham to be like this, all those months away in a foreign land. He had not recalled the musky smell and the sinister silhouette of the castle, like a slumbering giant ready to crush them all. He got an eerie feeling of being watched and moved his eyes to the big building. There was no one there but the thick grey stones and the dark openings of the windows - situated like narrow eyes on the tower. Why did people choose to live in a town like this? Constantly under surveillance of underpaid guards in flimsy chain-mail, sent out like the sheriff's drones to do his bidding.

Much could see the soldiers as well from here, their helmets bobbing up and down like silver pearls moving through the streets, or standing watch leaning on their axes. The guarding occupation's status had plummeted under the sheriff's rule; he hired anyone but only the most desperate would take it. They were drunks and gamblers and scoundrels, or half-wits, which might be even worse. All in all the Nottingham guards were thugs under the protection of the so called law, and people treated them with the same cautious contempt that they showed tavern tricksters or beggars.

Much shifted his attention to Robin and watched him intently as the castle yard filled up with people who came to hear the sheriff's speech. Robin had his bow in a firm grip and his face was hard and grim, the lips pressed together and the eyes a bit wider than usual. His breath came in loud, jerky puffs from his nose, and his posture was to tense that it trembled. Much didn't like it. Much could almost feel the anger surging through his friend's body like a battle drum, and in that moment he knew that it was a mistake to be here. They kept waiting for Robin to return to his old self, to be rational again, to make wise decisions based on reason and calmly accept his loss. Yet Robin failed to find peace. For months he just seemed to be pending between different phases of grief, treating the process like a circle rather than a line with an ending. Perhaps he just needed time, but there was no time. Now they were at this parapet, ready to face the sheriff and Guy for the first time since the Holy Land, and Robin wasn't ready. Much flashed John a worried look and received a sort of dejected shrug in response.

There was a noise of doors opening and the sheriff and Guy materialised from the darkness in the castle, closely followed by a guard who looked odd and uncomfortable. He clung to his weapon like a lifeline and lacked the expression of absolute power that the other guards had. Guy turned around and gave the guard a shuffle, chastising him for some mistake, and the man shied away before he took a position half a step behind Gisbourne.

"That man just can't live without an underdog can he?" Much muttered.

"Quiet Much," Robin hissed through clenched teeth. "I need to hear what the sheriff is saying."

The sheriff threw out his arms as if he tried to embrace the town and grinned happily at the gathered crowd.

"People of Nottingham," his voice echoed across the walls. "This is a day of triumph, a day of celebration! This is a day to rejoice, because I, the Sheriff of Nottingham, am back from the Holy Land. There will be no more chaos, no more doubt in my absence. I am happy to announce that your money, your hard earned tax money, is used well in the war. The king is successful!"

There was a smirk on Sir Guy's lips as the sheriff continued to talk about the glorious war and the magnificent success of King Richard against the Saracens. This was such a scam, such an obvious lie that surely no one could believe it to be true. Yet to the people of this town the sheriff was as close to the king as they got, he was the voice and face of power, and as far as they knew he had no reason to lie about this. Much could see Robin growing tenser as the speech lingered on; his knuckles white as he clenched his hand so tightly around the bow that Much feared it would crack.

"Lady Marian," the sheriff suddenly exclaimed, and Much saw Robin flinch and take a trembling breath to restrain himself. "I am regretful to say, was left behind."

The mood in the scene changed to rapidly and on so many levels that Much scarcely had time to react. Upset voices took over the courtyard, too many to make out any meaningful words, a wild chattering rising and sinking in confused protests that were increasingly loud as the sheriff continued.

"Lady Marian was a fallen woman, a dangerous woman!"

Sir Guy's eyes widened and his mouth fell open in a protest, but it was drowned by the choir of objections from the crowd. Then Much turned his attention to Robin. Chock was painted all over the outlaws' leader's face; the king of the forest was in that moment nothing else than a boy who heard his loved ones name dragged down into the gutter. His limbs were stiff and his body perched like a bird ready for flight, with every single muscle tense like a drawn bow and ready to be released. He put his hand on Robin's arm in a movement that he hoped would be comforting, but as soon as the hairs on the arm touched Much's palm, the entire limb twitched and was pulled away. His fingers only brushed the skin but he had felt the goose bumps and could see the veins bulging over the muscles. The breaths were laboured, fast and sharp as if it took all his power not to scream out loud. It will take one spark now, just one spark--

"She was a woman," the sheriff shouted to be heard over the raging voices. "Who conspired to kill the king!"

Then the string that had held the world together snapped. The crowd's voices rose to a roaring crescendo and Robin sprang up from where he sat, leaped to the top of a crenel and drew his bow. Much shouted an objection but it was drowned by the yells and he could only watch his master take aim and stand as steady as a statue. One by one the people stopped booing and turned towards the new distraction, an archer that they all knew so well but had though dead and gone. Now he stood like a gargoyle, perched up on the wall with his Saracen bow aimed. He was a living legend and the uproar was instantly cowed by his presence, replaced by an air of curious anticipation.

"Robin!" Much exclaimed. "John! Get him down from there. We must leave, now! The guards will come!"

"John will do no such thing," Robin responded in a silky calm voice, terrifyingly cold and detached. "If he does I will jump."

"Oh," Much stuttered nervously. "Ah, right. Why?"

Robin didn't answer; instead he focused all his attention on the sheriff and Guy. The silence was so complete you could hear a needle fall, the faces of the observers cocked up like pale moons towards the archer on the parapet.

"Robin Hood," the sheriff exclaimed. "We really must stop meeting like this, don't you think? To what do I owe this honour?"

"You conspired to kill the king!" Robin yelled. "Do you think I will let you taint Marian's name!? Accuse her of crimes that you committed!? I cannot let you do that sheriff."

"Really?" the sheriff responded as he calmly raised his eyes to the drawn bow. He made a little gesture with his hand and there was a rustling sound as a group of guards started moving. "And what will you do about it? Hm? You can't kill me; that would doom this precious city. Remember? Quite a conundrum isn't it? Heh. No, I really wouldn't want to be in your shoes—oh and are they slippery by any chance?"

Much swallowed and watched the soles of Robin's boots. They were slippery, worn thin by their travels, and it would only take one wrong step and Robin Hood would be smashed against the stone paving. He gave John a look and saw the big man's eyes following the guards who were moving one by one into the tower, getting ready to seize the far too bold outlaws.

"Robin," he said warningly.

"Not now Much," Robin hissed. "Not until I have done this, not until—"

"Robin, don't do this," Much snapped. "The guards are coming, we need to leave! Now!"

"No! Not until I have done this," Robin continued and Much suddenly realised that his friend was smiling. It was a grin full of fangs, his eyes wide and stripped clean of reason. "No, I can't kill you, sheriff!" he yelled, and Much could see his stomach ripple from a restrained laughter. "Not yet. But I can kill your Guy."

"No Robin there is too many people down there!" Much screamed. "You can't with your aim lately—you can't shoot an arrow into a crowd!"

"I have to," Robin laughed silently. Tears streamed down his cheeks and his arms had started to tremble, but he kept his aim. "I have to kill him. I have to! Did you hear what they said?"

"No but it was the sheriff who said it, not Guy—"

In that moment the doors out to the parapet was swung open and a group of guards made their way out towards the outlaws. Much's attention was drawn to the new danger, for a single moment leaving his master. There was a twang as Robin's bow was released down into the castle yard and then John's arm pulled the young man back and swung him over his shoulder.

"Enough of this," the big man grunted. "We leave! Now!"

A sword hit the crenel where Robin had been standing as the outlaws took off in a hazardous flight from the guards, leaping down to a straw roof and landing with a hard thud on the clay ground. They rushed though the deserted town, crossed through houses and down into sheltered yards. Finally they lay pressed tightly under the bridge leading into town and gasped for air, Robin with his bow still clenched in his hand but the rest of his body was limp like a rag doll. There was one arrow less in his quiver, one arrow that crossed the courtyard and pierced a heart. Much opened his mouth to yell at Robin but realised that his friend was crying, his body shaking helplessly as he buried his face in his hands. It had been madness to come here, but Robin already knew that. They were lucky to be alive.

---

"Hood is lucky to be alive," the sheriff mumbled to Guy as the guards came back from the chase with embarrassed expressions in their faces. "That was quite a performance he pulled today, hm? He is getting sloppy!"

"With all respect Sir," Guy sneered. "Hood is always lucky. He nearly killed me today."

"Ah butyou are not dead are you," the sheriff smirked and turned his face to the body that lay lifeless before them. There was a rustling sound from the chain-mail as he tipped over the dead guard to his back and saw the broken arrow like a banner in his chest. "He missed you it seems. Heh. Sloppy, as I said, very—very—sloppy. Who is this by the way?" he asked Guy with a disgusted expression.

"Just a guard," Guy responded dismissively. "Thomas Baker. I placed him here to teach him a lesson."

"Not obedient enough, hm?"

"He talked to his wife while on duty. A minor offence."

"Really? We can't have that. Oh well, he is not out problem now is he?" The sheriff rubbed his hands together flashed his golden tooth in a nasty grin. "Funny how there things work out? Hm?"

There was a shriek from the dispersing crowd and a woman made her way up the stairs. Her face that was red and wrinkled in pain and the hair had escaped the head cloth as she dashed through the yard. The frizzy curls looked like a magpie nest reaching half-way down to her waist and the sheriff wrinkled his nose in discontent.

"That is his wife, I presume?" he whispered to Guy who simply nodded in response. He took a step back as the woman fell down by the dead guard and removed his helmet with her trembling hands. "Anyone odd crow get married these days it seems," the sheriff sighed. "People have the strangest taste."

"Tommy! No!" the woman moaned and her voice broke off into a sob. "Oh Lord, oh lord don't do this to me! Not my Thomas! No! No—no!"

"La-di-da la-di-da, boring," Vaysey whined. "Do make sure you get her away from my stairs Gisbourne, hm? You know I can't stand widows."

"Will do Sir," Guy responded with a sigh as the sheriff disappeared into the castle. It had been a bad day for the sheriff's right-hand man. He had been forced to hear his employer malign the woman he had loved, and indeed still harboured warped emotions for, without being able to talk back. Even in death he failed to protect Marian, as powerless as ever against the sheriff. Then it had all deteriorated by him nearly being killed by one of Hood's arrows and now he stood faced with this pathetic widow. Her grief was loud and ugly when she shut her husband's unseeing eyes and pressed her lips to his, her shoulders shaking with stifled sobs. Then she suddenly straightened her back and closed her hand around the arrow, tugging it out with one fast twitch.

"Champion of the poor," she scoffed. "He put this in his heart! My Tommy did naught to harm him, he wouldn't harm a fly. It isn't right. It isn't right! He was coming home to me!"

"No," Guy agreed. "Life isn't fair, madam."

"Only did 'is job," she responded in a jerky voice, rubbing away the tears with determined motions. There was something eerily familiar about her, a darkness that Guy could recognise because he had felt it in himself. It was a yearning for revenge, hatred so deep within her that it could turn her spirit foul and bitter. For the first time that day he felt a smile tug his lips and he put a comforting hand on the widow's back. These were the people Robin claimed to love, his people, and she hated him with every fibre of her body. Today was a day that Robin Hood had made a quite unexpected enemy.

NEXT: There is a new person in the outlaws' lives, but is it friend or foe?