Drake did not care a sliver of what the reason, he just loved staying in the ginormous castle for a holiday. Things were so much different here than at home, especially the way that staff were active twenty-four-seven; it was hellacious trying to get the child into bed for the night. Guy, on the other hand, was resenting every minute of his life here. It was true that these halls held good memories of victories and falling in love with his wife, but more over he felt the looming presence of his boss around every turn. It had been a few years now since he broke free from his marionette strings but they had never gotten too distant. It would only take one event to slip him back into his old and miserable place.

Prince John, though, was a silver lining to the man of black. Somehow he made Gisborne feel secure and right with himself and, dare he say it, maybe even a little bit understood. If it wasn't for the Prince's visit, Guy would have lost his mind here.

Chambermaid Sarah twisted the handkerchief around her palm tightly as she deliberately stepped down the halls. Her skirt bustled against her legs as she made short strokes in anxiety. Sure it was common knowledge that Sir Guy of Gisborne had adopted a mellow theme, but there was no amount of charity that man could ever do to outweigh the bad in her memories. Her and several other employees had sworn to themselves never to abandon the eggshells that had lain across the floor for the past fifteen years. As she entered the library, she hoped to rely on the myth that so long as his wife was present she could be in no danger.

"Sir Guy?" she softly nudged vocally. Gisborne and his son were seated at a tall and slender oak chair against a paper thin window. A colorful page of several inks was opened on his lap as the man glanced up to meet her stare, saying nothing. "I am sorry to inform you that there won't be any more baths this evening. I'm so sorry, but Jen is just too sick and –"

"This is the Sherriff's business, not mine." He simply replied. Her large gulp was unjustified.

"He is still in council with his physician, sire."

"Still?" A small hesitation fell between them, "Alright." She watched as Gisborne snapped his attention back to the story and placed a large hand on the back of his child's head. It was her cue to go. Guy, though, could not immediately return to the comfort he had found minutes before as the door creaked ajar by a few centimeters. With a heavy breath he rocked his weight from the dense seat and handed the book, still opened, to Drake. He paid no mind as he clicked shut the door and returned to the window. Drake, however, had lost interest. His hands were constantly fidgeting to the point where Guy stopped what he was doing and had to ask what was going on. The short boy easily shared his discovery, extending a palm that cushioned a golden carapace that was encrusted with sapphires. The shine was brilliant.

"Where did you get his?" he asked roughly, grabbing his son's wrist as he snatched away the jewelry.

"It was just right here, Daddy. I was gonna put it back, I swear." Drake slid a Bible across the side table to the patriarch of his family. The book had a worn and weary leather cover with a simple cross laid into it with cheap fabric, no doubt belonging to one of the clergymen. Neither he nor the Sherriff would be caught with this. Gisborne gave another glance to his boy before thumbing through the pages. Just before the halfway mark, the paper was stiffened together and refused to turn. The center of these pages had been carved out to create a hiding nook that was stuffed with luxury adornments; chains and jewels dripped out of where the word of God was supposed to be. Only a moment was provided for him to gander inside before the library door was again brought open. Guy's dry-skinned hand forced the cover closed and scooted it away back to the other side before two parishioners made their way inside. Michael Stockham led the party.

"Ah, Guy, Drake. I was not really expecting to see you." He rolled on his heels at the entrance before shuffling into the room. Gisborne felt his throat choking on the proper term to use – Father? Mr. Stockham?

"Sir," was what came out. Guy made sure to send a message in his hand on Drake's back to keep quiet, and it was well received.

"Surely you can understand I just need this, eh?" his father-in-law smiled lightly as his time worn arm extended to the aged Bible. Guy couldn't help but to sniff and cock his head.

"For church purposes I presume?" His words concealed a blade. Michael's facial expression remained unchanged as he brushed up the book and headed out with his silent companion. Drake actively pressed his elbows into his father's knees and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by quite the serious tone.

"Go find your mother and practice your poetry." Dad used his business tone; that was certainly the end of the conversation. The heir to Locksley chewed on his tongue a bit and spun out to go find Lacie without a second thought to anything that had just transpired. Guy envied the fact that Drake was too young to put the pieces together; oh what he wouldn't sacrifice to live in that age of innocence and ignorance. The world was truly too dark a place to live for too long.

Gisborne meandered through winding corridors behind a glimpsed trail of golden robes with professional experience to this tailing mission. Being the shadow of another man is a learned habit that quickly loses its moral vices; neither the answers nor the blood at the end of the scouting could affect someone who had been at it for years. Snippets of Stockham's back would make an appearance at the next bend as Gisborne slyly pursued the curious churchgoer. In this cone of focus the black clad worker lost his awareness of surroundings and felt his heart drop to his intestines in a wall of shame and panic when a hand rested on his back. Fight or flight was no question as, without a second thought, Guy reflexed to the hilt of his sword and turned to defend his life.

Behind him, though, stood a pale and fatigued Sherriff Vesey; Gisborne's jaw cocked to the side whilst his body worked to wash away the adrenaline. A tiny pang of misery surfaced but didn't invade like the habit of before. The Sherriff and him had fallen into a sort of comfort zone as almost equals, which was never in a century what Guy would ever have expected to hear. But, just as unexpectedly, he had clawed himself from a bloody pit of thick mud and despair, a chasm of suicidal wishes and regret, a hole of violence and darkness and drew his flesh up into the sunlight of love and justified pride. He had found a point of happiness in Lacie and his child and stolen away Vesey's underestimations of him. The voodoo of manipulation had been ended. The tiny politician gave a cough before rubbing his neck and speaking.

"Gisborne, you have allotted the troops for Nettlestone, yes?" his question was naked and lacking any motivation whatsoever. Guy screwed up his eyes and analyzed his superior.

"Of course, it's all taken care of. I shall escort them out at dawn… my Lord, with frankness you do not look well at all." Vesey lent a nod and tucked his arms across his crumpled chest, revealing the sore on his neck. It appeared as a fleshy and swollen egg that absorbed curiosity. As Guy extended a hand, the Sherriff swatted it away.

"Don't touch it!" He spat in his usual character. With a huff he stormed off to his chambers to curl up in miserable malaise and, while he strode, Vesey wiped and rubbed and the dark dirt on his fingertips that would not wash away.

Guy scraped the ball of is foot along the stone floor in the realization that he had lost his target. With Lacie, though, it would not be too long before he saw Deacon Stockham again.