Thanks to everyone who reviewed! And to Kegel for the beta :)

Enjoy


Chapter 21: Respite

His voice was quiet, but it echoed easily through the chamber, intermingling with the other sounds that filled the air; the steady drip of water somewhere towards the back, the flickering of the torch on the wall, the scurrying of the rats as they collected forgotten crumbs. He sat in a shallow puddle, not caring or bothering to move, finding the effort too bothersome, and pointless due to the fact there were was mildew and slime everywhere. Half of what could be seen could not be identified, and Guy of Gisborne would rather keep it that way.

Being down here was a drastic change from above. His head hurt, more from the lack of food and water rather than being pummeled by rotten food. And despite how dark and dreary it was, Gisborne considered it a much wanted alternative in comparison to what he had gone through before. There was pain in his neck, his back, legs and arms as well, a result of the crouched position he had been forced to endure. Even now he was not sure if he could fully move or support his weight, and had yet to move from where he had been thrown, save for edging himself up so he could lean against the cold wall.

In his place, as well as the other, large outlaw, two more had been taken. They too had tried to fight, to resist, and just like before, it had little effect. Marian had seen to him…asked after him was more like it, unable to reach him across the gap that separated him. He had tried to keep up his appearance, tried to suggest he was fine, but his voice was sore, his throat dry from the constant screams and yells that had been wrenched free with every bit of food that found its mark.

When the nightly meal came, Gisborne had been none to eager to snatch it all for himself. There was hardly enough for one man, let alone two, and it was through sheer guilt, and prompting on Marian's part, that he had left some for the other outlaw. It still sat where he left it, rats already poking about when they dared to come close. The other, a giant of a man, built like an ox and probably just as strong as one, had not moved like he. He sat opposite of Gisborne, head resting on knees. Asleep, Gisborne assumed, but he didn't dwell on it for too long.

"When we get out of here," he started again, pushing the thoughts from his mind. After all, there were better things to do than dwell on the state of an outlaw. "You and I, we can leave here, we can marry, find somewhere to stay."

"We do not know if we will leave here," Marian answered, her voice was just as quiet. Ever since he had suggested the idea, she had been unsure. Gisborne chose to assume that it was due to their current situation, having been here for days now, Marian yet longer even, and no idea on how they were to escape. The outlaws, who seemed as though they could walk through walls on an average day, proved utterly useless now, grasping for ideas that were not even within reach.

"We will get out of here," he pressed, eyes closing with a sigh. If Hood could find a way out of these situations, then so could he. He just needed more time, time that was not spent trapped at the mercy of the populace. How many times had he been down here, on the other side of these bars? Surely he would think of something, if given the time to do so.

"Even if we do, your duties are to the sheriff. What will you do about that? You cannot just leave."

"The sheriff is no longer my concern," he answered quickly. The betrayal still stung, and he let out a breath. "It seems as though I have been replaced. The sheriff was planning to do so for a time, he has acquired himself a new Master-at-Arms."

"You have been nothing but loyal to him," came the response after a strained silence. She wouldn't understand, she couldn't possibly. Politics were not meant for women, not even those as curious as Marian. His position was not one that was simply for title or status, it meant real power, and to have it stripped away was humiliating and degrading. For common outlaws to be strapped in stockades and be beaten was one thing, but for someone like him to undergo the same treatment, to be fed scraps like a mongrel, and housed with rats and vermin…

But she too, was in much the same position. Perhaps she did understand it a little more than what he gave her credit for. One of the reasons he liked her…no, loved her, was her diligence, her stubbornness. She was not just a pretty girl that let out a smile and flung her hair about her shoulder. If she had words she wasn't afraid for them to be heard, regardless of if it was customary for a woman to speak or not. More than once she had challenged the sheriff directly, an act, had it been done by anyone else, would result in consequences. Yes, her title, as daughter of the previous sheriff, and entitled to the lands of Knighton as the man's only child, gave her permission that others did not have. The thought gave him a new idea, one he didn't hesitate in suggesting.

"Perhaps your father would take us in, give us his blessing. We could live there, so you wouldn't have to be away from him." She'd like that, he knew. Marian had always cared deeply for her father, an attachment that Gisborne neither knew nor ever had. Family was something estranged to him, having lived most of his life without either parent. Yet he had come to understand that family was something important. Perhaps one day he too would be able to experience that emotion, that…attachment.

He was already a father; what was it that kitchen girl had called him? Seth? He had felt nothing for the child, had only agreed to take the baby to the abbey to silence the girl. What had happened had not been planned, it had only been a night of pleasure after a stressful day. Gisborne felt guilty for his actions now, wondering what Marian would think if she ever found out about that truth. True, the kitchen girl had meant nothing to him, but the child had still been his son. Did that prelude to what kind of father he would be once he and Marian had wed?

Hood, he knew, had found the child in the forest, and no doubt had seen it to safety. Curse the man, doing what Guy could not. The man was always the hero, always liked by the others. No one would throw food in that man's direction had he been captured. Save for the guards perhaps. Though Hood did not kill, it did not mean he was against harming others. More than one guard had paid with a concussion, lacerations, even some, an arrow that was well aimed. The thought caused him to smile, dampened only slightly by the coughs from the other outlaw.

"John?" the Saracen woman, housed with Marian, was the one speaking now. Not to him, Gisborne knew, but to the other, large man that shared his cell. There was no response, save for another few coughs.

"What is it?"

The concern in Marian's voice could be easily heard. Gisborne felt a stab of jealously, as well as curiosity. The tone suggested she actually cared for this man, but then it wasn't all that surprising. Marian had an irritating habit of caring for every measly peasant that drew breath. Still, he was envious in the fact that she showed just as much compassion to someone she didn't know as she did to him, the man she was to marry.

"Not good," the other woman whispered, but Guy could hear her easily enough. "Has he eaten?"

It took him a moment to realize that she had been speaking to him. He eyed the man, then the plate of food that was still where it was.

"No, and it doesn't look like he will be," he added, watching as a rat made off with a particularly large bit of dried bread. His stomach growled in protest at this, knowing that the food would have gone to far greater use had he just eaten it like he first planned.

"The water," the Saracen pressed, addressing him still. "He needs to drink."

And what did she expect him to do? "He can get it himself," Gisborne pointed out dryly. For heaven's sake, the man was still awake. Gisborne was just as sore and tired as he was, perhaps more so. The outlaws were used to a life like this, with little food and water, living in rank conditions. If anyone should receive any help or pity, it was him, not this bulky man who just happened to share the cell with him.

"He may be sick with fever. He needs to drink."

"And I'll get whatever he has if I get too close," Gisborne pointed out dryly. "Besides, it'll be a mercy if we let him die in peace. Better than going up there again," he thrust a finger in the air, indicating the town above. It would happen again, Gisborne knew. Another round in the stocks was not something to be looked forward to. Not only that, but if he was to try and find a way out of here, he needed his strength. He couldn't risk catching whatever it was the man had, and on the plus side, it would mean more food for him.

"Guy," Marian's voice was sharp, the same tone she used whenever she was displeased. "You can't just sit there and watch a man die."

Gisborne held his tongue, having wanted to point out that this was no man, but instead an outlaw. The only reason he couldn't bring himself to say so was the simple fact that he too was now an outlaw. He, by no means, considered himself in the same low ranks as these pitiful fools, but the law was still not on his side. He would be running from it, there was no question there, if he was lucky enough to get out of here that was.

"You're the only one who can help him," Marian continued, her tone changing from that sharp demanding one, to the soft pleading one. He could almost imagine her batting her eyes, taking on that girlish expression that he had fallen in love with so long ago. The one he always wanted to please. Marian was not the easiest woman to impress, and normally he jumped at any chance to do so. But did it really have to be this?

With a sigh he pushed himself to his knees, crawling rather than walking to the spot where the meal once had been. The cup was half-filled, the still water showing the crude dust and bits of debris that Gisborne would rather not think about. Carefully he picked it up, edging closer to where the other man sat, having not said a word since their return. Stopping a good few feet away, Gisborne thrust the cup out towards him.

"Here."

There was no way the man couldn't have heard him, but even so there was no sign shown that he had. Gisborne let out a scowl, but said nothing as Marian encouraged him to help. This was not something he was good at; he was no wet nurse, had never assisted anyone in anything other than a brisk walk to the dungeons or out to the gallows. Still he drew himself closer, balancing on one knee as he reached out a hand. A single finger poked the other on the shoulder, and finally drew a response. The outlaw lifted his head, meeting his gaze, a scowl on his own face.

"Leave me be," he wheezed, his voice sounding altogether not that great.

"You need to drink," the Saracen encouraged, her voice louder than it had been before. She addressed Gisborne next, giving out yet another order. "Is he warm?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Gisborne huffed, still holding the cup out.

"Touch him, his forehead, cheeks," the other instructed. "Tell me what you feel."

Touch him? Already he felt too close, holding his breath as much as he could, fearing that he if breathed too deeply he too would be stricken ill. And who would help him then? But Marian was encouraging him, and Gisborne reached out a hand. He cursed the next moment, bringing it back to his mouth. Teeth sunk into the end of the fingers of his leather glove, hand wriggling out of it in the next moment.

"Warm, even for me," he replied, his glove dropping to the floor. Not like it was much use down here anymore, he figured. Since he was there, already touching him, Gisborne figured it could do no further harm to do a little more. He brought the cup all the way to the man's lips, waiting until the other had grasped it between his own trembling fingers. A few sips were taken, then another, and the water was all gone. It had been enough to wet his throat more in likely, nowhere to what was needed for his situation.

Fever and sickness was nothing new in the dungeons. More than one prisoner had fallen to illness before having a chance to swing. Gisborne also knew that it could spread quickly, and pulled away at the thought. There was little he could do for the man, and no matter what Marian said, he did not enjoy the prospect of falling ill himself.

"John? Can you breathe easy? Does it hurt anywhere?" they were ignoring him now, which for Gisborne was fine by all means. He scooted back to the other corner of the cell, arms folded over his chest as he leaned his head back. Some medicines might help him, proper food, rest, staying warm and dry. None of which would be available to them.

"Tired," came the reply. "Just tired."

They were all tired, Gisborne thought miserably, but they weren't all dealing with sickness. He let out a sigh, voicing his own opinion. "If the sheriff wants to keep him alive for his own amusement, he may send someone down to see to him."

Or at least get him out of here, Gisborne thought quietly. If only to keep the others alive for his pleasure. Perhaps he could point that fact out to the jailer when the man made his next round. As stupid as he was, the man might actually fall for the tale, pass word along to the sheriff. Just maybe, the man would be stupid enough to open the door, attempt to take care of the big man himself.

The thought was appealing, knowing that if it did happen, the jailer would be without the guards. He could take on one man himself, even more so one that was not trained in the ways of battle. He would have the keys then, could free Marian. The Saracen could tend to the outlaw while they slipped away. Everyone would be happy, no doubt, and hopefully the sheriff would be keener on chasing Hood's men rather than him and Marian.

Gisborne allowed himself a brief smile, trying to calculate the next time the man would come. He had to be ready, had to sound convincing. And inside he felt the smallest bit of pride swell, the simple fact that he had thought of a plan while the others had not. What would Hood say, he wondered, had the man known that fate of his beloved men now rested in the hands of their enemy?

He could feel his heart pounding, the blood pumping through his veins as his eyes narrowed. For a second his fingers trembled, fighting against the pull, and in the next moment, the arrow was free, flying. A resounding smack sounded through the air as it found its target, embedding itself deep into the wood, a half inch below the arrow above. Without pause Robin readied another arrow, sighting in on the same tree, another half inch below the previous.

There were better ways to use his time, Robin knew. But this was helping to ease his mind. Alleviating some of the stress that had worked its way so deeply into his muscles that his body ached. He hadn't slept well since seeing Much a few nights before. And with his duties as they were, Robin had not had anymore time to slip away. And today was his free day, in which he had no obligations. Despite his want to search for his friend, to resolve some matters that played so heavily on his mind, Robin knew that it would seem far too suspicious had he tried to go down there today.

There was little money he had, and so a trip to the local market seemed out of question, and was even less desirable. There were too many thoughts that occupied him for travel, and there was nothing which interested him as far as buying or trading was concerned. There was always the opportunity to search the grounds, but Robin could not even focus long enough to even start a search for something that might be somewhat useful. So archery it was, although it was doubtful that he needed any practice in honing his skills.

"Why are you shooting a tree?"

There was true curiosity found in the tone of the voice, and Robin turned, allowing himself a smile as he saw the boy there. It was by his voice, more than his looks, that he recognized him. He had been one of the boys who had helped him to find his way. He still stood, a bit away, as if uncertain as to what Robin's response would be.

"I am practicing," he answered simply, lowering his bow.

"Oh," the boy nodded, admitting his true thoughts shortly after, "the other guards, they like to shoot the animals. I thought maybe that was what you were trying to do, cause I've never seen anyone shoot a tree before."

"I only hunt when I need to eat," Robin explained. It was not the first time he had heard of men hunting for sport, and to him it made little sense. A prize deer, or boar, for certain was a good rush of adrenaline to take down, but the meat was always eaten afterwards. Not left to limp away, injured and withering in the forest as it died.

"My father says I'll learn how to do that one day, use a bow, I mean. And a sword…but not until I'm older."

"Your father?" This was a surprise. He had simply figured all the children here were orphans, or that they had been snatched away from their parents when they were not looking. None of the men he had worked with had spoken of any families, so the thought had never occurred to him.

"He's one of the guards," the boy explained quietly. "I'll be a guard one day; when I get older. He says I can be on the perimeter, so that way I won't have to go down into the mines at all."

Robin smiled, but inside he felt cold. The child spoke as though it would be a great honor, and all Robin could think of was the fact that the boy shouldn't even be here in the first place. Already he could see how pale the boy was, from the lack of sun, of having to work so long below the ground. There were smudges on his face, traces of the dust that clung to his skin to show what his true nature was.

"What is your name?"

The boy hesitated, and then figured perhaps it would not hurt to say. "Rhodri."

"That's Welsh, isn't it?" They were not too far from Wales, Robin knew, but at the same time it was surprising. Then he supposed it could mean nothing, for Welsh and English seemed to intermingle more often than not, and names were passed around from one generation to the other. Rhodri shrugged in response, but said nothing. Robin pursed his lips, moving to collect the earlier arrows he had fired.

"No work for you today either?"

Rhodri shook his head, "Though I get bored, with nothing really to do."

"There are other children, you could always start some sort of game," Robin suggested, hoping that at least they still had that one simple pleasure.

"We don't play much," he confessed, coming a few steps closer. "I'm almost eight now."

"Too old for games then?"

There was a shrug, a bit of a smile and Robin laughed. "Then you probably wouldn't want to play a game with me?"

"You're too old to play," Rhodri pointed out quickly, then blushed as Robin laughed. He had yet to hear anyone call him old, in fact, most of the time he was referred to as young, by others who had seen many more years than he. Yet to a child, Robin figured that he was indeed old.

"You're never too old for games," he encouraged the boy, passing his bow to his other hand. "We could have a contest, a game of skills, but of course you'd have to learn how to shoot first."

"Really?" Rhodri's answer was rushed, the excitement easily noted.

"Of course, I'll understand if you're too old for it-"

"No," the boy shook his head quickly, "I mean…if you really want to, I guess I will…"

Robin smiled, holding out the weapon to one side. Carefully, cautiously, Rhodri edged forward, hand reaching out for it. His fingers could close around the wood just barely, fingertips meeting his palm as he took it. Robin motioned him a step forward, hands resting on the boy's shoulder as he carefully set him up.

The first few times were without an arrow, showing Rhodri how to stand, and getting him accustomed to the feel of the pull of the string. He was quite strong for his age, attributed no doubt to the work he had done in the mines. In fact he could pull the string back further than what Robin had been able to do at his age with a simple, smaller bow. It was not as far as the boy could possibly pull it, his arm shaking with the effort to hold it where it was. Even had he been able to do it, it still would have not been drawn to full extension, his arm span simply too short.

Rhodri was attentive, a good listener, and equally surprised when Robin notched the first arrow for him. He helped him to steady the bow, taught him how to aim, and his first arrow shot through the air. It fell short of the tree he had been aiming for by a good few yards, the sour expression evident on his face, but Robin allowed himself to laugh.

"Not bad," he was already moving to pull out another arrow, handing it this time to the boy.

"I missed," Rhodri replied bitterly, attempting to restring the new arrow.

"You do not wish to know where my first arrow went," Robin encouraged him, fingers moving to help him ready once more. "It takes some practice, but it is worth it in the end."

The second attempt was better than the first, the next few just as good. Only one made it close to the tree, nicking the bottom and ricocheting off into some undergrowth. Robin knew it was time to stop then, Rhodri having difficulty on holding the bow still. There was a bit of protest from him, but Robin was quick in assuring him they would try more later. Even as tired as he was, Rhodri still raced him to the forest's edge, collecting the forgotten arrows and placing them back into the quiver.

"Had you your own bow, you would have done a lot better," Robin explained to him later.

They were sitting just inside the trees, Rhodri following despite his observations that coming here was an odd thing to do when a warm manor was but a few hundred feet away. Robin had simply explained that he wanted fresh air, not bothering to say he felt more at home here than inside.

"Do you think I could get my own?"

Robin hesitated before shaking his head. "I do not think Alfred would approve." Teaching the boy how to shoot was one thing, providing him with his own weaponry would no doubt garner ill looks. At the fallen expression Robin smiled, giving him some encouragement.

"Some day you'll have your own. Until then, you're welcome to use mine whenever we have the time."

This seemed to brighten his expression, but Rhodri was also glancing around at the fading light. "I should go, there is a curfew."

"Then go," Robin nodded towards him. He knew the boy did not want to leave, but Robin also knew that Rhodri would only find himself in more trouble should he try and stay. It would also soon be time for him to try and sleep. There was another early day for him in the morning, and Robin would need his strength. Tomorrow he would try and slip away, follow the mines again, and try to find Much. Somehow they had to figure out a way in which they could communicate longer than a few measly minutes.

With a sigh he pushed himself to his feet, taking the same path Rhodri had a few moments earlier. He passed through the open door, rounding the hall and coming to a stop as he almost ran into another. The man in front of him scowled, but then put on a smug grin as he stepped back.

"What are you, a nursemaid now?"

Robin ignored the jibe, moving to go around him, but the man blocked off his path.

"What I don't get is that you offer to go into the mines without any more pay, and then you play with the children. What are you up to?"

"Minding my own business," Robin answered, unamused. "As should you be doing."

"Nothing goes on here that I don't know about. Other than Alfred, I run this place, I hope you understand this."

Latimer held every pompous notion described by some of the other guards. He was taller, and bigger than Robin, though not by much. Sandy colored-hair, lined with dirt and grease adorned his face, coming to a stop just below his chin which jutted out at an odd angle. He had seen battle before, or perhaps experienced an unfortunate incident in the mine. Though that was not likely, from what he had heard, neither of Alfred's henchmen had set foot in the dastardly place.

"So I spent my time with a child," Robin shrugged his shoulders, the irritation clear in his voice. "Would you rather prefer I cause ruckus in here?" he tilted his head to the common room, which was overwrought with yells and boisterous laughter. The latest shipment of fresh ale had come in, and no one had wasted time in indulging.

Robin could see Latimer stiffen at his comment, his lips tight as he grumbled something out. His next words were clearer, the mocking tone easy to hear. "Perhaps we'll reduce you to the child's wage, have you work for your food and bed if you so like to spend time with them."

He was trying to provoke a response, but Robin would not allow him the satisfaction. Instead he let out a smile, taking on the same mocking tone. "I'm sure Master Alfred will listen to your request, as compelling as it is."

Favorite or no favorite, Robin could guess well enough that Alfred would be irritated to overhear such a petty request. There were more important things to worry about, and bringing up something such as this triviality would not be the best course of action for remaining in favor. At Latimer's sour expression, Robin knew he had been correct in that assumption. He gave the other a short bow, moving by him this time unhindered.

Even so he could feel the other man watching him, and he was careful to make the mental note to take more caution in his future endeavors. No doubt he would be watched closely, for a personal reason rather than anything real. Robin could not give the other man even the smallest of reasons to suspect him. It appeared that his mission to search the area would have to wait a little longer, until he was certain it was safe.

TBC