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No story is the same when told twice, even in a history book.

Robin had a past before the Cooper Order. What if it catches up to him? Would it be a bad thing?


Robin's POV

I 'joined' the Knights of Cooper Order, and for some time traveled with the three companions. The Cooper Order started out small and, in my highest opinion, greatly disadvantaged. Sir Galleth Cooper, I learned, was not a properly knighted sire, though by his many acclimations he certainly seemed to be. He had no mind of strategy or, in some cases, common sense! And half the time the idiotic raccoon would give himself the praise!

It annoyed both me and Hucklebee to no end, but Little John did not seem to mind. Though to be fair, he did not seem to mind much of anything. The brown bear, the time I spent getting to know them, had been a simple mountain man. Little John had been a hard laborer, though he cared little about the small amount of money he received. In fact, when he got it, he either forgot about it or placed it in a pile beside the window of his hut, he didn't even care if it got stolen. He only worked because that was how he spent his days. The only real worry that ever came to his life was when local officials came and demanded his village double their efforts into gathering resources from their caves and the forest. That was when Little John learned that his size alone could keep people from bullying his friends and neighbors, and when he met Galleth he joined him on his quest to form the Order.

Hucklebee was the only one I could have an intelligent conversation with. Having joined Galleth's Order perhaps not even a few hours before myself, Milo Hucklebee was indeed a farmer, but had at least gotten himself educated enough to be considered intelligent. Hucklebee was an incredibly fast runner, able to almost match the speed of one of my arrows. That being said, it was still his speed that was his most valuable asset. All three of them had the same kind of strategy: charge in head first and second guess their actions later.

Yet… It was altogether not a terrible time of my life.

Each of them had moments of redemption.


One such a day, the three of us had taken the night in a tavern. Hucklebee and Little John had taken in conversation with the mole behind the bar. And Galleth… he had gathered the rest of the tavern around him as he told and acted out atop a table about how he had slain thirty-five mongoose soldiers with just one leap using his lance. It may have been the drink loosening my mood but I could not stop my thoughts from spilling into my words.

"Galleth's name shall be synomnous with exasperation, if nothing else." I had traveled with this small band for three weeks, and though we had been able to assist a villager or two, nothing showed me that Galleth was anything more than a braggart. He told stories which held mostly his own perspective, and he took liberties to exaggerate his tales with each retelling. Not that I mind being out of the spotlight. What I do mind is that someone has taken up my 'chivalrous cause' and really only seeks the fame it brings. "That great fool…" I mutter.

"Aye, don't let it get to ya, Robin." Hucklebee comforted. Little John came back with another round for the three of us. "Galleth's grown hearin' grand tales of his ancestors. His greatest wish is to also be among the great legends."

"Galleth… good." Said Little John, taking a seat beside me. I accepted the drink from Hucklebee.

"Tis not his method of gaining fame that worries me." I told them. "It is how he seems to be drawing up images of heroism he has not yet accomplished. I would not mind Galleth taking credit for my own exploits as long as he reworked the tale in way that matches his own skills at the level they really are."

"His pride would be greatly injured should he hear you say that."

The three of us looked Galleth's way. He was swinging his sword around in the air as he was addressing the small crowd around him, oblivious to our discussion.

"Perhaps it is a blow to his pride that would best shrink his swollen head." I spat.

"Robin… upset?"

I sighed and put my glass down. "Nay, Little John. In truth this does suit me better. As Robin Greensleeves I can best escape the enemies of my past, though they may recognize me if our deeds become too well known. In that case, I would not mind it be Galleth taking claim to the exploits."

"But Robin," said Hucklebee, "Galleth is no archer. He cannot claim anything unless it is won at the point of a sword , can he not?"

"Precisely, Hucklebee. Galleth does not know the kind of trouble he will draw to himself. If his imaginings are talked about and his stories retold it will become more difficult to save his hide when at last his fantasy catches up with him." Complaining about Galleth is a common topic among the three of us. While I was more or less forced into joining, Hucklebee and Little John do hold respect for the raccoon knight. "I say again though. If I remain a mere shadow upon the back of the stage for this tale, tis a part I gladly play."

"Unfair." Stated Little John. "Robin… friend. Robin… hero too."

"That's right!" Hucklebee exclaimed putting his glass on the table with a thud. Thankfully, it roused no attention. "Robin, the reason Galleth took you into the Order was to use the name of Robin Hood to rally allies."

I knew that. And now I felt angry because of it! "I know." I stood up and began leaving. "But I did not seek that fame to have my name known! I did it to avenge those wronged, ones that I loved. Correcting the cruelty of this age is not to be taken as a path to glory for one's self! Tis the names of the fallen that should be known. Not the names of those who were merely chosen by fate to struggle on. Take my name, take my story, but I cannot stand that a fool now takes what I have long fought for to use in his game of folly."

Abandoning my comrades in the tavern, I left for our hideout in a terrible mood.


I did not realize exactly what I had said until I was at the river in the woods. "Ah, perhaps tis I that am the fool." Hucklebee and Little John have been taken in by Galleth's fantasy of the future, they have their pasts and know of our world's unfairness. We have all fought side by side on only a few occasions, and within the fire's glow as we rest, they have told their stories. I know why they walk this path. And I am thankful that their tales have taken up most of our time so that I may remain silent. These are immature adventurers, but do they know the true danger?

I think of going back and apologizing for my behavior. But… my head feels heavy and my footing is becoming unsteady. "Ah… Friar Tuck spoke true when he called this consumption an evil to be avoided." I go to the river. I cup my hands and drink the water; it relives me but a little. Even if what I said back at the tavern was the truth, it was not right to focus my anger on Hucklebee and Little John. What's more is that I revealed a little bit of my past to them in that outburst.

That alone is the greatest danger I could expose them to.

I wash away these thoughts and the throbbing in my mind with a drink from the river. And another. And another. I must drown these thoughts back into the depths of my mind. "I am Robin." I say, and repeat again. "I am Robin. I am an archer, I am a raccoon of nobility, I walk my path as a man. I am no other."

I try not to think about it as much as possible, but that doesn't mean I ignore the truth. I'm not as honorable as Hucklebee, Little John and everyone think me to be. My actions were out of revenge for the sheriff killing my family, none of them know that and I haven't the heart to tell them nor-

"Well, well, well." I look up from my thoughts. On instinct I harden my glare before I even identify the spy. It's a weasel. From his clothing I can tell that these are the very scoundrels Galleth led us to this town for. A whole band of these disgusting creatures have been attacking traders and merchants before than can come to town and sell their wares. But these thieves had been hiding and ambushing these travelers on the roads, taking their goods themselves. "Look what has come into our woods, eh? A scrawny, little rat!"

The good sir knows not who he is dealing with.

"I? A rat?" I hold no personal grudge against any rat. But by nature they are known to be quite crude. "A rat is known to take what is not his and squander it. Rob what is neither offered to him nor his to have. I'd say the description far better suits you, sir."

The weasel hissed and snarled at me. "I ain't no rat! You're one ah them knights those ruddy peasants called to do in me an me boys!"

From experience, I know to keep my weapons close to my person at all times. This weasel may be able to see my bow from my shadow in the moonlight, but for convenience and use my satchel for arrows cannot be seen from the front. "Hmph," I laugh from my nose. "And for identifying me I shall grant you a mercy. Leave this village for good, and you will not suffer the blow from my arrows."

The weasel chortled. "Ha ha ha! I call your bluff, ya madcap. You ain't got no arrows."

In a second my bow is in my grip and an arrow is aimed to his head. "I'd say otherwise."

The weasel let out a whistle.

One, two three, four, five, six, seven, eight… and three more in the trees. Hmm, perhaps I will finally have a challenge.

"Take a look, lads!" the head weasel gestured out to me. "This here's on ah them phony knights! Ha, ha! He don't even have a sword!" The rest of the company joined in his mocking laughter. "So what say yee, lads? This one ain't even old enough to shave! Are we bein' taken seriously?"

Had I met this miserable creature before Galleth, I would say he is the most arrogant creature on this earth. How many a foe hath underestimated me and now lie shamed or in the grave? A grin grows beneath my hood. I can kill them all, but it will have to be a straight shot for every time. I lower my arrow for the moment. I'll have to deal with the weasels in the trees first. By eliminating them, I gain my own high ground.

The think that I have lowered my guard, and that I am surrendering. "Hee-hee," the leader gloats, signaling for his men to move in closer. "Force him to sleep, lads. Then we'll take-"

One arrow strikes the leader on the shoulder, with all the others in shock it takes but three seconds shoot the tree in the trees onto the ground. "You were warned." I say to those remaining. One by one they each try to attack me with small clubs, pitch forks, old swords and some even try tree branches. Obviously they are armed with what they have stolen or found on the ground. None can match my arrows.

In just a matter of minutes, all of them on the ground with an arrow in them. I walk up to the leader, who has suffered only the lightest injury. He tries to scramble away, but my foot on his leg prevents him.

"Do not think I do not recognize you….Sir Walter of Weslton."

The weasel's features are already twisted in fear. "How- How'd you know m-my na-na-name?"

"The late-Sheriff of Nottingham once hired you to kill a raccoon. That raccoon dueled with you, and only spared your life when you prayed to the Mother Mary for a second chance." This hired killer is now even lower on the ladder of life than the last time I met him. "You have wasted the chance the Mother gave thee, Sir Weslton. Ye have wasted my mercy."

The weasel gasped, "You're Robin Ho-!"

My arrow pierces his throat. His villainous life is no more.

I do not enjoy killing, but he knew who I was and he would have told. Walter of Weslton had to die to keep my comrades safe. To keep my past from coming to light.

I walk around the bodies, checking for special marks on their clothes that may identify them with a particular enemy. I also search for other money and other valuables that these thieves may have been carrying around with them. As I search I hear a only the slightest of sounds from behind a bush. I turn and reach for my arrows, but too late. One more weasel had escaped my sight, and he cuts the side of my arm with a sword. I grunt from the slice, the weasel lands stirring up the dust of the battlefield.

Rising the sword over his head he cries out, "Sir Waaaalllllllttteeerrrr!" I raise my bow to act as a staff to block. There was no need. Jumping, between me and my attacker comes an armored hand and sword.

"Not this night!" Galleth says to the weasel. He pushes the creature back. Falling back, the sword falls out of the weasel's hand. Hucklebee and Little John also appear, the former helping me to my feet. We all watch as the weasel runs off into the night.

"Robin… hurt." Says Little John.

The cut is small enough for me to cover with my hand, it isn't bad but I best treat it quickly. I furiously point off in the direction the thief ran. "Follow after him! With everything those scoundrels have stolen, they must have a hideout for storing it."

"Robin, we must see to your injury first." Galleth said, looking concerned.

All these bodies lying around us, and these men's greatest concern is a mere slice on my arm. I am too angry to feel touched. "He has seen me! He knows my name. And this could be our one chance to return what was stolen to the villagers." I brush off Hucklebee's hand from my shoulder and ignore his concerned look. "I can treat this myself at our hideout. Go now, quietly, so he does not hear you and I will try to catch up if I can."

I begin walking myself to the campsite, holding my arm to slow the bleeding. The corner of my eyes catches the lingering expressions of my comrades before they give chase to my attacker. Why did they come for me? They were having a too rousing time at the tavern to leave early. I stop in my tracks. I know I have judged these men too harshly. Even though their faults they have what it takes to be worthy heroes in this dark age.

I will think of a suitable apology for them, especially Galleth, when they get back. But I have to have this wound treated before that. "I can't let them know." I remind myself. "They may forgive a killer out of protection. But they will not forgive something this."


A/N Hmm... So Robin has a secret he does not want his new friends knowing.

What could it be?

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