Disclaimer: I don't own anything! Robin of Sherwood characters belong to Richard Carpenter and Anglia TV. Lord of The Rings characters belong to Tolkein's estate. I'm not making any money from this. All characters will be returned with only minor contusions.
Summary: takes place during the Nottingham archery contest. A brief note, this takes pace in transit to Lothlòrien, and so Gandalf has fallen into shadow, so that's why they're stuck there. Thank you to all the people who have reviewed this, I never thought that it would be so popular. I'm sorry that it has taken so long for this chapter, but I recently started my A-levels, so college has taken over!The Archer and the Greenleaf.
Chapter 2.
"You ain't goin' nowhere lad. You're stayin' here and that's final. A tournament like this one is no place for a child." John baritone rang clear through the evening mist of the forest, tinged with annoyance and perhaps some sympathy for the 'boy'.
Frodo glared at the three men in front of him. John, who was easily twice his height refused to believe that he was an adult, or even old enough to accompany the others to the tournament. The one called Will Scarlet was perched on a tree stump twirling a knife in his hands and watching the proceedings with an intensity similar to Aragorns. Their leader, Robin, was still trying to make sense of the whole situation. He was being immensely fair, Frodo had to admit, but that was getting him no closer to the tournament, and the possibility that his companions were there.
"How many times do I have to explain to you that I am not a child? I'm easily older than any of you, and would a child carry something like this?" He drew Sting from beneath his cloak, where he had kept it hidden from fear of it being stolen. That fear was still present, but he needed to prove to these people that he was capable of looking after himself.
The look of shock from Robin spoke volumes, and John's eyes narrowed. Will merely looked around and drew his own sword.
"How do we know you ain't just stolen that? Anyone can carry a sword, but can you use it?" and without provocation he lunged at Frodo, who thankfully blocked each blow, and struck a couple himself.
The clash of metal on metal bought Robin out of his reverie, and he broke up the sparring. "He may look young, but he can handle himself. We don't have the time to discuss this further. He comes with us." And with that he stalked off into the forest.
John and Will looked at each other, then at Frodo, who they both clapped on the back and ushered towards the fire.
~~~~~~~
While Frodo is introduced to the rest of the Outlaws, their leader is pondering his own fate, and that of the stranger. Without realising where he is going, he finds himself once more in the presence of Herne the Hunter. The ancient forest God looked down on his chosen.
"Your spirit is troubled at the coming of strangers. Know that when those who seek the arrow come close to triumph, these new allies will be at your side."
Robin looked confused. "What allies? The only stranger who has shown his face appears no more than a child. What good can that be to us, especially if all are like him?"
Herne regarded him with patience that only a being like he could ever achieve. "Those who are bound by the destruction of evil are many in their kinds. You will find allies who will be of use, as they are driven to the same purpose as you. In time they will reveal themselves." With that he turned and faded into the mists that gathered on the eve of Beltane.
"What do you mean? Who is bound to the destruction of evil?" Kicking a branch on the ground, Robin made his way back to the camp, trying to understand what he was to do, and trying to work out who the other allies would be.
~~~~~~
The morning of the tournament dawned clear over Nottingham Castle, and for those lucky enough not to have to dwell in the cells, the air was crisp. For those who did dwell in such cells though, the morning was as dull and as stuffy. For Legolas, this was not a good thing, and he made everyone perfectly aware of that fact.
"Aragorn, how can I possibly expect to win this contest if they insist on keeping us in here. I need some air."
Gimli looked on in amusement, while the Hobbits sat and complained about the lack of food.
Time passed, and apart from the incessant whining from the old man about his rat, all was peaceful. Then the Sheriff arrived.
"All of you, out." He barked, ordering some of the guards with him to help the Fellowship out. You'll get your weapons back if your friend does well." And left them at the mercy of the guards.
Legolas stood still, refusing to move. "Wait!" he called out after the Sheriff, who turned back. "You promised that we would receive our weapons back before the contest. I will not draw my bow if you refuse to honour that promise."
The Sheriff snarled, his patience tested to its limits already. He was loath to return weapons to such men, but he needed this stranger to shoot for him, "Fine." He gestured at one of the guards. "Give them their weapons, but if one of them makes a wrong move, kill the lot of them." Then stalked back to his rooms.
The guards looked around nervously, and then handed the weapons back to the Fellowship, who all inspected their blades carefully. They could find nothing wrong, so swords were re-sheathed, and quivers re-hung on backs, and silently they followed the guards.
They were led outside, to the yard at the centre of the castle, which would serve as the shooting range. Peddlers were already setting up their wares, and one such group was busier than others.
~~~~~~~~
"Hurry up lad, we've got to get them bows up there before the guards start pokin' round." Frodo was exhausted. The outlaws' plan was crazy in his mind, but he had to go through with it to help his friends. He hauled up the last barrel that held various pieces of weaponry, and sat down, copying John in pulling down his hat and dozing.
~~~~~~~
Legolas was entered into the competition by an elderly scribe who needed several chances to get his name right, and was then taken to the side, and had the 'rules' explained to him by Guy of Gisburne.
"You will win this contest, or you will suffer the consequences. I do not care what it takes to win, but you will do so. My Lord paid for Flambert to shoot here, and if you fail in his place, there will be more trouble than you can imagine."
"Are you threatening me, my Lord?" Legolas retorted, a scathing emphasis placed on Gisburnes title. "As I recall, it would be your fault that I am forced to shoot here. Both because you cannot tell royalty from commoners, and because you are incapable of controlling a horse." He maintained his scathing tone of voice, having realised that the higher classes refused to pay attention to anything else.
Gisburne silently fumed. "I mean what I said, should you lose, you cannot imagine the trouble I will cause."
Legolas just grinned. "I can imagine a lot of trouble my lord, now if you would excuse me, I wish to adjust my bow and check on my arrow supply." And with that he gave a mock bow walked off towards the rest of the Fellowship.
~~~~~~~
The morning passed without any great event, some drunken revellers were thrown out of the grounds, and everyone moved out of the way when Baron de Belleme arrived, accompanied by a sole rider dressed in black, who swiftly made his way over to the entry clerk, while the Baron made his way over to the sheltered area where the Sheriff and his brother sat, with Gisburne standing at his masters side.
The Baron nodded at the two men, completely ignoring Gisburne. The Sheriff greeted him, while the Abbott glared at him, making no attempt to hide his disdain for the Baron.
A servant passed a goblet of wine to the black-clad Baron, who inquired on the nature of the prize. The Sheriff gestured and the same servant brought over a finely carved wooden box, and handed it to the Sheriff, who took it and dismissed the servant.
He opened the box and held it before the Baron, whose eyes went wide at the sight of the large silver arrow.
"Hernes' Arrow. Some pathetic Pagan symbol we retrieved after that rebellion in Loxley." He took a mouthful and regarded the Barons look. "50 gold pieces that my man wins." He held out a small leather bag of coins, then put it on the table in-between the two men.
The Baron considered for a minute, "I have heard that your man was injured, who shoots for you now?"
"A stranger Baron, he comes from a group Gisburne took prisoner last night, but claims to be royalty. He shoots for his and his friends freedom."
"I would like to meet this man, and I say 30 gold pieces that my man will win this day." And he too produced a small bag, which was placed on the table.
The Sheriff turned to Gisburne, "Bring that archer over here."
"Yes my lord." And he turned swiftly on his heels and made is way over to where the Fellowship were being watched.
The small group was heavily guarded, and they sat in near silence. They had been given food and water, but the Hobbits, in particular Merry, were still complaining of hunger, and Sam was worrying over the location of Frodo.
"Well where can 'e be Strider? What with 'im 'aving the ring, he could be in all kinds o' danger."
Aragorn looked at the Hobbit, his face full of worry, "I'm sure Frodo will be fine. We'll head back to the forest where we got split up and look for him when we're free."
"You would be best advised to avoid the forest, lest you are caught poaching again, peasant." Gisburne sneered, having arrived without being noticed.
Unfortunately, Aragorn took the bait and stood, "I am not a peasant. I'm of more noble blood than you could ever hope to be."
That earned him a backhand from Gisburnes' mailed hand, which sent him flying to the floor. "If I say you're a peasant then you bloody well are one. And a peasant does not talk back to his lord. Do you understand me?" he practically screamed, grabbing the attention of practically the entire courtyard.
Aragorn merely stood, and spat a small amount of blood from his mouth, before turning and talking to Boromir.
"I said, do you understand me?" repeated Gisburne, who reached out to grab Aragorns shoulder.
The ranger turned swiftly, and grabbed Gisburnes arm, and quickly had him in an arm lock. The multitude of guards reacted in kind, pointing their crossbows at the group. The Fellowship knew better than to make any attempt to retaliate, and the most aggressive move was Boromirs' hand moving to his sword hilt.
"I don't normally throw my weight around like this, but you, are the lowest form of scum I have ever encountered. Where I come from, even peasants have rights, and we certainly don't go round abusing our rank. You owe Legolas a lot, if you were my subject, you'd be shooting in this tournament. So don't try treating us like scum, or he won't shoot. Understand me?" His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the menace in it left no doubt that he could do nasty things and would have no problems doing so.
Gisburne swallowed, and tried to shift his weight, only to find that the smaller man had the advantage. "Yes, now let me go. The Sheriff wishes to introduce the archer to the Baron de Belleme."
Aragorn hefted Gisburne into a standing position. "Fine." Then returned to talking with Boromir and Gimli.
Legolas stood; his bow and quiver in hand. "Someone wanted to see me?"
"Yes, if you would follow me." The Elf followed as Gisburne made his way over to the small pavilion.
Legolas paused as they approached, sensing that something was amiss. "There is evil here, I sense a shadow present."
Gisburne looked confused for a moment, and then noticed the Baron, his gloved hands twirling the inverted pentagram that he wore in place of the normal crucifix. "Ah, the Baron, yes, well, strange things happened to him while in the Holy Lands, he worships the Devil, or at least that's what everyone says. I wouldn't worry though, unless you anger him."
The Sheriff looked up when he heard someone speak, and beckoned the two forward. Gisburne resumed his place behind de Rainault, while Legolas bowed, straightened and stared intently at the Baron. There was something about him that Legolas couldn't place, an evil intent that shook him. He hadn't been in the presence of something so dark since he left his home in Mirkwood many months earlier.
The two stared at each other for a few minutes, until the Baron broke the silence. "You have a fine archer here. I can only hope he is as good as you say he is, for your sake."
~~~~~~
AN: Well, I've split this chapter because I'm having problems writing the archery contest, I needed to do some characterisation, and Simon de Belleme insisted I give him some time, before he turns into a nutcase.
Before anyone has a go at my comments about 'Pathetic Pagan symbols', it's a paraphrase of a quote from the episode this is based off. I mean no offence to Pagans.
And if Aragorn is slightly OOC, I apologise, I needed Gisburne to be a bastard for eventual plot development.
As always, I cherish reviews, so good or bad, please, hit the purple button!
Summary: takes place during the Nottingham archery contest. A brief note, this takes pace in transit to Lothlòrien, and so Gandalf has fallen into shadow, so that's why they're stuck there. Thank you to all the people who have reviewed this, I never thought that it would be so popular. I'm sorry that it has taken so long for this chapter, but I recently started my A-levels, so college has taken over!
Chapter 2.
"You ain't goin' nowhere lad. You're stayin' here and that's final. A tournament like this one is no place for a child." John baritone rang clear through the evening mist of the forest, tinged with annoyance and perhaps some sympathy for the 'boy'.
Frodo glared at the three men in front of him. John, who was easily twice his height refused to believe that he was an adult, or even old enough to accompany the others to the tournament. The one called Will Scarlet was perched on a tree stump twirling a knife in his hands and watching the proceedings with an intensity similar to Aragorns. Their leader, Robin, was still trying to make sense of the whole situation. He was being immensely fair, Frodo had to admit, but that was getting him no closer to the tournament, and the possibility that his companions were there.
"How many times do I have to explain to you that I am not a child? I'm easily older than any of you, and would a child carry something like this?" He drew Sting from beneath his cloak, where he had kept it hidden from fear of it being stolen. That fear was still present, but he needed to prove to these people that he was capable of looking after himself.
The look of shock from Robin spoke volumes, and John's eyes narrowed. Will merely looked around and drew his own sword.
"How do we know you ain't just stolen that? Anyone can carry a sword, but can you use it?" and without provocation he lunged at Frodo, who thankfully blocked each blow, and struck a couple himself.
The clash of metal on metal bought Robin out of his reverie, and he broke up the sparring. "He may look young, but he can handle himself. We don't have the time to discuss this further. He comes with us." And with that he stalked off into the forest.
John and Will looked at each other, then at Frodo, who they both clapped on the back and ushered towards the fire.
While Frodo is introduced to the rest of the Outlaws, their leader is pondering his own fate, and that of the stranger. Without realising where he is going, he finds himself once more in the presence of Herne the Hunter. The ancient forest God looked down on his chosen.
"Your spirit is troubled at the coming of strangers. Know that when those who seek the arrow come close to triumph, these new allies will be at your side."
Robin looked confused. "What allies? The only stranger who has shown his face appears no more than a child. What good can that be to us, especially if all are like him?"
Herne regarded him with patience that only a being like he could ever achieve. "Those who are bound by the destruction of evil are many in their kinds. You will find allies who will be of use, as they are driven to the same purpose as you. In time they will reveal themselves." With that he turned and faded into the mists that gathered on the eve of Beltane.
"What do you mean? Who is bound to the destruction of evil?" Kicking a branch on the ground, Robin made his way back to the camp, trying to understand what he was to do, and trying to work out who the other allies would be.
The morning of the tournament dawned clear over Nottingham Castle, and for those lucky enough not to have to dwell in the cells, the air was crisp. For those who did dwell in such cells though, the morning was as dull and as stuffy. For Legolas, this was not a good thing, and he made everyone perfectly aware of that fact.
"Aragorn, how can I possibly expect to win this contest if they insist on keeping us in here. I need some air."
Gimli looked on in amusement, while the Hobbits sat and complained about the lack of food.
Time passed, and apart from the incessant whining from the old man about his rat, all was peaceful. Then the Sheriff arrived.
"All of you, out." He barked, ordering some of the guards with him to help the Fellowship out. You'll get your weapons back if your friend does well." And left them at the mercy of the guards.
Legolas stood still, refusing to move. "Wait!" he called out after the Sheriff, who turned back. "You promised that we would receive our weapons back before the contest. I will not draw my bow if you refuse to honour that promise."
The Sheriff snarled, his patience tested to its limits already. He was loath to return weapons to such men, but he needed this stranger to shoot for him, "Fine." He gestured at one of the guards. "Give them their weapons, but if one of them makes a wrong move, kill the lot of them." Then stalked back to his rooms.
The guards looked around nervously, and then handed the weapons back to the Fellowship, who all inspected their blades carefully. They could find nothing wrong, so swords were re-sheathed, and quivers re-hung on backs, and silently they followed the guards.
They were led outside, to the yard at the centre of the castle, which would serve as the shooting range. Peddlers were already setting up their wares, and one such group was busier than others.
"Hurry up lad, we've got to get them bows up there before the guards start pokin' round." Frodo was exhausted. The outlaws' plan was crazy in his mind, but he had to go through with it to help his friends. He hauled up the last barrel that held various pieces of weaponry, and sat down, copying John in pulling down his hat and dozing.
Legolas was entered into the competition by an elderly scribe who needed several chances to get his name right, and was then taken to the side, and had the 'rules' explained to him by Guy of Gisburne.
"You will win this contest, or you will suffer the consequences. I do not care what it takes to win, but you will do so. My Lord paid for Flambert to shoot here, and if you fail in his place, there will be more trouble than you can imagine."
"Are you threatening me, my Lord?" Legolas retorted, a scathing emphasis placed on Gisburnes title. "As I recall, it would be your fault that I am forced to shoot here. Both because you cannot tell royalty from commoners, and because you are incapable of controlling a horse." He maintained his scathing tone of voice, having realised that the higher classes refused to pay attention to anything else.
Gisburne silently fumed. "I mean what I said, should you lose, you cannot imagine the trouble I will cause."
Legolas just grinned. "I can imagine a lot of trouble my lord, now if you would excuse me, I wish to adjust my bow and check on my arrow supply." And with that he gave a mock bow walked off towards the rest of the Fellowship.
The morning passed without any great event, some drunken revellers were thrown out of the grounds, and everyone moved out of the way when Baron de Belleme arrived, accompanied by a sole rider dressed in black, who swiftly made his way over to the entry clerk, while the Baron made his way over to the sheltered area where the Sheriff and his brother sat, with Gisburne standing at his masters side.
The Baron nodded at the two men, completely ignoring Gisburne. The Sheriff greeted him, while the Abbott glared at him, making no attempt to hide his disdain for the Baron.
A servant passed a goblet of wine to the black-clad Baron, who inquired on the nature of the prize. The Sheriff gestured and the same servant brought over a finely carved wooden box, and handed it to the Sheriff, who took it and dismissed the servant.
He opened the box and held it before the Baron, whose eyes went wide at the sight of the large silver arrow.
"Hernes' Arrow. Some pathetic Pagan symbol we retrieved after that rebellion in Loxley." He took a mouthful and regarded the Barons look. "50 gold pieces that my man wins." He held out a small leather bag of coins, then put it on the table in-between the two men.
The Baron considered for a minute, "I have heard that your man was injured, who shoots for you now?"
"A stranger Baron, he comes from a group Gisburne took prisoner last night, but claims to be royalty. He shoots for his and his friends freedom."
"I would like to meet this man, and I say 30 gold pieces that my man will win this day." And he too produced a small bag, which was placed on the table.
The Sheriff turned to Gisburne, "Bring that archer over here."
"Yes my lord." And he turned swiftly on his heels and made is way over to where the Fellowship were being watched.
The small group was heavily guarded, and they sat in near silence. They had been given food and water, but the Hobbits, in particular Merry, were still complaining of hunger, and Sam was worrying over the location of Frodo.
"Well where can 'e be Strider? What with 'im 'aving the ring, he could be in all kinds o' danger."
Aragorn looked at the Hobbit, his face full of worry, "I'm sure Frodo will be fine. We'll head back to the forest where we got split up and look for him when we're free."
"You would be best advised to avoid the forest, lest you are caught poaching again, peasant." Gisburne sneered, having arrived without being noticed.
Unfortunately, Aragorn took the bait and stood, "I am not a peasant. I'm of more noble blood than you could ever hope to be."
That earned him a backhand from Gisburnes' mailed hand, which sent him flying to the floor. "If I say you're a peasant then you bloody well are one. And a peasant does not talk back to his lord. Do you understand me?" he practically screamed, grabbing the attention of practically the entire courtyard.
Aragorn merely stood, and spat a small amount of blood from his mouth, before turning and talking to Boromir.
"I said, do you understand me?" repeated Gisburne, who reached out to grab Aragorns shoulder.
The ranger turned swiftly, and grabbed Gisburnes arm, and quickly had him in an arm lock. The multitude of guards reacted in kind, pointing their crossbows at the group. The Fellowship knew better than to make any attempt to retaliate, and the most aggressive move was Boromirs' hand moving to his sword hilt.
"I don't normally throw my weight around like this, but you, are the lowest form of scum I have ever encountered. Where I come from, even peasants have rights, and we certainly don't go round abusing our rank. You owe Legolas a lot, if you were my subject, you'd be shooting in this tournament. So don't try treating us like scum, or he won't shoot. Understand me?" His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the menace in it left no doubt that he could do nasty things and would have no problems doing so.
Gisburne swallowed, and tried to shift his weight, only to find that the smaller man had the advantage. "Yes, now let me go. The Sheriff wishes to introduce the archer to the Baron de Belleme."
Aragorn hefted Gisburne into a standing position. "Fine." Then returned to talking with Boromir and Gimli.
Legolas stood; his bow and quiver in hand. "Someone wanted to see me?"
"Yes, if you would follow me." The Elf followed as Gisburne made his way over to the small pavilion.
Legolas paused as they approached, sensing that something was amiss. "There is evil here, I sense a shadow present."
Gisburne looked confused for a moment, and then noticed the Baron, his gloved hands twirling the inverted pentagram that he wore in place of the normal crucifix. "Ah, the Baron, yes, well, strange things happened to him while in the Holy Lands, he worships the Devil, or at least that's what everyone says. I wouldn't worry though, unless you anger him."
The Sheriff looked up when he heard someone speak, and beckoned the two forward. Gisburne resumed his place behind de Rainault, while Legolas bowed, straightened and stared intently at the Baron. There was something about him that Legolas couldn't place, an evil intent that shook him. He hadn't been in the presence of something so dark since he left his home in Mirkwood many months earlier.
The two stared at each other for a few minutes, until the Baron broke the silence. "You have a fine archer here. I can only hope he is as good as you say he is, for your sake."
AN: Well, I've split this chapter because I'm having problems writing the archery contest, I needed to do some characterisation, and Simon de Belleme insisted I give him some time, before he turns into a nutcase.
Before anyone has a go at my comments about 'Pathetic Pagan symbols', it's a paraphrase of a quote from the episode this is based off. I mean no offence to Pagans.
And if Aragorn is slightly OOC, I apologise, I needed Gisburne to be a bastard for eventual plot development.
As always, I cherish reviews, so good or bad, please, hit the purple button!