Disclaimer: Robin Hood is not mine, I wish he was but, *sigh* he's not.

A/N: I guess I am pretty good at writing as if I'm a psychopath... first the Prioress, now King John... Maybe I'm just one of those crazy murderer types... or perhaps I have too much empathy than I should... aw well... enjoy!

Hated King



"Lackland!" Richard shouted across the courtyard, "Lackland, come here!" Richard was a handsome lad of nineteen; his nut brown hair glinted in the sun, his deep blue eyes fierce with anger.

John came, unwillingly to his older brother. How he despised that nickname. It wasn't his fault that his father loved him, not his fault that he had been the only one out of all his brothers not to get any land.

John came up to Richard, dragging his feet. He hated Richard almost as much as the nickname. Richard was dashing and splendid looking and the people adored him. They called him Lionhearted, but John knew he was a bully. Richard could ride a horse, fight with a sword, sing as well as the troubadours who often came to entertain their mother, and put all of John's brothers against him, by the age of nine. John was nine now, but his swordsmanship was poor, he sounded like a frog if he attempted to sing, and the thought of horses sent him hiding behind a tapestry.

"Yes Richard?" John said as he reached the bench where his older brother lay.

"Get me something to drink, I'm thirsty."

"That's a servant's job, Richard." John said incredulously.

"You'll bloody well do as I say, Lackland." Richard took a bite out of an apple. "You're speaking to the future king of England! Why did you call me Richard, slug? Only people above me can call me by my Christian name!" he spat the chewed up bite of apple into John's face. "Are you above me, Lackland?"

"No Richard."

"No what?!"

"No, your majesty."

"That's better. Now get me a drink." Richard hit John over the head. "Hurry up, slug."

John whimpered and ran into the castle. He called for a servant, "Go give Richard a drink." He did not want to face his brother again. He ran up a flight of stairs to his bedroom, where he curled on his bed and shivered with anger. He hated Richard. Richard, his mother's favorite and the people's favorite. He was only the favorite of his father, the king of England. That should have been a good thing, but that made Richard angry and his mother angry. He didn't like his father either. King Henry cheated on Queen Eleanor, his beautiful French wife. It wasn't fair at all. As he lay there, wiping the last traces of apple from his face, something snapped in the little boy's mind... he was going to get back at them all somehow. He would get his revenge on Richard the Lionhearted, he didn't know how, but he would. He was sure of it.