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A/N: Firstly, this IS going to have a plot. Secondly, this is not the same Robin and sheriff from my other stories. I have a habit of carrying characters over, but I did not this time. Just wanted to congratulate myself on that.
Guess who the sheriff is!
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Geoffrey slumped noiselessly into the gloomy corner, wrapping both small arms tightly round his waist. His green eyes roamed around the room, and not a soul was visible to the young boy's eyes in the gloomy chamber. The dust-covered tapestries of the ancient Locksley armory loomed protectively above his head, encasing him in calming silence. Primordial weaponry lined the walls in a secure defense against the clamor of everyday life. It was completely silent. For once he was left to his own misery.
He rested the crown of his head against the cool stone wall, and closed both eyes in thankful bliss. Finally, they had given him some time alone, a divine escape from their raucous, mocking laughter and thunderous voices. Geoffrey shifted his head to the left and rested the entire side of his face against the wall. Respite from the noises they loved so much.
"Geoffrey? Where are you?" The speaker stepped into the room. A bright, merry smile streamed across his handsome face like a banner of emotion, sparkling under his brilliant blue eyes. Geoffrey curled even deeper into the shadows of his hiding. Robert.
"Come now, Geoffrey, Father isn't angry anymore." Robert's shocking blonde hair flopped into his eyes as he bent his head forward, but even then he did not look half so disheveled as his younger brother. "I made him laugh again. He's in a much better mood." Robert took a few steps forward, hunting desperately for his younger brother. He was not fond of this gloomy place; it was eerie, locked in that silence that seemed to come from the ages before man. "Please come out, Geoffrey."
Geoffrey knew Robert had a voice that could suck people into its will and twist them to its bidding, but he was quite immune to the effects. Robert was relatively unaware of this forcefully persuasive voice of his, but he would learn soon enough - and use it. "Please, Geoffrey? I promise we'll keep away from swordplay for now. Want to play the strategy game? Oh, do come out of the darkness. You know how I hate it in here."
Geoffrey snaked noiselessly from his corner. Robert, sensing movement instinctively as he always did, grinned at him. "Geoffrey! There you are!" He ruffled his brother's matted hair affectionately. "Eh! You should find somewhere else to hide. You always look like a disheveled dog after you huddle against that wall, you know." He brushed some dust off his brother's shoulders. Geoffrey chose not to reply; he thought Robert should keep his opinions to himself. Instead of voicing such ideas, he slipped his hand wordlessly into Robert's and watched his reaction. Robert smiled down at his brother. "I suppose I've been forgiven for getting on his good side, then?" Geoffrey nodded and beamed. He knew he looked like a simpleton when he smiled, because the expression spread across the entirety of his face; it was an extremely childish appearance. But Robert wouldn't laugh. Well, mayhap he would, but if he did, it would be a pleasant laugh, without even a hint of ridicule in his cheerful tone.
He clung protectively to Geoffrey's hand as they meandered through Locksley Castle. He grinned and waved to a good number of serving girls, all of whom instantly regained a sober, if not disdainful, appearance at the sight of Geoffrey. However, when they watched Robert, their lips were lifted into an adoring display of pleasure. Geoffrey, three winters younger than appealing Robert, followed obediently and accepted the treatment as normal. After all, it didn't really matter what the kitchen wenches thought of him, did it?
Geoffrey shielded his eyes from the harsh sunlight of the outdoors. Robert stepped boldly into the rays without even blinking as he laughed. "Marvelous day, isn't it?" He laughed very often and very loudly. The noise almost frightened Geoffrey at times, it echoed so grandly through Locksley's corridors.
The archery butts. Damn. Geoffrey peered contemptuously up at his brother. "Robert! You told me that we were going to play a strategy game!" His face mottled with humiliation. He desperately wished not to be seen displaying his awful aim. He shook his head and released Robert's hand. Time to return to his shadows. The beautiful enveloping silence that wrapped a protective blanket round him and kept the jeering others trapped outside this personal shield.
Robert sighed and knelt down. "Brother, I now you hate this practice, especially with all these people milling round the place." He flicked his eyebrows in the direction of these people, rolling both eyes in a secret jest. Geoffrey smiled weakly at the obvious scorn. "But Father's anger will only be relayed if you prove that you have some skill with the bow. He'll quickly forgive you any inadequacies with the sword, I promise." He grinned apologetically. "They say a word about your skill and I'll knock their heads off their shoulders."
Geoffrey followed Robert as a puppy would, staying close and quiet. "Are you frightened, little one?" Robert asked. The guards practicing at the targets were tall and rowdy and Robert knew that timid, silent Geoffrey disliked both noise and boisterous activity. But Geoffrey shook his head fervently and took a step forward. Robert laughed. "Nay, there will be no getting ahead of me, brother. Come now, I have our bows leaning against the targets. Go grab yours." Geoffrey hesitated, watching the guards. Robert's quick eyes flew to the men. "Don't you worry about them. One word and their head shall be on the ground watching you." He winked.
Still smiling from Robert's jest, Geoffrey found his bow and strung it hastily. Robert was striding gallantly round the guards, jesting with them in the loud voice of a true Locksley. Even at nine, the men accepted Robert. Geoffrey hung his head in shame. Noise, always noise. Why couldn't he be like that? What made him so timid? Always keeping his mouth shut and his eyes on the ground. Not like Robert. Confident, witty, bold Robert.
"Well, Geoffrey, you make quick work of stringing that bow, eh?" Robert grinned approvingly at his younger sibling's handiwork. Geoffrey was good with his hands. It was common knowledge that he could write one of the neatest hands in all of Nottingham, and at only six years old!
Geoffrey's arrow zoomed towards the target. It landed very near the center, an extremely good shot. But not good enough. Geoffrey looked up at Robert, who was busy sighting down his own bullseye. Robert would surely strike the target dead center as he always did. But Geoffrey did not see the flicker of attention in Robert's eye.
The arrow landed slightly askew, jutting from the target a fraction of an inch farther than Geoffrey's. Robert snapped his fingers in disappointment. "Eh, Geoffrey, another one bites the dust. My cap's off to you." So saying, he took off his cap and bowed low, so that Geoffrey giggled.
"See, Father?" Robert continued, turning towards the window. Geoffrey whirled around, and in spinning himself so quickly, lost his balance and fell onto his tailbone. Their father had been watching? He trembled slightly. He'd seen the shot - the imperfect shot. And now he would be angry again.
"You bested me, didn't you, little one - nay, such a fine archer should be called little one no longer. Eh, Geoffrey?" Robert watched his brother for a reaction. Geoffrey nodded meekly.
"Well! The boy's got a tongue! Have him use it!" The lord of Locksley's face was crimson. Robert glowered at his father. Bully, he thought, Bully and tyrant. Then he turned to cowering Geoffrey. "Now, all you've got to do is say, 'Aye, milord' and he'll leave you alone." Geoffrey whimpered. "Nay, nay, little one. It will be easy as anything. You're always obedient. I can hardly count how many times a day you say, 'Aye, milord' to him while I say 'nay'. You can easily do it now."
Geoffrey squeezed his arm and stood up. "Aye, milord!" he called, voice cracking from little use. Satisfied, the lord of Locksley stormed into another room.
"Good day, jackass!" Robert called farewell to their father in a high falsetto, waving his hand girlishly in disgusting mockery. Geoffrey laughed so hard he had to clutch his sides in jubilant pain. Robert smiled lovingly down at him as he shook with merriment. "Did you enjoy that, my brother?" he asked, almost laughing himself at the sight of staid Geoffrey caught in childish giggles.
Geoffrey, in his typical wordless fashion, only hugged Robert affectionately. "Love you, Rob," he murmured. And there was not a hint of jealousy in his tone.
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A/N: Firstly, this IS going to have a plot. Secondly, this is not the same Robin and sheriff from my other stories. I have a habit of carrying characters over, but I did not this time. Just wanted to congratulate myself on that.
Guess who the sheriff is!
*** *** *** *** *** *** ***
Geoffrey slumped noiselessly into the gloomy corner, wrapping both small arms tightly round his waist. His green eyes roamed around the room, and not a soul was visible to the young boy's eyes in the gloomy chamber. The dust-covered tapestries of the ancient Locksley armory loomed protectively above his head, encasing him in calming silence. Primordial weaponry lined the walls in a secure defense against the clamor of everyday life. It was completely silent. For once he was left to his own misery.
He rested the crown of his head against the cool stone wall, and closed both eyes in thankful bliss. Finally, they had given him some time alone, a divine escape from their raucous, mocking laughter and thunderous voices. Geoffrey shifted his head to the left and rested the entire side of his face against the wall. Respite from the noises they loved so much.
"Geoffrey? Where are you?" The speaker stepped into the room. A bright, merry smile streamed across his handsome face like a banner of emotion, sparkling under his brilliant blue eyes. Geoffrey curled even deeper into the shadows of his hiding. Robert.
"Come now, Geoffrey, Father isn't angry anymore." Robert's shocking blonde hair flopped into his eyes as he bent his head forward, but even then he did not look half so disheveled as his younger brother. "I made him laugh again. He's in a much better mood." Robert took a few steps forward, hunting desperately for his younger brother. He was not fond of this gloomy place; it was eerie, locked in that silence that seemed to come from the ages before man. "Please come out, Geoffrey."
Geoffrey knew Robert had a voice that could suck people into its will and twist them to its bidding, but he was quite immune to the effects. Robert was relatively unaware of this forcefully persuasive voice of his, but he would learn soon enough - and use it. "Please, Geoffrey? I promise we'll keep away from swordplay for now. Want to play the strategy game? Oh, do come out of the darkness. You know how I hate it in here."
Geoffrey snaked noiselessly from his corner. Robert, sensing movement instinctively as he always did, grinned at him. "Geoffrey! There you are!" He ruffled his brother's matted hair affectionately. "Eh! You should find somewhere else to hide. You always look like a disheveled dog after you huddle against that wall, you know." He brushed some dust off his brother's shoulders. Geoffrey chose not to reply; he thought Robert should keep his opinions to himself. Instead of voicing such ideas, he slipped his hand wordlessly into Robert's and watched his reaction. Robert smiled down at his brother. "I suppose I've been forgiven for getting on his good side, then?" Geoffrey nodded and beamed. He knew he looked like a simpleton when he smiled, because the expression spread across the entirety of his face; it was an extremely childish appearance. But Robert wouldn't laugh. Well, mayhap he would, but if he did, it would be a pleasant laugh, without even a hint of ridicule in his cheerful tone.
He clung protectively to Geoffrey's hand as they meandered through Locksley Castle. He grinned and waved to a good number of serving girls, all of whom instantly regained a sober, if not disdainful, appearance at the sight of Geoffrey. However, when they watched Robert, their lips were lifted into an adoring display of pleasure. Geoffrey, three winters younger than appealing Robert, followed obediently and accepted the treatment as normal. After all, it didn't really matter what the kitchen wenches thought of him, did it?
Geoffrey shielded his eyes from the harsh sunlight of the outdoors. Robert stepped boldly into the rays without even blinking as he laughed. "Marvelous day, isn't it?" He laughed very often and very loudly. The noise almost frightened Geoffrey at times, it echoed so grandly through Locksley's corridors.
The archery butts. Damn. Geoffrey peered contemptuously up at his brother. "Robert! You told me that we were going to play a strategy game!" His face mottled with humiliation. He desperately wished not to be seen displaying his awful aim. He shook his head and released Robert's hand. Time to return to his shadows. The beautiful enveloping silence that wrapped a protective blanket round him and kept the jeering others trapped outside this personal shield.
Robert sighed and knelt down. "Brother, I now you hate this practice, especially with all these people milling round the place." He flicked his eyebrows in the direction of these people, rolling both eyes in a secret jest. Geoffrey smiled weakly at the obvious scorn. "But Father's anger will only be relayed if you prove that you have some skill with the bow. He'll quickly forgive you any inadequacies with the sword, I promise." He grinned apologetically. "They say a word about your skill and I'll knock their heads off their shoulders."
Geoffrey followed Robert as a puppy would, staying close and quiet. "Are you frightened, little one?" Robert asked. The guards practicing at the targets were tall and rowdy and Robert knew that timid, silent Geoffrey disliked both noise and boisterous activity. But Geoffrey shook his head fervently and took a step forward. Robert laughed. "Nay, there will be no getting ahead of me, brother. Come now, I have our bows leaning against the targets. Go grab yours." Geoffrey hesitated, watching the guards. Robert's quick eyes flew to the men. "Don't you worry about them. One word and their head shall be on the ground watching you." He winked.
Still smiling from Robert's jest, Geoffrey found his bow and strung it hastily. Robert was striding gallantly round the guards, jesting with them in the loud voice of a true Locksley. Even at nine, the men accepted Robert. Geoffrey hung his head in shame. Noise, always noise. Why couldn't he be like that? What made him so timid? Always keeping his mouth shut and his eyes on the ground. Not like Robert. Confident, witty, bold Robert.
"Well, Geoffrey, you make quick work of stringing that bow, eh?" Robert grinned approvingly at his younger sibling's handiwork. Geoffrey was good with his hands. It was common knowledge that he could write one of the neatest hands in all of Nottingham, and at only six years old!
Geoffrey's arrow zoomed towards the target. It landed very near the center, an extremely good shot. But not good enough. Geoffrey looked up at Robert, who was busy sighting down his own bullseye. Robert would surely strike the target dead center as he always did. But Geoffrey did not see the flicker of attention in Robert's eye.
The arrow landed slightly askew, jutting from the target a fraction of an inch farther than Geoffrey's. Robert snapped his fingers in disappointment. "Eh, Geoffrey, another one bites the dust. My cap's off to you." So saying, he took off his cap and bowed low, so that Geoffrey giggled.
"See, Father?" Robert continued, turning towards the window. Geoffrey whirled around, and in spinning himself so quickly, lost his balance and fell onto his tailbone. Their father had been watching? He trembled slightly. He'd seen the shot - the imperfect shot. And now he would be angry again.
"You bested me, didn't you, little one - nay, such a fine archer should be called little one no longer. Eh, Geoffrey?" Robert watched his brother for a reaction. Geoffrey nodded meekly.
"Well! The boy's got a tongue! Have him use it!" The lord of Locksley's face was crimson. Robert glowered at his father. Bully, he thought, Bully and tyrant. Then he turned to cowering Geoffrey. "Now, all you've got to do is say, 'Aye, milord' and he'll leave you alone." Geoffrey whimpered. "Nay, nay, little one. It will be easy as anything. You're always obedient. I can hardly count how many times a day you say, 'Aye, milord' to him while I say 'nay'. You can easily do it now."
Geoffrey squeezed his arm and stood up. "Aye, milord!" he called, voice cracking from little use. Satisfied, the lord of Locksley stormed into another room.
"Good day, jackass!" Robert called farewell to their father in a high falsetto, waving his hand girlishly in disgusting mockery. Geoffrey laughed so hard he had to clutch his sides in jubilant pain. Robert smiled lovingly down at him as he shook with merriment. "Did you enjoy that, my brother?" he asked, almost laughing himself at the sight of staid Geoffrey caught in childish giggles.
Geoffrey, in his typical wordless fashion, only hugged Robert affectionately. "Love you, Rob," he murmured. And there was not a hint of jealousy in his tone.
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