The Sheriff of Nottingham sat regally on a wooden throne, which was on a raised dais in the main hall. Prince John sat a few feet away from him, chatting idly with some lesser noble. He looked longingly at the gypsies that had come to dance for his entertainment. Well, they'd come unwillingly, but they were beautiful to look upon all the same. He stroked his sculpted beard vainly, his dark eyes followed the movements of the dancing bodies.
A red-faced page appeared by his elbow, and hurriedly mumbled something. The Sheriff looked up at him and cuffed him over the head, sending him plummeting to the marble floor.
"Don't ever stand higher than me, tha insolent lad!" he hissed, and Prince John shifted in his chair, watching the drama with a smug grin on his sickly pale face.
"I-I-I'm sorry, my lord, but 'tis important. Ranger Thomas craves a word with thee... Th-th-there's been a situation," he stuttered, his eyes on the ground.
"Very well," the Sheriff huffed, "Tell him to meet me in my quarters, in the study."
"Yes, my lord," the boy said, and rushed off in the other directions.
"I wonder what it is this time, Sheriff," the Prince said, arching his eyebrow suspiciously.
"I think 'tis nothing, sire, I shall take care of it," the Sheriff said quickly, taking one last look at the scantily clad harlots, then exiting the room promptly.
The Sheriff found Ranger Thomas pacing in the library, his heavy boots making loud thuds on the cold, stone floor. As he entered the room, Brian kneeled before him, grasping at his robes.
"Please forgive me sire, please..."
"Don't grovel before me Thomas," he rolled his eyes in annoyance, "Get thyself up and tell me about this little 'situation'." Brian got up and reached into his tunic, and brought out a broken, silver-tipped arrow.
"We were attacked in The Royal Forest."
"Attacked?" the Sheriff's fingers ran delicately across the feathers, looking intrigued.
"This girl, she..."
"Thou was attacked by a girl?" the Sheriff chuckled, raising an eyebrow.
"Her minions..." Thomas began.
"Minions? This arrow came from no specter, I'll tell thee that," he said, strolling over to a big oak bookshelf, "This seems familiar to me somehow..." He paused, vacantly smoothing his dark beard.
"How so?" Thomas asked, adjusting his brown forester's belt.
"'Twill come to me in due time," he said, snapping out of his dreamy look, and turning to him, "Where is Jack? And Peter?"
"The archer killed them." The Sheriff's face turned to anger as he lunged into Thomas, shoving the arrowhead into his chest.
"Tha hast failed to stop him. He is a threat now," he whispered into his ear, then let Thomas slump to the floor. He extracted the arrow, and laid it on the mantle above the fireplace.
"Thou art a mystery, forest spirit... thou art a spirit I'd like to break."