Marion of Sherwood

Disclaimer: I don't own Robin Hood.

Marion stayed close behind Will, eager to get to his camp. It was late afternoon, and she was famished. She paid only enough attention to his questions to answer "yes" or "no", but mostly concentrated ion the meal approaching.

Suddenly Will stopped, and she halted just in time to keep from walking into him. They were in a glen circled by oak trees. In the faded sunlight, it seemed to Marion that some of the shadows were moving. Then, she realized that they were moving!

About twenty men stood in the clearing, all dressed in a shade of green that camouflaged them. She heard one man call out, "Food!" Somehow this triggered a reaction from the others, and one man, who looked to be about seven feet tall, asked, "Who's the lad, Will?"

And suddenly, forty eyes were on her.

Marion.

Or rather, Thomas of Nottingham.

Marion was suddenly very conscious of how dirty her clothes were, how unkempt her hair looked, how dirt-smudged her face and hands were. It was going to take her quite some time to become accustomed to being dirty and messy. She had been used to taking baths every day, despite the belief that they made one ill.

One man moved from the shade of a nearby tree and walked up to Marion. He was tall and thin, with a long, straight nose, clad in forest-green. His eyes were dark brown and his hair was a deep gold that brushed his jawline. He stared at her for a long time, and she began to feel uncomfortable. She ran a hand through her reddish-brown hair. "Do you know where you are, boy?" he asked finally.

"In Sherwood Forest," Marion replied.

The man laughed softly. "Aye, but do you know into whose domain you've strayed?"

She shook her head. "No."

The man smiled. "I'm Robin Hood."

Marion's jaw dropped. This was the famous outlaw, known for his notoriety and cunning? Why, she'd always been told he was a giant, able to kill a man with one blow! "You're Robin Hood?" she asked incredulously. "I must say, you aren't frightening at all!"

Robin chuckled at the same time the tall man exploded into gales of laughter. "Frightening, he says!" the unknown man gasped. Robin introduced him as Little John. When he'd calmed down, Little John grinned and shook Marion's hand. "Actually, I'm John Little, but among my men, it's Little John." He clapped Robin on the back. "And Robin's definitely not frightening."

"The boy has spirit," Robin smiled. "Where did you find him, Will?"

"In the clearing a bit West from here," Will replied, putting the deer down in the grass.

Marion couldn't believe it. She had unwittingly stumbled right into the arms of the very people she'd feared. And suddenly a strange thought struck her. They hadn't killed her. They'd been kind, hospitable. And they'd complimented her. They were only men. All those stories...and they were only men.

"Who is he?" asked Robin. He had a quiet voice.

Marion looked him in the eye defiantly. "Thomas of Nottingham," she lied.

Then, there was a deafening silence.

After quite a while, Little John broke it. "Well, I'm hungry. Let's eat!"

There was a sudden bustle of work as the men began preparing dinner. They gathered water to boil, built fires, chopped vegetables, sharpened knives. Marion forgot her hunger and was starting to sneak off when a large hand took hold of her shoulder. She turned to see a squat, plump man dressed in the robe of a friar, a jolly look on his ruddy face.

"Where are you going, lad?" he asked.

"Oh, well, I – " Marion stuttered.

"Come, Thomas. I'm Friar Tuck," the jovial man said, leading her back to the camp. Marion almost laughed. He was at least a head shorter than she was, and the hem of his robe dragged the ground. "You're most welcome to eat with us."

"Well, I should be!" Marion blurted out. "I helped kill it!"

Friar Tuck's eyebrows rose so high that Marion thought they might disappear into his hair. "Did you now? How did you – no, never mind. Tell it while we eat. It should be entertaining."

As the band supped, Marion and Will took turns telling the story, sometimes interrupting each other. When they came to the part about Marion punching Will, the men laughed heartily. Marion, however, blushed with shame.

After they finished eating, they took pity on the "poor lad", and gave Marion a change of clothes like the ones they wore. She now knew that they used the color to hide themselves in the foliage. Robin led her to a cave away from the camp.

"You may change in there, lad," he said, pointing to the entrance. She went inside and changed hurriedly. As she was leaving the cave, she saw a glint of gold on her finger.

"Oh, no," she breathed. She'd forgotten to remove her family ring, which bore her father's seal. She quickly pulled it off her finger. "What shall I do with you?" she whispered staring at it.

Then, an idea came to her. She pulled a loose thread out of her old clothes. Stringing the thread through the ring, she tied it around her neck and slipped it under her new tunic. She went back to the camp and joined the men around the fire. She sat quietly for a long time, staring at the flames that lit up the enclosing darkness. She shuddered to think about being in this enveloping night without a fire.

"So, why are you here?" Robin asked her.

She looked up at him quickly. She had to think about that. She turned her eyes to the shadowy trees to her right, and was just in time to see one of the King's foresters leveling his bow at Robin.

A/N: OH, I'M EVIL!!! (laughs evilly) I love cliffies! Oh, how I love cliffies! Finally, we meet Rob! What do you think of him? Is it getting better? You may notice I don't follow any set version of Robin Hood, but am pretty much taking my own course with this story. Will isn't related to Robin in any way, neither brother nor nephew. Henry is King, not Richard. That's because Richard led the Third Crusade, and I have a serious grudge against the Crusades, because I believe that Europe had no reason to try to take the land that rightly belonged to the Palestinians, but let's not get into politics. I liked the laughing, good-tempered Little John in Disney's version opposed to the grumpy, quick-to-anger Little John from Howard Pyle's. How can you forget his tricking Prince John, a.k.a. PJ? I love that movie! Neggia's twin, I've started reading "The Outlaws of Sherwood". Isn't McKinley a genius? I also want to thank Miss Piratess (again! But don't take it the wrong way, I appreciate it!), Morwen (I'm guessing you like EFC. But that's just a guess. snickers No, really.), and my little sis Arwen (Love ya, hun!)! Oodelaly!!