*** *** *** ** * *** *** *** *** *** ***
A/N:
All right, time to reply to the questions of reviewers. I kind of forgot last update, because I wrote that entire chapter in one night. See, I have major writer's block most of the time, but then, for an hour or so every fortnight, I get this mass splurge of ideas and creativity and I just write and write and write with little or no regard to the rest of the world. Ever read the Redwall books? It's like the Blood Rage of the badgers in Salamandstron. So--- I had just finished it and checked the spelling and grammar. I'm odd in my ways, I know. Sorry to Ff.net, but it was sort of hot off the press. Keyword - Sort of. Anyways,
Dragon of the North - Well, both Robin and Lee did not want to fight. I mean, seriously, who would want to take on the sheriff of Nottingham? And both of them feel (and are) responsible for every little or large thing that goes wrong. Oh, and they worry about their men. That's all I could think of. Can't remember the book very well, you know. Also, we meet Marian's father very soon.
Eh, Man - The sickness I actually read about in a book on the Middle Ages. See, England's climate is extremely damp, as you know. Rain, rain, rain. And the chapter on illnesses (not pleasant) said that, due to this dampness and their pathetic housing, many foresters and others who spent a lot of time in the forest tended to develop hacking wet coughs and die young. Sad, isn't it? There was this boring medical explanation, but I (obviously) skipped it. I was going to have the others have this cough as well, for historical accuracy that I sadly lack *sigh*, but then I looked at the histories of their lives I made up, and they ain't been in that forest long enough. Except maybe David. Thanks for that point. (David clutches throat)
Feye Morgan - Robin is definitely going to need someone cheering him on. He thanks you. I'm sorry I can't answer your other questions, but it would ruin the plot! Glad you care about Robin, though.
Corrina o'hood - so glad you like Marian's POV. I kind of made her a medieval Amazon, if you know what I mean. And the whole rescuing thing you discussed? Hehe - please don't spoil my plot. *chu*
Ruby- you're so sweet! Thank you!
Dragon of the North - Don't need to remember Lord Byron. I just made up that name. And I'm so glad you like my sheriff. I much prefer when he is wicked and diabolical, instead of fat and stupid, don't you? He's fun to write about. I like reading about a human side of him, but I LOVE writing about a fiend from Heck! Appreciate that you enjoy Sara's continued appearance. There will be some new female characters, and a revised Pyle character in the following chapters, to spoil something for you.
Lis - thanks for your review! Glad I wasn't boring. Your story was great as well!
Indigo Dream - I'm so glad my review helped you and your friend! I hate to criticize constructively. I feel so evil. Saying it helped you made me feel so much better. You helped me, too! Thanks for that. It's so kind of you to say you love this story! Thank you soo much!
Lady E - Thank you for being thrilled. It boosts my pathetic ego. Your story was positively excellent! I can't believe Marian either, and she's my character! Thank you for your compliments!
Ananda - Robin positively loathes being deceived. He prefers pretending he's on top of things. And yes, Will failed us. If he wasn't so cute, I'd stay mad at him.
My sister - Well, that was obnoxious, but expected. Remember, you are my sheriff. And the bad guys always lose.
All the darling reviewers-You're all soooooo nice to me! Thank you for reviewing! I'll return the favor soon. Just have so little time on the Internet. *Curses siblings under breath* Hope you enjoy this chapter!
** *** *** *** *** **** **** **** *** *** *** ***
Chapter 6
My scabbard was empty. I realized my sword was missing shortly after we passed through Nottingham's gates. How the heck had I dropped it? My own stupidity amazed me. I would miss that weapon so. But it did not matter. Robin was rotting in Nottingham Dungeon. Nottingham Castle's dungeons. I shuddered fearfully despite myself. It was another world's Hell - something fairies must scare their children with, as the priests frighten us with the tales of Satan. "Richard," I commented solemnly, determined to drive that place from my mind, "I left my sword in the road." He was an idiot, but at least it was conversation. It took my mind away from Robin.
He shrugged stupidly. Well, that description was rather unnecessary. There is no other way the churl does anything, besides in a stupid manner. I frowned at his natural tendency towards idiocy. We were passing through the part of Nottingham where most peasants made their homes. Many of the outlaws were here, doing their own small bit of good. I hoped they had not seen Robin coming through.
David of Doncaster, the second to youngest of the outlaws, was juggling coins for a group of raggedy children. He winked merrily at me as they squealed with unchecked delight, clapping and hopping with merriment, begging for more through their laughter. Obviously, he had not seen. David was dressed in his shire disguise - a brown tunic even dirtier than that which he usually wore, with a hood over his scarred face. It was not quite different from his usual outlaw attire, but since it was not Lincoln green, he was always seen as some farmer's lad. All the coal digger's children knew him by name, since he had been brought up there. They would come racing from the huts when he arrived, calling his name and pulling his hair with impunity. It was his favorite place to spread joy. I always found it hard to imagine him a criminal. The sheriff seemed far more diabolical than a lad of sixteen winters. I turned away when he grinned at me - for shame. I could not bear it.
"Let us ride from here with haste," I whispered to Richard, and we both set the geldings moving toward the looming fortress of Nottingham Castle, David's puzzled eyes on my back.
********************
Author's Notes::: David is not my original character. He is from Pyle's version. But he had no personality, (I mean, this is Pyle we speak of. Character development was snipped out of his dictionary) So I gave the poor thing one. The youngest outlaw, for you curious people, is Allan-a-dale, the minstrel.
*** *** **** **** **** **** **** ***
"Sheriff!" I barked. My feet made slapping sounds on the cobblestones.
His head appeared around the corner of the hall I was striding down. Dark hair clung in damp strands to his neck like snakes to prey. "Lady Marian," he began. It was hardly a greeting - more a statement, as if he were introducing me to another. "My lord sheriff," I replied moodily. That snapped him out of his reverie. He smiled the sly grin that sent shivers up my spine every time it appeared on his greasy countenance. "How are you this day, my dear?"
"Fine," I snapped curtly, cutting right to the point, "Where is my father?" The sheriff's face lost its cocky composure, and a serious discomfort grew evident. Interesting. Good, you Satanic tormentor. I crossed my arms. "Please, sirrah, answer."
The sheriff stepped forward from his hiding place. The rest of his body appeared. His shoes squelched with each step as he approached me. I guess someone had spilt water in them. It happened often enough at Whitby. Scullions were occasionally clumsy. At home, we all only rolled our eyes, smiling. Now, it was a great effort to resist laughter. "You see," he responded quietly, taking both my hands in his own, "I may require you to perform another task before I can release your fa-"
I pushed him away forcefully. Marian of Whitby was no weak little maiden to be taken advantage of. "You may? You MAY? Well, sir, I MAY be forced to push you out that window!" I screeched, pointing at the suggested exit. What else could I do? I had already given him the man he strangled in his fondest dreams. But in my fondest dreams---
"That was not out agreement!" I continued, flinging both arms madly in the air. He would not do this to me. I would not allow him such a privilege. "Give me my father!" My voice cracked with the force of the scream.
"Lady Marian!" The sheriff clutched both my wrists and drew me close to him. I readied my knee in case he wished to try anything, but kept quiet, realizing he meant for secrecy. "There are none to give testament to our agreement," he threatened in a whisper, "I could take the outlaw now and leave your father to rot with him - IF I wished to do so. But, out of the kindness of my heart, I have chosen to present you with a REASON to obey me. Now, you WILL perform this task, or the old man shall be in prison for an extended stay." His voice grew hoarse with animosity. I only nodded obediently. "I shall do it." My reply was also hoarse. But the sheriff had not yet bested me. He should not have bothered restraining my wrists.
My knee went upward and rammed him where he didn't want to be rammed. My two friends, the ladies Margaret and Cecilia, visiting the sheriff's daughter, peered anxiously at me from their positions round the back corner. Well, I see my scream had aroused someone. I was glad they had seen our conversation. I had a few witnesses this time, just in case. "This is the last time you play with Marian of Whitby," I told the sheriff, standing above him with my arms akimbo. He glowered at me from his curled position on the ground. Now if I could only free Robin everything would be perfect.
Perfect. That was how Robin had always described me. Why was he always so bloody wrong?
** ** *** *** *** *** ** ** *** *** ** A/N: Sorry it is a bit short, and not very well-written. And boring. The real trauma is coming soon. (laughs wickedly. Both Robin and Marian cringe in fear of freakish and unfortunately for them omnipotent author) I posted this in a hurry, though I write it a few days ago. See, I had to work on a few really awkward sentences. So, the somewhat awkward ones are former catastrophes. Feel free to comment on them anyways, that way I'll find all of them.
*** **** **** **** **** **** *****
All right, time to reply to the questions of reviewers. I kind of forgot last update, because I wrote that entire chapter in one night. See, I have major writer's block most of the time, but then, for an hour or so every fortnight, I get this mass splurge of ideas and creativity and I just write and write and write with little or no regard to the rest of the world. Ever read the Redwall books? It's like the Blood Rage of the badgers in Salamandstron. So--- I had just finished it and checked the spelling and grammar. I'm odd in my ways, I know. Sorry to Ff.net, but it was sort of hot off the press. Keyword - Sort of. Anyways,
Dragon of the North - Well, both Robin and Lee did not want to fight. I mean, seriously, who would want to take on the sheriff of Nottingham? And both of them feel (and are) responsible for every little or large thing that goes wrong. Oh, and they worry about their men. That's all I could think of. Can't remember the book very well, you know. Also, we meet Marian's father very soon.
Eh, Man - The sickness I actually read about in a book on the Middle Ages. See, England's climate is extremely damp, as you know. Rain, rain, rain. And the chapter on illnesses (not pleasant) said that, due to this dampness and their pathetic housing, many foresters and others who spent a lot of time in the forest tended to develop hacking wet coughs and die young. Sad, isn't it? There was this boring medical explanation, but I (obviously) skipped it. I was going to have the others have this cough as well, for historical accuracy that I sadly lack *sigh*, but then I looked at the histories of their lives I made up, and they ain't been in that forest long enough. Except maybe David. Thanks for that point. (David clutches throat)
Feye Morgan - Robin is definitely going to need someone cheering him on. He thanks you. I'm sorry I can't answer your other questions, but it would ruin the plot! Glad you care about Robin, though.
Corrina o'hood - so glad you like Marian's POV. I kind of made her a medieval Amazon, if you know what I mean. And the whole rescuing thing you discussed? Hehe - please don't spoil my plot. *chu*
Ruby- you're so sweet! Thank you!
Dragon of the North - Don't need to remember Lord Byron. I just made up that name. And I'm so glad you like my sheriff. I much prefer when he is wicked and diabolical, instead of fat and stupid, don't you? He's fun to write about. I like reading about a human side of him, but I LOVE writing about a fiend from Heck! Appreciate that you enjoy Sara's continued appearance. There will be some new female characters, and a revised Pyle character in the following chapters, to spoil something for you.
Lis - thanks for your review! Glad I wasn't boring. Your story was great as well!
Indigo Dream - I'm so glad my review helped you and your friend! I hate to criticize constructively. I feel so evil. Saying it helped you made me feel so much better. You helped me, too! Thanks for that. It's so kind of you to say you love this story! Thank you soo much!
Lady E - Thank you for being thrilled. It boosts my pathetic ego. Your story was positively excellent! I can't believe Marian either, and she's my character! Thank you for your compliments!
Ananda - Robin positively loathes being deceived. He prefers pretending he's on top of things. And yes, Will failed us. If he wasn't so cute, I'd stay mad at him.
My sister - Well, that was obnoxious, but expected. Remember, you are my sheriff. And the bad guys always lose.
All the darling reviewers-You're all soooooo nice to me! Thank you for reviewing! I'll return the favor soon. Just have so little time on the Internet. *Curses siblings under breath* Hope you enjoy this chapter!
** *** *** *** *** **** **** **** *** *** *** ***
Chapter 6
My scabbard was empty. I realized my sword was missing shortly after we passed through Nottingham's gates. How the heck had I dropped it? My own stupidity amazed me. I would miss that weapon so. But it did not matter. Robin was rotting in Nottingham Dungeon. Nottingham Castle's dungeons. I shuddered fearfully despite myself. It was another world's Hell - something fairies must scare their children with, as the priests frighten us with the tales of Satan. "Richard," I commented solemnly, determined to drive that place from my mind, "I left my sword in the road." He was an idiot, but at least it was conversation. It took my mind away from Robin.
He shrugged stupidly. Well, that description was rather unnecessary. There is no other way the churl does anything, besides in a stupid manner. I frowned at his natural tendency towards idiocy. We were passing through the part of Nottingham where most peasants made their homes. Many of the outlaws were here, doing their own small bit of good. I hoped they had not seen Robin coming through.
David of Doncaster, the second to youngest of the outlaws, was juggling coins for a group of raggedy children. He winked merrily at me as they squealed with unchecked delight, clapping and hopping with merriment, begging for more through their laughter. Obviously, he had not seen. David was dressed in his shire disguise - a brown tunic even dirtier than that which he usually wore, with a hood over his scarred face. It was not quite different from his usual outlaw attire, but since it was not Lincoln green, he was always seen as some farmer's lad. All the coal digger's children knew him by name, since he had been brought up there. They would come racing from the huts when he arrived, calling his name and pulling his hair with impunity. It was his favorite place to spread joy. I always found it hard to imagine him a criminal. The sheriff seemed far more diabolical than a lad of sixteen winters. I turned away when he grinned at me - for shame. I could not bear it.
"Let us ride from here with haste," I whispered to Richard, and we both set the geldings moving toward the looming fortress of Nottingham Castle, David's puzzled eyes on my back.
********************
Author's Notes::: David is not my original character. He is from Pyle's version. But he had no personality, (I mean, this is Pyle we speak of. Character development was snipped out of his dictionary) So I gave the poor thing one. The youngest outlaw, for you curious people, is Allan-a-dale, the minstrel.
*** *** **** **** **** **** **** ***
"Sheriff!" I barked. My feet made slapping sounds on the cobblestones.
His head appeared around the corner of the hall I was striding down. Dark hair clung in damp strands to his neck like snakes to prey. "Lady Marian," he began. It was hardly a greeting - more a statement, as if he were introducing me to another. "My lord sheriff," I replied moodily. That snapped him out of his reverie. He smiled the sly grin that sent shivers up my spine every time it appeared on his greasy countenance. "How are you this day, my dear?"
"Fine," I snapped curtly, cutting right to the point, "Where is my father?" The sheriff's face lost its cocky composure, and a serious discomfort grew evident. Interesting. Good, you Satanic tormentor. I crossed my arms. "Please, sirrah, answer."
The sheriff stepped forward from his hiding place. The rest of his body appeared. His shoes squelched with each step as he approached me. I guess someone had spilt water in them. It happened often enough at Whitby. Scullions were occasionally clumsy. At home, we all only rolled our eyes, smiling. Now, it was a great effort to resist laughter. "You see," he responded quietly, taking both my hands in his own, "I may require you to perform another task before I can release your fa-"
I pushed him away forcefully. Marian of Whitby was no weak little maiden to be taken advantage of. "You may? You MAY? Well, sir, I MAY be forced to push you out that window!" I screeched, pointing at the suggested exit. What else could I do? I had already given him the man he strangled in his fondest dreams. But in my fondest dreams---
"That was not out agreement!" I continued, flinging both arms madly in the air. He would not do this to me. I would not allow him such a privilege. "Give me my father!" My voice cracked with the force of the scream.
"Lady Marian!" The sheriff clutched both my wrists and drew me close to him. I readied my knee in case he wished to try anything, but kept quiet, realizing he meant for secrecy. "There are none to give testament to our agreement," he threatened in a whisper, "I could take the outlaw now and leave your father to rot with him - IF I wished to do so. But, out of the kindness of my heart, I have chosen to present you with a REASON to obey me. Now, you WILL perform this task, or the old man shall be in prison for an extended stay." His voice grew hoarse with animosity. I only nodded obediently. "I shall do it." My reply was also hoarse. But the sheriff had not yet bested me. He should not have bothered restraining my wrists.
My knee went upward and rammed him where he didn't want to be rammed. My two friends, the ladies Margaret and Cecilia, visiting the sheriff's daughter, peered anxiously at me from their positions round the back corner. Well, I see my scream had aroused someone. I was glad they had seen our conversation. I had a few witnesses this time, just in case. "This is the last time you play with Marian of Whitby," I told the sheriff, standing above him with my arms akimbo. He glowered at me from his curled position on the ground. Now if I could only free Robin everything would be perfect.
Perfect. That was how Robin had always described me. Why was he always so bloody wrong?
** ** *** *** *** *** ** ** *** *** ** A/N: Sorry it is a bit short, and not very well-written. And boring. The real trauma is coming soon. (laughs wickedly. Both Robin and Marian cringe in fear of freakish and unfortunately for them omnipotent author) I posted this in a hurry, though I write it a few days ago. See, I had to work on a few really awkward sentences. So, the somewhat awkward ones are former catastrophes. Feel free to comment on them anyways, that way I'll find all of them.
*** **** **** **** **** **** *****