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A/N: Anyways, just a really quick note. Does anyone have any title suggestions? See, the current title (Turn Jerkin) was supposed to be a twist on "turncoat" but I don't think anybody gets it, (or it isn't funny) *characters snigger, suggesting that the latter is true. I threaten to add a few names to my kill-off list, and they shut up* I was thinking of "You Learn" as another possible name. I am just, like, clueless. Or does anyone think I should keep the title 'cuz I'm too far into it already?
I cannot believe I posted two chapters so closely to one another! (Well, close for me) Thank you to everyone for reviewing chapter 6, and thanks to True Fan (or should I say Eh, Man?) for pestering me about an update. Chapter 6 isn't much of a tell-all, so I'm also posting chapter 7. Yes, I have no life outside of writing. What do you expect? Enjoy. Or then again, maybe not.
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FIRST DAY OF FULL IMPRISONMENT
I was back at the castle next day, early in the morn, as I had been instructed by my curled oppressor. He claimed the "may" in his task depended on the events of last night. Well, I would get this accursed task over with quickly. A nervous scullion flew by me, skidding in an attempt to stop. "M-my lady!" he called frantically, arms flailing. I whirled around and smiled genially at him, though I could not see his face. Despite the hatred and misery growing inside my heart, I would not take it out on someone else, especially one of the poor souls that slaved for the sheriff. The tired boy's shoulders heaved up and down with every breath he drew. Unkempt blonde bangs hid his face as he stared furiously at his feet. "M-My lord sheriff says that - he says you are to come with me." He paused, panting, in a desperate attempt to regain his breath. "He is very s-sorry that he-he cannot provide an adequate escort for you at the - at the moment."
I nodded. "Lead on, then," I replied, and he looked up at me. I jumped back when I saw him, and his face fell. Now I knew who had spilt water in the sheriff's shoes. He kept his head down as we began to travel down the hall.
I have to admit I was feeling guilty right then. I had not meant to recoil at his bruised face, but it had taken me by surprise. We did not beat our servants for such a small offense at Whitby. I felt sorry for him.
"Spill anything lately?" I asked, brutally clear. His shoulders jerked into a hunch. "Aye, milady," he responded in a near whisper. I knew it. Just then, I noticed we were descending. "Where are you taking me?" I snapped.
"Why, to the dungeons, milady."
I should have known. Oh, good God. The sheriff was waiting for us at the doors, with Richard at his side. Two oafs. How charming. The scullion cringed when he saw the sheriff. "You little whelp---" the sheriff began threateningly, eyes narrowing. The kitchen boy backed behind my skirts. "Coward as well, then," the sheriff finished, and he turned to me. "Tell him to leave," he snapped, "I will not speak to such a pathetic creature." I craned my head backward. "You can leave now, dear," I whispered, gently as I could mange, smiling kindly at him. The kitchen boy nodded quickly, grateful smile on his face, and fled.
"You!" the sheriff barked, pointing at me. Rude infidel. "You are to do as I say, despite your emotions." He had obviously sensed my discomfort. I could hear some poor soul's screams, and a series of repetitive thuds echoed from beneath a cell door some feet off. I shuddered to think of even a short stay in such caves. It was then I realized that I stood on the door leading to one of the hellish pits. I shied away quickly. Nottingham's dungeons were below ground, though the true torture usually took place outside the cells of its prisoners. I shivered despite myself. The sheriff was obviously looking forward to the agony of today's victim. I wanted to wring his neck, knowing bloody well who the object of his animosity was, but I could only bow my head and obey him. I would rather it be Robin, who was strong and could take it, than my father.
"We are bringing the outlaw out for a flogging," he continued, smiling wickedly as he contemplated that coming occurrence, "I t seems that he has proved - er - difficult to tame. All five watches beat him last night." I flinched. "Yet he still addresses me as the 'King of Pigs." He wrung his hands in joyous anticipation. "I shall leave him without a shred of skin on his back today for it." It took a great strength of will not to wince again when he said that. His cruel finger was directed at me once more. "When you see him, you are to laugh. Laugh loudly and viciously, understood?"
Ah. So the brute needed my help in bringing Robin down. The coward's way to crush a man. Attack the spirit. How typical of him.
My heart collapsed into an ashen pile of dread. I could not force myself to do that, no matter how great an actress Robin thought I was. I could not. Not to my best friend. NAY.
"And," the sheriff concluded, "I want you to kiss Richard - in front of the outlaw." I could not resist raising an eyebrow. Well, THAT would hopefully cause Robin no pain, despite the disturbance it would perform on my innards. But Richard had that wicked smile on his face - the one he had worn often when we were younger, right before he punched Robin in the nose. My eyebrow dropped. He knew something, and knew that somehow that disgusting action would hurt Robin. And I had to kiss that smirking bully. Gross. If I can manage to get through it without retching, I pondered.
"Now, come over here," the sheriff snapped. I forced myself to stand quietly by his side without raising a fist, though I wanted so badly to break his nose, leaving the cell I had been standing above open to attack, as the two guards walked past. They flung open the door I had just been standing on and descended. There was aloud banging noise, and I flinched when I heard it.
And then they brought Robin up. It had only been one night. One bloody night. His face was nearly black with bruises, and his knees quaked as if they could barely support him. One eye was swollen shut, and much of his lower lip was hanging off. Blood trailed down his face in thick crimson rivers even now and there were scarlet stains round the ropes binding his wrists. Could they not have removed those? Even his breathing was ragged. Everything was injured. He appeared completely hopeless, shoulders slumped in utter, painful defeat. Until he looked at me.
His eye blazed with pure, unchecked rage. The line that was his mouth twisted with the need to scream curses. Fire leapt in every movement of his ravaged body. I had seen that emotion before - HATE. He appeared to be contemplating the best way to have the flames of his anger consume me - head first or feet first. I do not believe I should wish to know the answer even now.
The guard punched him roughly in the head. He cried out in pain and hit mangled knees. "Sir!" I snapped, "That was rather unnecessary!"
Robin's head flung upward, enraged. "I do not need aid from traitors, bitch!" he cried viciously, loathing roaring from every slurred syllable. Pity surged in my heart when I saw his lip trying to form words, but he was oblivious to my compassion. The second guard kicked him in the stomach. "Shut your vile mouth, outlaw!" the sheriff's man bellowed. Robin hit all fours, somehow supporting himself with bound wrists, and emitted the smallest, most pathetic groan. Now I had to act.
Tears forming in my eyes, I flung back my head and burst into the cruelest laughter I could conjure. I had always been an excellent villain when we played knights. But this was not laughter; it was a witch's cackle - harsh and vicious; there was no amusement in it - only scorn. When we played knights, I had been truly giggling, because a so-called dead Robin kept pretending to bite my leg. But now---
Richard joined my mocking screech, except his was full of actual mirth, and Robin's shoulders slumped. His eyes dimmed as the guard yanked him upward by the remnants of a collar.
I ceased in my jeering scream and turned to Richard, smiling coyly. "Amusing, isn't it?" I asked, my teeth clenching against such a grievous falsehood. Making sure Robin watched, I pressed both lips against my betrothed. He responded in his usual lusty manner. Somehow, he forced my closed mouth open. His tongue was twisting round my own like an eel. I felt the vomit surging in my throat, but I had to force it backward. I had to play queen of the demons. But soon the retching noises were beginning, so I gently let Richard know I wanted out. He released me. I was free.
The sheriff instantly met my eye, barely allowing a gasp of fresh air. His gaze told me to continue the charade. Please don't make me, I pleaded mentally, attempting to penetrate his black heart with my gaze. He only glanced meaningfully at Robin's sagging form. What was wrong with my outlaw?
Tears were welling in my eyes. I wanted so badly to tear the guards into tiny little pieces that would scatter on the winds and drown in the mighty river of Sherwood. I wanted to beat the sheriff senseless - no, I wanted to beat him badly enough to render senselessness, but deny him the escape of unconscious. I wanted to take Robin back to the forest and out of this dreadful stone pit. But even more than that, I wanted my father to die in peace.
"You thought I was your friend, didn't you, my pathetic Saxon dog?" I spat, crossing my arms. Robin lifted his eyes and they were heavy, but the anger was still burning there, barely, like a candle on a rainy day. "You twit!" I continued, "I, a lady of Whitby, become your friend? The other foresters loathed you. Did you not expect the rest of us to do so? Or were you fool enough to believe anyone could possibly stand the sight of you?" I flung back my head and cackled again.
Robin's shoulders sagged even farther, though his stone face revealed nothing but anger. But his eyes told all. I would kill the sheriff. I would bloody well MURDER him. Robin was a stoic, but he could not throw the mask over his eyes. And they were showing the pain of my words. Their deep steady glow had vanished to a wisp of conquered ash, slumping dejectedly, though his shoulders were straight. Robin, why do you care what I say? Why do my words cut you so?
Suddenly, I had an idea. I would give him a chance to redeem himself. I would say something so completely outrageous he could deny it with complete confidence, and my verbal attack would have to end in his victory. But hearing him deny it would break me. It would snap my soul like a thin sapling twig. But Robin needed the victory more than I.
"I was even told you LOVED me, whelp. Is it true? Did you? And did you believe I should ever return it?" I spat. My body waited for his response - a vicious, witty rebuke to crush every argument I had presented.
He lowered his head and cocked it to the side like an owl, silent and contemplative. He was watching the ants scurry across his feet, as if they were returning the broken pieces of his heart. The sheriff burst into rolling, jeering guffaws that echoed in the room. This information had been a pleasant surprise for him. Robin would not look up. Richard began laughing as well, as merry as the sheriff. I could not force myself to join them, even if I were only acting. All I could plaster on my face was a sneer. And even that was failing.
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Author's Notes::: Okay, the spilling of the water seems random now. But I used it to show the differences between Marian and the sheriff, just so we remember who the stronger antagonist is. And I suppose I should have described the dungeons more, but I wanted everyone to get to keep their own picture of it.
** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***
A/N: Anyways, just a really quick note. Does anyone have any title suggestions? See, the current title (Turn Jerkin) was supposed to be a twist on "turncoat" but I don't think anybody gets it, (or it isn't funny) *characters snigger, suggesting that the latter is true. I threaten to add a few names to my kill-off list, and they shut up* I was thinking of "You Learn" as another possible name. I am just, like, clueless. Or does anyone think I should keep the title 'cuz I'm too far into it already?
I cannot believe I posted two chapters so closely to one another! (Well, close for me) Thank you to everyone for reviewing chapter 6, and thanks to True Fan (or should I say Eh, Man?) for pestering me about an update. Chapter 6 isn't much of a tell-all, so I'm also posting chapter 7. Yes, I have no life outside of writing. What do you expect? Enjoy. Or then again, maybe not.
** ** *** *** *** *** ** ** *** *** **
FIRST DAY OF FULL IMPRISONMENT
I was back at the castle next day, early in the morn, as I had been instructed by my curled oppressor. He claimed the "may" in his task depended on the events of last night. Well, I would get this accursed task over with quickly. A nervous scullion flew by me, skidding in an attempt to stop. "M-my lady!" he called frantically, arms flailing. I whirled around and smiled genially at him, though I could not see his face. Despite the hatred and misery growing inside my heart, I would not take it out on someone else, especially one of the poor souls that slaved for the sheriff. The tired boy's shoulders heaved up and down with every breath he drew. Unkempt blonde bangs hid his face as he stared furiously at his feet. "M-My lord sheriff says that - he says you are to come with me." He paused, panting, in a desperate attempt to regain his breath. "He is very s-sorry that he-he cannot provide an adequate escort for you at the - at the moment."
I nodded. "Lead on, then," I replied, and he looked up at me. I jumped back when I saw him, and his face fell. Now I knew who had spilt water in the sheriff's shoes. He kept his head down as we began to travel down the hall.
I have to admit I was feeling guilty right then. I had not meant to recoil at his bruised face, but it had taken me by surprise. We did not beat our servants for such a small offense at Whitby. I felt sorry for him.
"Spill anything lately?" I asked, brutally clear. His shoulders jerked into a hunch. "Aye, milady," he responded in a near whisper. I knew it. Just then, I noticed we were descending. "Where are you taking me?" I snapped.
"Why, to the dungeons, milady."
I should have known. Oh, good God. The sheriff was waiting for us at the doors, with Richard at his side. Two oafs. How charming. The scullion cringed when he saw the sheriff. "You little whelp---" the sheriff began threateningly, eyes narrowing. The kitchen boy backed behind my skirts. "Coward as well, then," the sheriff finished, and he turned to me. "Tell him to leave," he snapped, "I will not speak to such a pathetic creature." I craned my head backward. "You can leave now, dear," I whispered, gently as I could mange, smiling kindly at him. The kitchen boy nodded quickly, grateful smile on his face, and fled.
"You!" the sheriff barked, pointing at me. Rude infidel. "You are to do as I say, despite your emotions." He had obviously sensed my discomfort. I could hear some poor soul's screams, and a series of repetitive thuds echoed from beneath a cell door some feet off. I shuddered to think of even a short stay in such caves. It was then I realized that I stood on the door leading to one of the hellish pits. I shied away quickly. Nottingham's dungeons were below ground, though the true torture usually took place outside the cells of its prisoners. I shivered despite myself. The sheriff was obviously looking forward to the agony of today's victim. I wanted to wring his neck, knowing bloody well who the object of his animosity was, but I could only bow my head and obey him. I would rather it be Robin, who was strong and could take it, than my father.
"We are bringing the outlaw out for a flogging," he continued, smiling wickedly as he contemplated that coming occurrence, "I t seems that he has proved - er - difficult to tame. All five watches beat him last night." I flinched. "Yet he still addresses me as the 'King of Pigs." He wrung his hands in joyous anticipation. "I shall leave him without a shred of skin on his back today for it." It took a great strength of will not to wince again when he said that. His cruel finger was directed at me once more. "When you see him, you are to laugh. Laugh loudly and viciously, understood?"
Ah. So the brute needed my help in bringing Robin down. The coward's way to crush a man. Attack the spirit. How typical of him.
My heart collapsed into an ashen pile of dread. I could not force myself to do that, no matter how great an actress Robin thought I was. I could not. Not to my best friend. NAY.
"And," the sheriff concluded, "I want you to kiss Richard - in front of the outlaw." I could not resist raising an eyebrow. Well, THAT would hopefully cause Robin no pain, despite the disturbance it would perform on my innards. But Richard had that wicked smile on his face - the one he had worn often when we were younger, right before he punched Robin in the nose. My eyebrow dropped. He knew something, and knew that somehow that disgusting action would hurt Robin. And I had to kiss that smirking bully. Gross. If I can manage to get through it without retching, I pondered.
"Now, come over here," the sheriff snapped. I forced myself to stand quietly by his side without raising a fist, though I wanted so badly to break his nose, leaving the cell I had been standing above open to attack, as the two guards walked past. They flung open the door I had just been standing on and descended. There was aloud banging noise, and I flinched when I heard it.
And then they brought Robin up. It had only been one night. One bloody night. His face was nearly black with bruises, and his knees quaked as if they could barely support him. One eye was swollen shut, and much of his lower lip was hanging off. Blood trailed down his face in thick crimson rivers even now and there were scarlet stains round the ropes binding his wrists. Could they not have removed those? Even his breathing was ragged. Everything was injured. He appeared completely hopeless, shoulders slumped in utter, painful defeat. Until he looked at me.
His eye blazed with pure, unchecked rage. The line that was his mouth twisted with the need to scream curses. Fire leapt in every movement of his ravaged body. I had seen that emotion before - HATE. He appeared to be contemplating the best way to have the flames of his anger consume me - head first or feet first. I do not believe I should wish to know the answer even now.
The guard punched him roughly in the head. He cried out in pain and hit mangled knees. "Sir!" I snapped, "That was rather unnecessary!"
Robin's head flung upward, enraged. "I do not need aid from traitors, bitch!" he cried viciously, loathing roaring from every slurred syllable. Pity surged in my heart when I saw his lip trying to form words, but he was oblivious to my compassion. The second guard kicked him in the stomach. "Shut your vile mouth, outlaw!" the sheriff's man bellowed. Robin hit all fours, somehow supporting himself with bound wrists, and emitted the smallest, most pathetic groan. Now I had to act.
Tears forming in my eyes, I flung back my head and burst into the cruelest laughter I could conjure. I had always been an excellent villain when we played knights. But this was not laughter; it was a witch's cackle - harsh and vicious; there was no amusement in it - only scorn. When we played knights, I had been truly giggling, because a so-called dead Robin kept pretending to bite my leg. But now---
Richard joined my mocking screech, except his was full of actual mirth, and Robin's shoulders slumped. His eyes dimmed as the guard yanked him upward by the remnants of a collar.
I ceased in my jeering scream and turned to Richard, smiling coyly. "Amusing, isn't it?" I asked, my teeth clenching against such a grievous falsehood. Making sure Robin watched, I pressed both lips against my betrothed. He responded in his usual lusty manner. Somehow, he forced my closed mouth open. His tongue was twisting round my own like an eel. I felt the vomit surging in my throat, but I had to force it backward. I had to play queen of the demons. But soon the retching noises were beginning, so I gently let Richard know I wanted out. He released me. I was free.
The sheriff instantly met my eye, barely allowing a gasp of fresh air. His gaze told me to continue the charade. Please don't make me, I pleaded mentally, attempting to penetrate his black heart with my gaze. He only glanced meaningfully at Robin's sagging form. What was wrong with my outlaw?
Tears were welling in my eyes. I wanted so badly to tear the guards into tiny little pieces that would scatter on the winds and drown in the mighty river of Sherwood. I wanted to beat the sheriff senseless - no, I wanted to beat him badly enough to render senselessness, but deny him the escape of unconscious. I wanted to take Robin back to the forest and out of this dreadful stone pit. But even more than that, I wanted my father to die in peace.
"You thought I was your friend, didn't you, my pathetic Saxon dog?" I spat, crossing my arms. Robin lifted his eyes and they were heavy, but the anger was still burning there, barely, like a candle on a rainy day. "You twit!" I continued, "I, a lady of Whitby, become your friend? The other foresters loathed you. Did you not expect the rest of us to do so? Or were you fool enough to believe anyone could possibly stand the sight of you?" I flung back my head and cackled again.
Robin's shoulders sagged even farther, though his stone face revealed nothing but anger. But his eyes told all. I would kill the sheriff. I would bloody well MURDER him. Robin was a stoic, but he could not throw the mask over his eyes. And they were showing the pain of my words. Their deep steady glow had vanished to a wisp of conquered ash, slumping dejectedly, though his shoulders were straight. Robin, why do you care what I say? Why do my words cut you so?
Suddenly, I had an idea. I would give him a chance to redeem himself. I would say something so completely outrageous he could deny it with complete confidence, and my verbal attack would have to end in his victory. But hearing him deny it would break me. It would snap my soul like a thin sapling twig. But Robin needed the victory more than I.
"I was even told you LOVED me, whelp. Is it true? Did you? And did you believe I should ever return it?" I spat. My body waited for his response - a vicious, witty rebuke to crush every argument I had presented.
He lowered his head and cocked it to the side like an owl, silent and contemplative. He was watching the ants scurry across his feet, as if they were returning the broken pieces of his heart. The sheriff burst into rolling, jeering guffaws that echoed in the room. This information had been a pleasant surprise for him. Robin would not look up. Richard began laughing as well, as merry as the sheriff. I could not force myself to join them, even if I were only acting. All I could plaster on my face was a sneer. And even that was failing.
** *** *** ** *** ** *** *** *** ***
Author's Notes::: Okay, the spilling of the water seems random now. But I used it to show the differences between Marian and the sheriff, just so we remember who the stronger antagonist is. And I suppose I should have described the dungeons more, but I wanted everyone to get to keep their own picture of it.
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