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A/N: aren't y'all so proud of me for updating almost regularly? Well, no one wants to listen to me rattle on about myself, so instead I'll just finish up by thanking Eh, Man for beta-ing this chapter for me! Yay!
And to answer Dragon-of-the-North's questions - Of course Marian's father isn't going to be a foddering old sot! He has a part to play, a very important one. He's crafty behind those innocent tufts of white hair. *laughs evilly*
Interlude from Marian's POV again.
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"Why in the name of God are they doing that to him?" Will cried. Nan, who had just finished reporting, shrugged artlessly. "I don't know," she lied, hands clasped innocently behind her back. David stared curiously at her. "But, Nan, that pretty girl in the tavern told us ---" Nan rammed her foot into David's ankle, but the comment had still aroused Will's attention. After all, they'd been gone for longer than expected. They should have been able to retrieve information; especially considering that five of the sheriff's kitchen wenches and six local tavern girls were smitten with David.
Will watched both of them quietly for a moment, frightening them with his lack of words. Will rarely kept his mouth shut. There was a long, awkward pause as he surveyed them with the utmost intensity. "What did she say, David?" he asked finally, breaking the wicked silence. David shrugged uneasily. "Something about information as to where camp is," he replied, watching his feet.
"Look at me, David," Will ordered. David met his eyes, simpering pathetically. "Would you please repeat what you said?" Will asked, lip twitching. David couldn't lie when you met his eyes. Nan sighed, knowing he'd spill what they were trying to keep secret. David's eyes widened, and his eyebrow twitched. "I-I said that --- well, I--"
"Aye?"
"The sheriff wants to know where you are," he muttered, eyes flying to his feet once more. Nan glowered at him. Will blinked a few times, and his face paled. It was his fault. His heart deadened within him. "Where I am?" he croaked, eyes round with shock. David nodded silently, and rubbed his left foot with his right. He smiled apologetically at Will and quickly headed out for his turn on watch.
Sara was sitting nearby, clumsily stitching a hole in someone's tunic. Catching Will's expression, she dropped her work into Gatty's more capable hands and came towards him. "Will?" she asked. He bit his lip in frustration and turned to her. It was his fault that they were tormenting Robin so often. His father didn't know if he was in Sherwood or not, and was offering to pay the sheriff a high price in order to find out. An even higher price if the sheriff could bring Will back to Norwell.
Sara wanted to smile and comfort him, but smiling just didn't seem right, in light of the subject matter. "I'm sure they'd hurt him anyways," she comforted instead, crossing her arms and shrugging. Will shook his head. "Not like - not like they are," he croaked, staring blankly ahead at the trees. Those rank, decayed carp that called themselves guards. Drunken swine. Sadistic beasts of Satan. Will clenched his fists against the guilt that was washing over him. And they had free reign of Robin.
"They'll be more careful of him than they are of most," Sara continued, "They have orders not to kill him before the hanging unless they themselves wish death." She shrugged again, wishing she could be sure of her promises. Will didn't really seem to believe her anyways.
I should just tell my blasted father I'm in Sherwood, Will thought. But he was afraid to. His father would descend on them all with a wrath if he knew his second son was amongst them. Will despised his own revolting cowardice. He could so easily save his cousin from Hell. But, nay, he would only bring more pain down if he revealed himself. If he ever got his hands on the sheriff of Nottingham's neck---
"Will?" someone asked. Will and Sara both whipped their heads around. The speaker was a slight, timid girl with huge dark eyes and light brown hair that framed her like a halo. New outlaw, too, by the looks of her footing. "John says he knows how long they'll be keeping Robin," she informed them. Will nodded. John was practically a mute; the Normans had tried to cut his tongue out, and almost succeeded. Now he was petrified of opening his mouth and preferred to communicate with his hands and face, although he had the ability to speak. It was a difficult task signing, so he tended to keep to himself. Robin understood what John was trying to say best of all, and had the most patience with his signing, so he usually did the interpreting. But he was gone. "I already figured out what his information concerns," the girl said, smiling at John, who grinned in return. "Took me a little bit of time, though." She giggled.
John held up three fingers. "Three months?" Sara asked. John shook his head again. He pressed both hands close together. "Less time than that?" the girl asked. John nodded, smiling. The girl was almost as quick with it as Robin. "Three weeks?" Will croaked, gulping slightly. John pressed his hands together again, shaking his head. "Three days," the girl corrected. John grinned at her and nodded.
Will swore loudly, though his face flooded with relief. "Three days to plan," he whispered. Sara nodded. "In truth, two. We may not make it," she replied. They gazed morosely over the treetops, watching as the multitude of rag tag outlaws under Robin surrounded them. Suddenly, David leapt from a tree limb, followed by a more sinister man of Sherwood.
Robin's outlaws were all abandoned and lost peasants clustered round the single fire available to them - that of Robin Hood. They laughed and giggled about robberies, mocking the Normans they gagged with grossly exaggerated gestures. There were twigs and leaves in their hair, mud and dead leaves on their clothes. They missed the target, burnt the soup, stumbled over roots, and lost themselves three feet from camp. But this other man, Adam Bell, was a different type of miscreant.
A twisted scar ran gruesomely down his face. It colored hideously when he was concentrating on something, such as archery. He had only three followers, and not a one of them dared risk such a stupidity as missing the target. And now he was standing in Robin's camp.
Jenna, one of the VERY few run away ladies in camp, screamed at the sight of this fearsome legend, and promptly collapsed in a faint. John stood anxiously, glancing instinctively for a leader to defend. Finding none, he held his formidable staff in a fighting pose. Will and Sara raised their bows, and the many others, banded in their trees, unsheathed daggers and raised staves.
"Hold," David commanded, "He comes to---" he looked warily at Adam again, "to help." Adam Bell stepped forward, smiling rakishly. "I hear Saint Scrawny has been captured by the sheriff," he said calmly. That was Adam's nickname for Robin, and it royally annoyed Will. But Robin claimed it was just Adam's way. All of his followers had similar derogatory titles, and everyone knew Adam would die for each one of them. Will glowered. "And? Have you come to boast?" he snapped. Adam shrugged. "Partly to brag, and partly to help you retrieve him."
"Why?"
"Because there is one way, and one way alone, I am able to rob as I do. Your 'leader' and his little righteousness campaign." Adam snorted scornfully. Will's fists tightened. It was not the time to push him. "The sheriff doesn't overly mind when I rob for my own good," Adam continued, "but when Scrawny takes FROM the Norman pigs and gives TO the Saxon dogs, he robs the sheriff of the land he usually gets from bankrupt peasants. And THAT is far worse than simply taking money."
"We do not require YOUR aid at this time."
"Oh, truly? Then, pray tell, what is your plan?"
There was an awkward pause, as the outlaws looked nervously at each other. They knew they were getting Robin back, but as to how they would achieve his safe return, they had not a clue. Nan stormed up and growled. "I have a plan," she snapped, determined to save everyone from embarrassment, "but it will need to be executed before the day of Robin's hanging."
Adam nodded his approval. "Then tell us," he ordered.
Will shook his head. "We wait for everyone," he replied, realizing with a sudden despair that it was a hopeless cause losing Adam, however much he needed the mongrel to leave. Sara, catching Adam's determination with equal resignation, sighed and leapt onto a low branch. She quickly imitated the lark, a bird call signaling an important meeting. Within a few minutes, the entire three score of humans in camp, a score and a half being outlaws, were milling round the campfire. A few scratched their fleas, and all watched Adam like a dangerous dog. "Well then," Will began, "let us begin the plot."
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A/N: All right. I just realized that this thing is going to be pretty long. But not, like, forty chapters or anything. Eesh. That would be excessive. But a decent length. I just have too complex a plot. *sigh* I can never write a nice little short story, can I? I've always gotta go all Tolstoy on everyone. *bangs head against table* And I'm not even Russian! *sobs openly*
*** Note: It is best to ignore OutlawEris when she gets like this, for in addition to not being a Russian, she is Irish, and therefore prone to the Irish exaggeration syndrome. This has been a service of the International Psychopath Monitoring Society (IPMS). ***
Ha-ha. Little joke in the abbreviation. Thanks for reviewing!
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A/N: aren't y'all so proud of me for updating almost regularly? Well, no one wants to listen to me rattle on about myself, so instead I'll just finish up by thanking Eh, Man for beta-ing this chapter for me! Yay!
And to answer Dragon-of-the-North's questions - Of course Marian's father isn't going to be a foddering old sot! He has a part to play, a very important one. He's crafty behind those innocent tufts of white hair. *laughs evilly*
Interlude from Marian's POV again.
***********
"Why in the name of God are they doing that to him?" Will cried. Nan, who had just finished reporting, shrugged artlessly. "I don't know," she lied, hands clasped innocently behind her back. David stared curiously at her. "But, Nan, that pretty girl in the tavern told us ---" Nan rammed her foot into David's ankle, but the comment had still aroused Will's attention. After all, they'd been gone for longer than expected. They should have been able to retrieve information; especially considering that five of the sheriff's kitchen wenches and six local tavern girls were smitten with David.
Will watched both of them quietly for a moment, frightening them with his lack of words. Will rarely kept his mouth shut. There was a long, awkward pause as he surveyed them with the utmost intensity. "What did she say, David?" he asked finally, breaking the wicked silence. David shrugged uneasily. "Something about information as to where camp is," he replied, watching his feet.
"Look at me, David," Will ordered. David met his eyes, simpering pathetically. "Would you please repeat what you said?" Will asked, lip twitching. David couldn't lie when you met his eyes. Nan sighed, knowing he'd spill what they were trying to keep secret. David's eyes widened, and his eyebrow twitched. "I-I said that --- well, I--"
"Aye?"
"The sheriff wants to know where you are," he muttered, eyes flying to his feet once more. Nan glowered at him. Will blinked a few times, and his face paled. It was his fault. His heart deadened within him. "Where I am?" he croaked, eyes round with shock. David nodded silently, and rubbed his left foot with his right. He smiled apologetically at Will and quickly headed out for his turn on watch.
Sara was sitting nearby, clumsily stitching a hole in someone's tunic. Catching Will's expression, she dropped her work into Gatty's more capable hands and came towards him. "Will?" she asked. He bit his lip in frustration and turned to her. It was his fault that they were tormenting Robin so often. His father didn't know if he was in Sherwood or not, and was offering to pay the sheriff a high price in order to find out. An even higher price if the sheriff could bring Will back to Norwell.
Sara wanted to smile and comfort him, but smiling just didn't seem right, in light of the subject matter. "I'm sure they'd hurt him anyways," she comforted instead, crossing her arms and shrugging. Will shook his head. "Not like - not like they are," he croaked, staring blankly ahead at the trees. Those rank, decayed carp that called themselves guards. Drunken swine. Sadistic beasts of Satan. Will clenched his fists against the guilt that was washing over him. And they had free reign of Robin.
"They'll be more careful of him than they are of most," Sara continued, "They have orders not to kill him before the hanging unless they themselves wish death." She shrugged again, wishing she could be sure of her promises. Will didn't really seem to believe her anyways.
I should just tell my blasted father I'm in Sherwood, Will thought. But he was afraid to. His father would descend on them all with a wrath if he knew his second son was amongst them. Will despised his own revolting cowardice. He could so easily save his cousin from Hell. But, nay, he would only bring more pain down if he revealed himself. If he ever got his hands on the sheriff of Nottingham's neck---
"Will?" someone asked. Will and Sara both whipped their heads around. The speaker was a slight, timid girl with huge dark eyes and light brown hair that framed her like a halo. New outlaw, too, by the looks of her footing. "John says he knows how long they'll be keeping Robin," she informed them. Will nodded. John was practically a mute; the Normans had tried to cut his tongue out, and almost succeeded. Now he was petrified of opening his mouth and preferred to communicate with his hands and face, although he had the ability to speak. It was a difficult task signing, so he tended to keep to himself. Robin understood what John was trying to say best of all, and had the most patience with his signing, so he usually did the interpreting. But he was gone. "I already figured out what his information concerns," the girl said, smiling at John, who grinned in return. "Took me a little bit of time, though." She giggled.
John held up three fingers. "Three months?" Sara asked. John shook his head again. He pressed both hands close together. "Less time than that?" the girl asked. John nodded, smiling. The girl was almost as quick with it as Robin. "Three weeks?" Will croaked, gulping slightly. John pressed his hands together again, shaking his head. "Three days," the girl corrected. John grinned at her and nodded.
Will swore loudly, though his face flooded with relief. "Three days to plan," he whispered. Sara nodded. "In truth, two. We may not make it," she replied. They gazed morosely over the treetops, watching as the multitude of rag tag outlaws under Robin surrounded them. Suddenly, David leapt from a tree limb, followed by a more sinister man of Sherwood.
Robin's outlaws were all abandoned and lost peasants clustered round the single fire available to them - that of Robin Hood. They laughed and giggled about robberies, mocking the Normans they gagged with grossly exaggerated gestures. There were twigs and leaves in their hair, mud and dead leaves on their clothes. They missed the target, burnt the soup, stumbled over roots, and lost themselves three feet from camp. But this other man, Adam Bell, was a different type of miscreant.
A twisted scar ran gruesomely down his face. It colored hideously when he was concentrating on something, such as archery. He had only three followers, and not a one of them dared risk such a stupidity as missing the target. And now he was standing in Robin's camp.
Jenna, one of the VERY few run away ladies in camp, screamed at the sight of this fearsome legend, and promptly collapsed in a faint. John stood anxiously, glancing instinctively for a leader to defend. Finding none, he held his formidable staff in a fighting pose. Will and Sara raised their bows, and the many others, banded in their trees, unsheathed daggers and raised staves.
"Hold," David commanded, "He comes to---" he looked warily at Adam again, "to help." Adam Bell stepped forward, smiling rakishly. "I hear Saint Scrawny has been captured by the sheriff," he said calmly. That was Adam's nickname for Robin, and it royally annoyed Will. But Robin claimed it was just Adam's way. All of his followers had similar derogatory titles, and everyone knew Adam would die for each one of them. Will glowered. "And? Have you come to boast?" he snapped. Adam shrugged. "Partly to brag, and partly to help you retrieve him."
"Why?"
"Because there is one way, and one way alone, I am able to rob as I do. Your 'leader' and his little righteousness campaign." Adam snorted scornfully. Will's fists tightened. It was not the time to push him. "The sheriff doesn't overly mind when I rob for my own good," Adam continued, "but when Scrawny takes FROM the Norman pigs and gives TO the Saxon dogs, he robs the sheriff of the land he usually gets from bankrupt peasants. And THAT is far worse than simply taking money."
"We do not require YOUR aid at this time."
"Oh, truly? Then, pray tell, what is your plan?"
There was an awkward pause, as the outlaws looked nervously at each other. They knew they were getting Robin back, but as to how they would achieve his safe return, they had not a clue. Nan stormed up and growled. "I have a plan," she snapped, determined to save everyone from embarrassment, "but it will need to be executed before the day of Robin's hanging."
Adam nodded his approval. "Then tell us," he ordered.
Will shook his head. "We wait for everyone," he replied, realizing with a sudden despair that it was a hopeless cause losing Adam, however much he needed the mongrel to leave. Sara, catching Adam's determination with equal resignation, sighed and leapt onto a low branch. She quickly imitated the lark, a bird call signaling an important meeting. Within a few minutes, the entire three score of humans in camp, a score and a half being outlaws, were milling round the campfire. A few scratched their fleas, and all watched Adam like a dangerous dog. "Well then," Will began, "let us begin the plot."
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A/N: All right. I just realized that this thing is going to be pretty long. But not, like, forty chapters or anything. Eesh. That would be excessive. But a decent length. I just have too complex a plot. *sigh* I can never write a nice little short story, can I? I've always gotta go all Tolstoy on everyone. *bangs head against table* And I'm not even Russian! *sobs openly*
*** Note: It is best to ignore OutlawEris when she gets like this, for in addition to not being a Russian, she is Irish, and therefore prone to the Irish exaggeration syndrome. This has been a service of the International Psychopath Monitoring Society (IPMS). ***
Ha-ha. Little joke in the abbreviation. Thanks for reviewing!
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