A/N: Erm...yeah. In case anyone can't tell, I had major writer's block, and
couldn't finish this chapter (I'd only had the Lucy part written. I'm
getting all sorts of those nasty surprises when I open my "finished" story.
*frowns*). But I DID finish it (horribly) and --- yeah. *stares blankly at
keyboard* So you can probably expect the next chapter this weekend, cuz
that only needs slight editing ----- I think. And it'll make up for this
short piece of junk.
You can blame my drama lady for this atrocity, though. She made me a dancer in the musical, and I can't dance. Author chunk gets in the way again, you know? (And my track coach wants me to do *shudder* outdoor track. I swear I'm being stalked. Every time he walks by me in the halls he whispers, "Slacker!") It's mental stress. But now that February vacation is here---- *grins maniacally*
And this story takes place in the year 1194 (which is the year that King Richard came home from Crusade. *hint hint*) Right now we're in the beginning of that year, if you couldn't tell by how Sara wanted spring to come early in another chapter. Before that it was late 1193. You get it, right? (winter is from December to February. December would be the 1193. January and February the 1194. But medieval people wouldn't call that the end of the year, so I didn't mention it. Spring began their year, in March.)
And speaking of our favorite Irish woman, worry not, Sara haters, she does indeed have privy duty next chapter. Hehehe.
"Come now, Sara, she isn't THAT bad," Robin said, watching Lucy's archery progress with one eye. He always had to watch the target practice, because none of the others could identify the minor issues that kept their brilliant archers from hitting the center. But Lucy's problems – those were obvious.
Will shook his head. "Oh, believe me, cousin, she is." Lucy's frail, soft hands were breaking with calluses as she struggled with the bowstring. The arrow went askew once more, landing in David's target.
"Lucy, you're flinching. You shouldn't move until the arrow is released." She whirled around and scowled at Robin, upper lip curling slightly. "I KNEW that," she growled, quaking with barely suppressed rage. Both Will and Sara rolled their eyes in near unison, arms crossed. Even Robin inhaled deeply to control his temper. "Of course you did," he replied, causing the lady to start with surprise, "Now you simply need to APPLY that knowledge." He smiled brightly and stepped back to watch. Lucy eyed him dangerously, and her frown only increased when Robin continued to smile encouragingly. "False bastard," she muttered, and fired.
The bow fell out of her hands when she released, and the arrow – not even Saint Anthony could have found it as it scurried off to hide in Sherwood.
"Well, maybe she is a bit clumsy," Robin conceded quietly, the worry line forming a ravine in his forehead. He sighed loudly, not meaning to. Why had he ever brought her here? She was not made for this; neither was Allan. But she had taken it well, considering the obvious shock she must have been in. Instead of replying with disgust or shock in her voice, she had smiled at Allan and told him it was wonderfully romantic to be living in a deep, dark forest. "Just like your ballads," she had comforted, grinning.
However, only around Allan was she so optimistic. The truth came out whenever her husband was on watch. Will called her "Lucifer" whenever she began one of her tirades. Of course, she always directed the speeches at a particular victim or sympathetic ear, but in a tone loud enough for everyone – mostly Robin – to hear. Just that morning, she had been ranting about the lack of facial cleanliness in the camp. "Decent Christians do not walk round with three weeks of filth on their faces, Robin! For heaven's sake, you are the leader of this group, and yet I'd warrant your face has not been decently scrubbed in a fortnight! Grime has certainly won the day on your face!"
Robin calmly replied that it was not much of a victory for the dirt, as he was thought rather ugly, and the filth should have aimed higher. Such responses set the fair lady seething furiously, because she thought it "unnatural". It infuriated her that his ego would not be bruised by remarks that had set grown men blushing.
That probably explained her tendency for whining. Every five minutes she would complain of an ailment. Her fingers callused; her dress was ripped; her hair was dirty; she was tired. Complaining took up the major part of her everyday activities.
Now she stalked out of the clearing, ranting furiously. Robin shrugged. "She'll be lost again, I suppose," he murmured, watching her retreating form with a degree of amusement. Despite her best attempts to maintain a ladylike air, Lucy was tripping over her skirts and the roots all over her path. "Mayhap I can send Allan to find her. His tracking skills are less than satisfactory."
Sara drew her dagger from its sheath. "Oh, aye, I know where he'll find her - at the bottom of the river with this darling through her neck!" She licked the edge of the dagger, watching David for a reaction. He groaned, hunching his shoulders. "God, Sara! That is positively loathsome." She smirked and sheathed one of her seven daggers again, while Will tried his hardest not to laugh aloud.
John came running into camp. Robin immediately abandoned his pursuit of Lucy's defense to see what the problem was. John's watch was not over for at least an hour. "A problem, I suppose?" he began quietly, trying not to alarm any of those watching. John nodded silently, worry evident in eyes that some described as beastlike. It pained Robin how everyone seemed to forget that John was human. He might as well have been animal to most – huge and silent, like some upright beast of burden. And he was rather frightening if you didn't know his character. But now it was the giant who seemed frightened; whatever he'd seen, he didn't like it. Robin smiled reassuringly at him, and particularly reminded himself of every human aspect in that return smile.
But there was not a long time to study that smile. After only half a minute of quick hand motions, he nodded firmly and thanked John. Then he ran over to Will and Sara. "John says he's seen an elderly wealthy man in the forest – wandering alone. We're going to go confront him right now. John and I will go talk to him; you two follow us from behind. Sara, bring your daggers, and Will, ready your sword. Hal, lead the third patrol behind us." He strung his own bow, and added half a dozen arrows to the quiver on his back. The arrows were made very well, but not of his own hands, and he wondered who else made such lovely shafts.
Catching wind of Hal's frantic breathing, he met his patrol leader's nervous face, smiling weakly. "All I'm begging you to remember is that the woodcock is a call for help, not the owl. Then all will be fine. But, pray, everyone, be careful. This seems far too easy to be true."
Robin blinked through the greenery. The situation was just as John had described it – an elderly member of the nobility wandering through the woods without his purse. All he held in his withered hands was a piece of parchment. Robin frowned to himself. He didn't like having anything out of the ordinary wandering in the forest. It meant that a plot was afoot. Or a troupe of foresters.
After a pause for contemplation, he whistled loudly in imitation of the mistle thrush. It was the bird call for "Does anyone recognize this person?" He waited a few seconds, and then the return call (song thrush) sounded. Someone knew this old man.
Will came up beside him, kneeling. "The Lord of Whitby," he whispered quickly, eyeing his cousin with warning, and then disappeared into the trees again to join Sara and Giles behind the oak Robin heaved a sigh, turning to John wearily. So far, the man hadn't realized he was being followed, but it could be an act. Marian must have inherited the knack for play-acting from someone.
Robin bit his nether lip in anxiety. This could be a serious problem. He shrugged at his black-bearded companion. The larger man twitched his head towards their intruder and nodded. It was worth a shot to go after him. They were at least five score rods from camp; if a difficulty arose, escape would be easy enough. Robin could see this rational side of John's decision, but his paranoia was gaining hold and gnawing at his common sense. Noting his leader's hesitation, John smirked and poked him in the forehead. Robin blinked in surprise, slowly lifting his hand to discover what had been jabbed. A laughing smile crossed his face as all three searching fingers traced over the familiar worry line. Still smiling, he nodded his agreement and shrieked the barn owl.
He and John stepped in front of the trespasser; the former with his bow drawn; the latter with his staff ready. The man's face twitched with shock at the obvious hostility and he blanched. Robin prayed that this fool did not know his bowstring would be slack in exactly twelve seconds.
"Please drop your weapons!" the man cried, and his voice did not squeak with fear as most. Robin quickly obliged so as not to expose a weakness. "Why do you come to Sherwood, sir?" he snapped, standing with his legs spread and chin higher than usual. John's brow was furrowed, and his seasoned quarterstaff let out a silent threat from where it rested in grudging dormancy between his strong hands.
"I come to seek out Robin Hood."
"For what purpose, sheriff's spy?" He made a threatening move, almost to lift the bow again. He sensed the patrol stepping out behind him, and could only imagine the show they were putting on to frighten this unwanted guest.
The Lord of Whitby snapped a piece of parchment before Robin's dark eyes, giving the outlaw enough time to read a few choice sentences. "I have some information about that official he may be interested in."
The bird call for peace rang off the trees.
A/N: I got a little cliff-hanger-like there. Hehe. Well, I hope you enjoyed the plot at least. And thanks for reading!!!! You rock my socks
And guess what this cool kid did this weekend? I met TAMORA PIERCE!! She was the coolest lady ever and is now my idol. And I saw an awesome display of medieval fighting techniques (including daggers and longsword), with a really cute guy manning the halberd. In tights and a loose tunic with low neckline. Hell yeah.
And I have a question for everyone – what's the difference between a morning star and a flail? (random question, yeah, but my friend and I were wondering)
You can blame my drama lady for this atrocity, though. She made me a dancer in the musical, and I can't dance. Author chunk gets in the way again, you know? (And my track coach wants me to do *shudder* outdoor track. I swear I'm being stalked. Every time he walks by me in the halls he whispers, "Slacker!") It's mental stress. But now that February vacation is here---- *grins maniacally*
And this story takes place in the year 1194 (which is the year that King Richard came home from Crusade. *hint hint*) Right now we're in the beginning of that year, if you couldn't tell by how Sara wanted spring to come early in another chapter. Before that it was late 1193. You get it, right? (winter is from December to February. December would be the 1193. January and February the 1194. But medieval people wouldn't call that the end of the year, so I didn't mention it. Spring began their year, in March.)
And speaking of our favorite Irish woman, worry not, Sara haters, she does indeed have privy duty next chapter. Hehehe.
"Come now, Sara, she isn't THAT bad," Robin said, watching Lucy's archery progress with one eye. He always had to watch the target practice, because none of the others could identify the minor issues that kept their brilliant archers from hitting the center. But Lucy's problems – those were obvious.
Will shook his head. "Oh, believe me, cousin, she is." Lucy's frail, soft hands were breaking with calluses as she struggled with the bowstring. The arrow went askew once more, landing in David's target.
"Lucy, you're flinching. You shouldn't move until the arrow is released." She whirled around and scowled at Robin, upper lip curling slightly. "I KNEW that," she growled, quaking with barely suppressed rage. Both Will and Sara rolled their eyes in near unison, arms crossed. Even Robin inhaled deeply to control his temper. "Of course you did," he replied, causing the lady to start with surprise, "Now you simply need to APPLY that knowledge." He smiled brightly and stepped back to watch. Lucy eyed him dangerously, and her frown only increased when Robin continued to smile encouragingly. "False bastard," she muttered, and fired.
The bow fell out of her hands when she released, and the arrow – not even Saint Anthony could have found it as it scurried off to hide in Sherwood.
"Well, maybe she is a bit clumsy," Robin conceded quietly, the worry line forming a ravine in his forehead. He sighed loudly, not meaning to. Why had he ever brought her here? She was not made for this; neither was Allan. But she had taken it well, considering the obvious shock she must have been in. Instead of replying with disgust or shock in her voice, she had smiled at Allan and told him it was wonderfully romantic to be living in a deep, dark forest. "Just like your ballads," she had comforted, grinning.
However, only around Allan was she so optimistic. The truth came out whenever her husband was on watch. Will called her "Lucifer" whenever she began one of her tirades. Of course, she always directed the speeches at a particular victim or sympathetic ear, but in a tone loud enough for everyone – mostly Robin – to hear. Just that morning, she had been ranting about the lack of facial cleanliness in the camp. "Decent Christians do not walk round with three weeks of filth on their faces, Robin! For heaven's sake, you are the leader of this group, and yet I'd warrant your face has not been decently scrubbed in a fortnight! Grime has certainly won the day on your face!"
Robin calmly replied that it was not much of a victory for the dirt, as he was thought rather ugly, and the filth should have aimed higher. Such responses set the fair lady seething furiously, because she thought it "unnatural". It infuriated her that his ego would not be bruised by remarks that had set grown men blushing.
That probably explained her tendency for whining. Every five minutes she would complain of an ailment. Her fingers callused; her dress was ripped; her hair was dirty; she was tired. Complaining took up the major part of her everyday activities.
Now she stalked out of the clearing, ranting furiously. Robin shrugged. "She'll be lost again, I suppose," he murmured, watching her retreating form with a degree of amusement. Despite her best attempts to maintain a ladylike air, Lucy was tripping over her skirts and the roots all over her path. "Mayhap I can send Allan to find her. His tracking skills are less than satisfactory."
Sara drew her dagger from its sheath. "Oh, aye, I know where he'll find her - at the bottom of the river with this darling through her neck!" She licked the edge of the dagger, watching David for a reaction. He groaned, hunching his shoulders. "God, Sara! That is positively loathsome." She smirked and sheathed one of her seven daggers again, while Will tried his hardest not to laugh aloud.
John came running into camp. Robin immediately abandoned his pursuit of Lucy's defense to see what the problem was. John's watch was not over for at least an hour. "A problem, I suppose?" he began quietly, trying not to alarm any of those watching. John nodded silently, worry evident in eyes that some described as beastlike. It pained Robin how everyone seemed to forget that John was human. He might as well have been animal to most – huge and silent, like some upright beast of burden. And he was rather frightening if you didn't know his character. But now it was the giant who seemed frightened; whatever he'd seen, he didn't like it. Robin smiled reassuringly at him, and particularly reminded himself of every human aspect in that return smile.
But there was not a long time to study that smile. After only half a minute of quick hand motions, he nodded firmly and thanked John. Then he ran over to Will and Sara. "John says he's seen an elderly wealthy man in the forest – wandering alone. We're going to go confront him right now. John and I will go talk to him; you two follow us from behind. Sara, bring your daggers, and Will, ready your sword. Hal, lead the third patrol behind us." He strung his own bow, and added half a dozen arrows to the quiver on his back. The arrows were made very well, but not of his own hands, and he wondered who else made such lovely shafts.
Catching wind of Hal's frantic breathing, he met his patrol leader's nervous face, smiling weakly. "All I'm begging you to remember is that the woodcock is a call for help, not the owl. Then all will be fine. But, pray, everyone, be careful. This seems far too easy to be true."
Robin blinked through the greenery. The situation was just as John had described it – an elderly member of the nobility wandering through the woods without his purse. All he held in his withered hands was a piece of parchment. Robin frowned to himself. He didn't like having anything out of the ordinary wandering in the forest. It meant that a plot was afoot. Or a troupe of foresters.
After a pause for contemplation, he whistled loudly in imitation of the mistle thrush. It was the bird call for "Does anyone recognize this person?" He waited a few seconds, and then the return call (song thrush) sounded. Someone knew this old man.
Will came up beside him, kneeling. "The Lord of Whitby," he whispered quickly, eyeing his cousin with warning, and then disappeared into the trees again to join Sara and Giles behind the oak Robin heaved a sigh, turning to John wearily. So far, the man hadn't realized he was being followed, but it could be an act. Marian must have inherited the knack for play-acting from someone.
Robin bit his nether lip in anxiety. This could be a serious problem. He shrugged at his black-bearded companion. The larger man twitched his head towards their intruder and nodded. It was worth a shot to go after him. They were at least five score rods from camp; if a difficulty arose, escape would be easy enough. Robin could see this rational side of John's decision, but his paranoia was gaining hold and gnawing at his common sense. Noting his leader's hesitation, John smirked and poked him in the forehead. Robin blinked in surprise, slowly lifting his hand to discover what had been jabbed. A laughing smile crossed his face as all three searching fingers traced over the familiar worry line. Still smiling, he nodded his agreement and shrieked the barn owl.
He and John stepped in front of the trespasser; the former with his bow drawn; the latter with his staff ready. The man's face twitched with shock at the obvious hostility and he blanched. Robin prayed that this fool did not know his bowstring would be slack in exactly twelve seconds.
"Please drop your weapons!" the man cried, and his voice did not squeak with fear as most. Robin quickly obliged so as not to expose a weakness. "Why do you come to Sherwood, sir?" he snapped, standing with his legs spread and chin higher than usual. John's brow was furrowed, and his seasoned quarterstaff let out a silent threat from where it rested in grudging dormancy between his strong hands.
"I come to seek out Robin Hood."
"For what purpose, sheriff's spy?" He made a threatening move, almost to lift the bow again. He sensed the patrol stepping out behind him, and could only imagine the show they were putting on to frighten this unwanted guest.
The Lord of Whitby snapped a piece of parchment before Robin's dark eyes, giving the outlaw enough time to read a few choice sentences. "I have some information about that official he may be interested in."
The bird call for peace rang off the trees.
A/N: I got a little cliff-hanger-like there. Hehe. Well, I hope you enjoyed the plot at least. And thanks for reading!!!! You rock my socks
And guess what this cool kid did this weekend? I met TAMORA PIERCE!! She was the coolest lady ever and is now my idol. And I saw an awesome display of medieval fighting techniques (including daggers and longsword), with a really cute guy manning the halberd. In tights and a loose tunic with low neckline. Hell yeah.
And I have a question for everyone – what's the difference between a morning star and a flail? (random question, yeah, but my friend and I were wondering)