Robin Hood, the evening after the meeting with King Richard, for the fifteenth "If" story.
Or talk with Kings—nor lose the common touch…
"Well!" said Little John, later. "That was an eye-opener, and no mistake!" The other Merry Men murmured their agreement, and Friar Tuck groaned and then laughed, tipping his head back to thunk against a tree trunk.
"We ain't even outlaws anymore!" complained Will Scarlet, good-naturedly. "We've got the King's own permission to poach his deer!" A laugh echoed around the camp as the newly ill-named Outlaws finished off the evening's now-legal venison. "Why, we'll be celebrities!"
Robin Hood, whistling, walked back into the clearing. Much-the-miller's-son, seeing him, raised his mug and echoed, "Right, Rob? We'll be practically nobles now!"
"No one's calling you noble, Much!" Robin returned, tossing a clod of dirt at the man who cursed as it caught him on the ear.
"And don't let any of you go getting a big head—you hear me?" He grinned around at them, brandishing his quarterstaff threateningly. "I'll be happy to beat it back to size for you if you do!"
This declaration was greeted with jeers from his loyal men, and Little John scoffed.
"You think I can't?" Robin glowered gleefully. "However many kingly pardons I'm granted—I'll never be too good to beat some sense into you lot!"
Laugher again rang through Sherwood Forest, and long into the night the Merry Men bickered back and forth, safe now under the protection of both their leader and their king.