The slam of the heavy wooden door rang through the stone halls of Nottingham Castle. Arthur paused in his embroidery for a moment, scowling out the window. "It seems Francis has returned." Behind him, Hong let out a noncommittal sound and went on with his servant duties, which meant preparing a bath at the moment. Arthur took the noise as an agreement and let out a huff of annoyance, going back to his embroidery and counting down the seconds.

Five…four…three…two…one…

The door to his chambers burst open, revealing a furious Francis. Before the prince could open his mouth, Arthur shot him a scathing glare. "Hello, Francis."

Francis frowned. "That is not how a man addresses his king."

"Oh, my mistake," Arthur replied, rolling his eyes. "Hello, Your Royal Highness, Prince Francis. Now what do you want?"

"That's not- Never mind." Francis crossed his arms, and Arthur noticed that his fingers were strangely bare of rings. "I only came to tell you that your old friend paid me a visit in the woods yesterday."

Arthur froze, his hands in the middle of making a stitch. "My old friend?" he murmured, eyes glazing over as he looked back into his past. "You know I have not seen him since we were children. We weren't even real friends back then. We are certainly not friends now." It was true. And if his needle stabbed a little more harshly than needed through the fabric, it didn't mean anything.

Francis either didn't notice the sudden jerkiness of Arthur's movements or didn't care, for his gaze turned to the open window. "So you say." Silence reigned between them for several minutes, in which Hong moved unhurriedly about the room. Finally, Francis muttered, "You knew him as a child. A child. I find it hard to imagine that bandit as any kind of innocent boy."

"Innocent?" Arthur chuckled. "I said he was young, not that he was innocent. Alfred Jones was always a pest." He paused, setting his embroidery down on his lap. "Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes he could be so incredibly sweet… But that was rare. He was a lord in those days, you know- the son of the Duke of Lincolnshire. He had everything to look forward to." He stared down at his hands. "And yet he gave it all up to become a thief, a bandit." His hands clenched. "An outlaw."

"For a man who hasn't seen him in years, you seem rather attached to this outlaw." Francis' lips curled in a sneer. "How can I be sure that you're not lying to me about this?"

Arthur shook his head, returning from the past, and glared at Francis. "Why would I bother taking the time to lie to you? You're not worth the effort." He shifted his gaze pointedly back to his embroidery. Hong let out a muted cough. The atmosphere grew noticeably tenser.

Francis hovered by the doorway for a few seconds longer, eyes flicking back and forth between both men in the room. "If anything else happens in Nottingham- if that bandit shows his face anywhere nearby- the blame falls on you, Sir Kirkland," he gritted. "I suggest you learn where your loyalties lie."

Arthur was on his feet immediately, and the embroidery hoop shattered as it struck the stone wall beside Francis' head. Green eyes burned with the glare that had made the Duke of Nottinghamshire a legend among his fellow nobles. "I know where my loyalties lie, Francis," he snarled. "Now get out."

"You cannot-"

"Get out."

"Arthur, you are-"

"I said get out!"

Francis' nerve broke, and he fled the room, his expensive boots clattering down the hallway. It was only once the echoes began to fade away that Arthur allowed himself to fall back into his seat, pressing his hands against his face. He didn't even spare a glance at his ruined embroidery. "What am I supposed to do?" he muttered.

"What do you want to do?" asked Hong from behind him, gently pushing him up out of his chair and towards the tub of steaming water.

"What do I want…?" Arthur chuckled humorlessly as he pulled his tunic up over his head, followed by his undershirt. "I want to do what that ridiculous Alfred Jones is up to. I want to- to trump Francis again and again, until he leaves my poor county alone. But…"

Hong nodded. "But."

"Exactly," mumbled Arthur, wincing when his bare foot touched the water. "Alfred turned his back on the people who needed him in order to pursue the life of an outlaw. He might help others now, but he betrayed those who he swore to protect." His eyebrows furrowed as he sank into the tub, the hot water reaching up to his shoulder blades. "I am not like him. I can't simply abandon Nottinghamshire and its people. Francis would… I don't even want to imagine what Francis would do to them."

Hong hummed lightly, picking up the clothes Arthur had shed and slinging them over his arm. He moved quickly and quietly into the adjacent room, and left Arthur alone with his thoughts.

The bath water was warm and soothing, and though Arthur's muscles seemed insistent upon staying tense, it worked away at all of them until the man was completely relaxed. He let his eyes slip closed. Hong would be back soon to lay out soap and a set of clean clothes. Nothing too fancy, as he had no intention of joining Francis in the dining hall for tea- even if it was Arthur's dining hall to begin with.

Once Hong returned, Arthur was quick to finish his bath. The water was slowly cooling down, and he was once again feeling fresh and clean. He had no real plans for the rest of the afternoon and evening, not with that Sheriff prowling around. Francis, not Arthur, had hired Ivan and though the duke would have thrown him out in a heartbeat, apparently Ivan only needed to listen to Francis' orders. And now Ivan's task seemed to be tailing Arthur whenever he left the castle, following him from place to place, without even trying to be subtle about it. This meant that less people were willing to speak with Arthur, which gave him less incentive to journey into the town, much to his disappointment. In fact, he hadn't left the castle gardens in… almost three weeks. Just thinking about it made his heart sink.

Nevertheless, Arthur refused to let Francis' ever tightening control of himself and his county discourage him. He dressed himself in the clean clothes Hong offered him and marched stubbornly over to the chest containing his embroidery and sewing materials- a feminine hobby, certainly, but what else did he have to do if he was going to be stuck inside all the time? He pulled out another embroidery hoop and a blank piece of fabric, along with a needle and a spool of thread.

"Hong," he said quietly as he made his way back over to the seat by the window, "please go down to the kitchens and have them send my tea up here."

"You don't want to eat with Francis." It wasn't a question.

Arthur snorted. "I would rather eat with the pigs in the stable yard." He paused. "Actually, that was cruel to the pigs. They certainly don't deserve to fall into the same category as Francis."

Hong let out a sound that might have been laughter, had it been anyone else. With a very slight bow, he disappeared down the hallway, and Arthur settled into his embroidery.

The afternoon seemed to pass by within the blink of an eye. Arthur could barely remember Hong returning with his tea, not could he recall drinking it. By the time he looked out the window, the sky was beginning to darken with the oncoming dusk. He stretched out his arms, surprised by how tense his muscles were, and maneuvered himself to his feet. Hong was nowhere to be seen, but nightclothes were laid out on Arthur's bed, so he couldn't have been gone for that long.

Arthur stretched again, laying his embroidery down on the chair he had just vacated. His stomach chose that moment to growl, a reminder that he had indeed missed supper in favor of his needlework. He pressed one hand lightly against it. "I suppose I should go down to the kitchens," he muttered to himself. "Francis won't be there, at the very least."

He hadn't even taken two steps forward before he froze. A shadow had just passed across the floor. He was not alone. He could feel a pair of eyes burning into his back. Arthur's breathing quickened almost imperceptibly. Whoever it was, they were very quiet- he hadn't even heard them come in. Arthur's gaze flickered over to the sword hanging over his fireplace. If he could just make it there… The intruder didn't seem to be making any moves, so perhaps he had a chance.

Arthur lunged forward, shoving the chair behind him. He heard a muffled curse, and then the sound of a body moving after him, but he didn't turn around to see. The sword was right in front of him- he was almost there-

A large hand grabbed him around the middle, pinning his arms to his sides and tugging him back against a solid chest. Another sealed itself over his mouth. Now he could hear the harsh breaths of this unknown man against his ear, and then a voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. You just need to be quiet."

Three seconds of silence passed between them. And then Arthur opened his mouth as wide as he could and bit down on the intruder's hand.

A/N- I am really, really sorry for the delay in updates. I've been... dealing with some things. But this fic will be finished. It will probably end up having about ten chapters, all of which I intend to write and post up as soon as possible.

Arthur-centric chapter here, because it's high time he showed up. I obviously changed a lot about him. He would definitely not be the innocent, naive Maid Marian of Disney's movie.

For the people here who read Prometheus Rising... Thank you, for everything. I can't tell you enough how amazed and grateful I am for everything you guys have said and done for me. Thank you so much.

I hope you're still enjoying this story, and I love reading the reviews. Thank you, guys.