Chapter 12; Nottingham Dungeons

Derry and Will raced home as fast as their legs could carry them. They tore through the woods like a sword through cloth, not caring about the brambles clawing at their faces nor tree roots threatening to send them flying. 'Were the guards still chasing us?' Derry wondered. He pushed his aching legs to run even faster. Soon, Locksley was rapidly approaching them. They dashed past the guards and burst into their little house.

"Ma!" William cried hugging her, followed by Derry, letting the crossbow drop to the ground. "My dear boys, look at the state of you." Marge fretted. "I'm sorry ma." Derry sobbed. "Spit away your sadness boy, tell me what happened." Grandpa commanded. The two boys sat themselves on the floor. "We- we were following Gisborne... 'cause we wanted to go hunting." William began. "And then a dozen of sheriff's men turned up on horses."

"We fought like a hundred of them off but there was like a thousand of them. One tried to pick me but I threw him over my shoulder and finished him off with my sword." Derry chimed in. "But they surrounded us. Luckily, I chopped through them all with my awesome skills and then-"

"Gisborne gave me his crossbow and then we ran home." Derry finished. "Yeah right. And I'm the King of England." Grandpa smirked. "Fine, we didn't fight them off but he did give me his crossbow. See?" Derry admitted, picking up the crossbow and firing it. "DERRY! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THIS!" Marge screech. "You did the right thing boys." Grandpa chuckled. "There's no way you could've fought them off. It was lucky you escaped them unscathed."

"You shouldn't have been in the woods in the first place." Marge snapped. "But what are going to do?" Will asked. "What do you mean, 'what are we going to do?'" Marge asked, puzzled but still annoyed. "Can't we get him out, and give his crossbow back to him?" Will explained. "Don't be stupid, you naive lad-"

"We can disguise ourselves as servants and go down in the dungeons and get him out." Derry cut in. Grandpa merely chuckled but their mother was furious. "You-do-not-have-an-opinion-in-this-matter!" Marge snarled through gritted teeth.

"But-"

"Get out!"

Knowing that they were defeated, the two boys dragged their feet outside, avoiding their mother's gaze. They continued to walk, until they were sure they were out of their mother's keen ears.

"What we gonna do, Will?" Derry asked, as they both sat down on a tree stump. "Dunno. Ma's right-" Derry shoved Will off the tree stump. "What was that for?!" He yelled. "Your sounding like ma. We can't sit and do nothing! Think! What would Grandpa do?" They both pondered on that thought for awhile. It was their Grandpa who encouraged them to take risks and go on adventures. He often told them tales of when he was younger and how he went hunting and escaped the guards.

"Let's ask Robin Hood."

Guy awoke to the smell of burnt flesh and the sound of screaming. Cold air stung inside his lungs and iron bit with rusted teeth down on his wrists. It took him a heartbeat to realise where he was;

Nottingham dungeons.

His body trembled with fear. Not the fear of being executed, but the fear of the slow, painful death he was going to receive. He took a deep breath in, and out. A slow painful death was what he deserved after all the atrocities he had done, especially Marian's death. But he had tried to redeem himself in (a strange way). Had he not tried his best to kill the sheriff? Had he not given it his all? 'If I killed him instead of wasting time, I would never have been here.' Guy thought. He took no comfort knowing that he played a part to his own downfall. He prayed his death would come quickly.

The outlaw looked around him. He wasn't the only one bound in chains and cloaked in darkness. The were several others sharing the same cell as him, their backs slumped against the icy cold walls, their heads hung in despair. How he hated this place, even when he was on the other side of these bars. He breathed in, the metallic smell of blood filled his nostrils. The stench made his eyes water as he felt his stomach churning.

"Praying won't do you much good in this Godless place, boy." A deep voice echoed in his ear. "I didn't ask for your opinion, assassin." The boy answered back lifting his head up to reveal a face streaked with dirt. "My name is Nazeem. Nazeem the Saracen, they call me." He stated without introduction. "Arthur." The boy replied, his green eyes gleaming through the darkness. "I would shake your hand but, as you can see, I am bound in these chains." Nazeem said. He stared at the boy with a peculiar look on his face. "Now what you staring at?" Arthur snapped. "I was just thinking, your a little to young to be a murderer. How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?"

"Fifteen, you nitwit! And I didn't murder anyone." Arthur snapped. Fifteen. That number struck a nerve. Guy had to be a similar age when he had killed someone;

It was a cold autumn day when Guy had been walking back to his home. It was already getting dark, as the wind sent forth another wave of leaves to attack him. The manor was looming in sight. His short-cut through the woods had paid off well. Or so it seemed. A twig snapped behind him. Guy spun around. A man, six foot in height with a nose that had been broken too many times grinned evily. Guy went to dash forward but another man blocked his path, not as tall but equally as fearsome. "Well, look wha' we got 'ere." The tall outlaw boomed. "Reight lad. Give us yer gold 'n we can ger through 'dis smoothly." Guy's heart frozen. The colour drained from his face. What was he going to do? With a trembling hand, he reached to his waistband and tossed his money on the floor at the outlaws feet. Slowly, without taking his eyes off the young boy, the outlaw picked it up and checked at its contents. "Take 'im wi' us. He's worth mooar than dis if we 'old 'im ta ransom." The second outlaw growled. Guy's body went rigid. What was meant to be a second, lasted more than a second. What could he do? What should he do? Run along with the outlaws and play nice? 'That's cowardly.' Guy thought. He hated this feeling of helplessness. His mother told him to be strong, like his father fighting bravely in the Holy Land. And here he was, terrified over two petty thieves. So Guy, left with no choice, slid his hand to his hip, wrapped his shaking fingers around the hilt of his dagger and pointed it at the outlaw in front of him. The outlaw burst out laughing."Yer think yer av da' guts ta kill a fully fledged ou'law like meh?"

"Try me." Guy hissed, trying to sound strong but his voice betrayed him. "Christ. Yer mus' av' gotten dis killa instinct from ya father. No way your ya mother's son-" The outlaw was cut off was a cry escaped his lips. Guy's dagger found itself buried in the outlaws chest. And the blood! Why was there so much blood? It was on his sleeve, his shirt and some even flecked on his face. He let go of the dagger, letting the corpse slump to the floor. "What have I done?" He muttered with disbelief, tears flowing freely down his face, mixing in with the blood. Guy glanced behind him. The tall outlaw was already running away. "What have I done?" Gisborne whispered again as he sunk to his knees. He had killed someone. He had murdered someone. He had murdered a son, a husband, a brother, an uncle, a cousin, a father... he turned his head to the side and threw up violently. Giddy, the newly-born murderer tried to force his aching legs to move, then felt something warm trickle down his wrist. His shaking hand was red with blood.

"My father couldn't afford the taxes. I took his place instead." Arthur explained, waking Guy from his daydream. "You could've become a knight with a heart like yours." Nazeem chuckled. "Aye, show Gisborne one or two things about Chivalry." Another man churped in. It seemed as though the shadows in the dungeons had cloaked his face well enough to make it unrecognizable. "Chivalry doesn't exist. Never has never will." Guy answered, sending half a dozen pair of eyes staring at him. "Well, I never thought I'd see someone like you on the other side of these bars." Arthur spat. "The feeling is mutual." Guy grunted. Arthur paused, then said, "the sheriff's gonna torture you, you know."

"Before you open your mouth, think what you're going to say then don't say it." Guy growled. Arthur opened his mouth to respond then stopped. A door slammed open. Two sets of feet hitting the stone slabs echoed closer. "Well, it's good to see your making friends, Gisborne." Vaisey gloated, a triumphant grin on his face, his hand rubbing the spiked ball. Guy didn't reply, his eyes filled with malice. His organs felt like they had been replaced by a thousand worms, but his outward appearance was calm and ready. Little Arthur was right- he was going to be tortured. He was going to die. Guy accepted it all. There was nothing to do but wait for it. Wait and prepare, endure the pain until his body give in. "How brave are you feeling today, Gizzy? This brave-" the sheriff held up the spiked ball- "or this brave?" Vaisey drew an iron rod from a fire, the tip of it blazing white. Once again, Guy didn't respond, keeping his tounge at bay. "If your not going to answer me Gizzy, you won't be needing that tounge."

"What would you have me say, my lord sheriff?" Guy said at last. "There were are! That's the Gizzy we all know and love. But, well, you see. I've reached a problem: hanging or beheaded?" The sheriff burst into laughter at his own joke, leaving everyone else struggling to find the funny side of it. "Dear God, I'd have more fun with corpses." Vaisey chuckled once again. "I'd have more fun watching how annoyed you get when I nick your gold." A voice in the darkness added. "Pen-" A female voice tried to warn. "I can take care of myself, Gwyneth." The man called Pen answered. "Oh really, because your the reason why we're in this mess. You and your bloody clothes!" Gwyneth whispered harshly. The sheriff looked skyward, then his eyes lit up. "Ohhhh I remember you. You're that notorious clothes thief-"

"Hold on a minute, sheriff. I may just be a petty thief, but I do like to keep up with the latest fashion at the same time." Pen explained. "Of course you do, thief. Well in that case, you can join Gizzy in the your daily torture." One of the sheriff's men opened the iron door and stepped into the darkness. "Er- what?" Pen gasped as his chains dropped to the ground and was pulled up to his feet.

"You heard thief."

"What exclusive form of torture have you got for us?" Pen hissed sarcastically.

"You can go down to the torture chambers and have the skin flayed from your back. Whilst you Giz can go to the courtyard and be flogged, publicly, followed by an execution tomorrow afternoon. Oh this is going to be fun day." Guy's heart jumped in his chest. A public flogging was reserved for the most notorious of criminals. Barely anyone survived it. "Oh no. I can't do tomorrow sorry, busy. How about Friday? I think I can squeeze an execution in then."

"Very funny, thief. You better postpone any arrangements you have for another day."

"My name is Pen. Penderyn."

"Did I ask for your name? A clue; no." The sheriff snapped. "Lets get on with this. Oh don't look so sad Gizzy. You're providing me and the people of Nottingham with some good entertainment."

Guy felt sick to his stomach. He was barely aware of rough hands practically ripping his shirt from him then grabbing him and pulling him along the corridors, nor the echoing of screaming that danced around dungeons. In fact, his whole body was numb. And then Guy did something he hadn't done in years. He closed his eyes and prayed; 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.' His mother would recite those words to him and his sister when he was younger, though it would do no good now. He was no longer the naive and reckless child he once was.

Two doors swung open. Daylight stung at Guy's eyes. It was a horrible day, matching the sombre mood of Nottingham. And like the weather, Guy's luck wasn't improving; it seemed as though the whole of England had gathered here. The sheriff's musing voice was nothing but a faint whisper as hands that he didn't recognise as his own were raised above his head and bound in ropes. "How many lashes, my lord?" Guy heard someone grunt at the side of him. "Oh I don't know. Till I get bored." The sheriff instructed, clearing his throat. "People of Nottingham." Vaisey began. "As you can see. We have caught him. We caught the one who taxed you till your backs break, the one who murdered you loved ones, and has been found guilty of the highest treason- attempted to murder the beloved King Richard himself!"

The crowd gasped, but Guy's voice cut through them; "I'd say it was more of a team effort." Guy grinned at the horrified looks Vaisey received. "Now," the sheriff hissed over him, "I know you all want your retribution on this man, as well as I. Tomorrow! At midday. He will be beheaded for his crimes. Not even Hood has managed to achieve that feet. And as a gift from me, you can have his remains." The crowd turned into a roaring mob, leaving the guards struggling to keep control. The crack of the whip was enough to silence them all. Guy winced in pain as it torn through his skin like warm butter. The second blow came without hesitation, making him wince again as warm blood trickled down his spine. Three. Guy had to physically bite his tounge to stop himself from crying out. Four. He glanced around the crowd; they stood in silence, their eyes scanning him, waiting for him to cry out. Five. Vaisey too, watched patiencely, a sadistic grin on his face. Six. 'God, this hurts.' He screamed to himself. The pain was unbearable. Seven. Every inch of his back felt as though it was on fire. Eight. He spared a glance up. Crows. Big, black crows sat on the castle walls, their beady eyes sizing him up. Nine. Guy gave up. He let his head fall, his vision going blurry. Ten. He closed his eyes and prayed for death to take him.

It was a happy day for the outlaws; they managed to ambush a carriage as well as visit three drop-off points. Living in the forest was a hard life, but it was worth the smilies they got off the people and knowing that they won't go hungry for one night. "What's for lunch, Much?" Robin asked, thinking about his own food for a change. "I don't know. You just gave all our food away." Much replied. "Well go and catch something then." Robin suggested.

"Why is it that I have to cook and catch the food?" Much complained. "Because that's your job." Allan muttered. "I AM NOT A SERVANT!" Much yelled. "Calm down. I never said you were." Allan said, rolling his eyes. Much stopped walking and folded his arms. "Fine then. You can have my infamous "chicken" soup and I'll have some venison."

"There's no way you could catch a deer by yourself." Allan stated. "I bet you a shilling I could-"

"Shut it!" Little John growled. "I still think-"

"MUCH!" Everyone shouted. Much sighed to himself. "Quiet." Robin whispered. "I didn't say-" Much protested. "Sshhh." Everyone hissed, glaring at him. Two pairs of feet crunching on the leaf-covered path. Immediately the gang took cover behind the trees and readied their weapons.

"Do you have any idea where we are going, Will?" A voice echoed through the woods.

"Nope. Just stick to the path and we'll be fine." The first answered. "But my feet hurt. This place is huge and we don't even know if Robin's here."

"Fine then, let's split up; you can go to Nottingham and I'll wander around here." The other boy didn't answer. Robin plucked an arrow from his quiver, set it to his bow and fired it. A gasp from the two boys and the sound of the arrow embedding itself in a tree told Robin he had achieved what they wanted. Like second nature to them, the outlaws jumped from their hiding places and raced to the path to greet their intruder. "This is an ambush." Much cried. "Eek! Please don't hurt us. We didn't do nothing-"

"William? Derry? What are you doing here?" Robin questioned, recognizing the two troublemakers from Locksley. "Wow. It's Robin Hood." Will exclaimed, forgetting their purpose. "And, and Allan a' Dale and Little John-

"And brother Tuck and... um... whats-its-face... the servant." Will marvled. The gang burst out laughing. "Much. My name is Much." Much grumbled. "Well what are you two troublemakers up to, wandering so far from Locksley?" Robin teased. Will and Derry recited the more accurate version of their story, not leaving out any details.

"And then went home and told my mum and she told us to go away." Derry finished.

Silence settled over the gang like a fog. Robin's mind was torn; his morals told him to do something, yet his pride and common sense said otherwise. Tuck had told Robin that Gisborne might had changed, now that he was free of the sheriff and was living like an outlaw. 'But it doesn't matter that the sheriff's gone. He has left marks that will never heal.' Another side of him argued. And of course there was Marian. 'Marian... How could he forget her?' A small part of him still wanted to die in the Holy Land, next to her. If he couldn't forget her, then how could he possibly forgive him?

'He might escape on his own.' It was true that Gisborne knew the castle better than anyone else, and had escaped the outlaws once. But this was Nottingham dungeons. No one had escaped from there apart from Robin and his men, or without their help anyway.

"What we going to do, Robin?" Tuck asked. Robin paused, then said; "we cannot go to Nottingham. It's too dangerous to risk our life for one man who would probably murder us on our sleep, given the chance."

"But-" Derry began.

"You two boys were very brave and wise to come and seek me out. I'm glad you did. But think, if it were you in the dungeons, would he come to rescue you?"

"Probably not." Derry admitted his eyes focused on the ground. "Now, do you two know your way home?" Robin asked. "I think it was around that way, somewhere over there, I think." Robin chuckled. "Come on, let's get you home."

Sorry for another long delay, I hope you can forgive me. I am determined to finish this fanfic, regardless how long it will take. Thanks.