Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Foreword: Second chapter in a four-part story. This deviates more from the episode as Marian is far more proactive, akin to Lucy Griffiths' take. - M.C.

2

Not too far away, deeper in the castle's belly, the peasants rounded up in the village loaded gold into the chamber. In addition to the coins from tax collections, more elaborate items like mirrors and shields were being added to the stockpile.

Being the daughter of the former Sheriff, Lady Marian of Knighton had never worked so hard in her life. Even gardening and general upkeep of Knighton Hall, plus her nightly excursions as the Night Watchman were a walk in the forest compared to the grueling physical labor Guy had set her, which were being monitored by several 'knights'. The men were forced to carry sacks of gold on their backs, whilst the women were given a wheelbarrow to aid them.

As she tipped her fifteenth load of gold and jewelry into the vault, she could hear someone stumble. Turning, she saw an older man, saddled with a heavy load of gold, collapse on the ground. She knew this man, Walter, from their friendly exchanges on market day. Abandoning her wheelbarrow, she rushed and knelt down to help him.

"Here, let me help you," she said, taking the bag off his shoulders and helping him to his feet.

"Than… thank you, Lady Marian," he replied gratefully.

Marian could hear footsteps coming toward them, and turned to see one robot knight trooping towards them. Her stomach knotted with repulsion, seeing the robot's blank face.

"What are you, gargoyle?" she asked. "What are you?"

"Leave it."

Marian clenched her fists. "This man needs rest. We all need to—"

"Analysis shows that the peasant creature is spent," the robot rattled off, unmoved. The purple light on its face began to intensify. "Usefulness expired. Usefulness expired."

"No!" Marian shouted. "Please!"

The purple light shot out, obliterating Walter in a big burst of flame. Marian turned away, repulsed and horrified at the spectacle.

She shut her eyes, willing herself to calm down. Two people close to her had died, and she had to push it aside for now. Mourning now was going to get her executed, which wouldn't help her or Robin. She had to get out of the vault, escape the knights, and find Robin.

Marian had a plan.

Robin closed his eyes, trying to rest his head on the grimy wall. Being chained inside a familiar dungeon, with two other occupants, made that impossible. "Wonderful."

Clara nodded. "Yep."

Robin sighed again. "Captured like animals. Thanks to your friend."

"Shut it Hood," the Doctor snapped. "I saved your life."

"I had it under control!"

"A reckless ninny versus killer robot knights, I know where I'd put my money."

"If you had not betrayed me…"

"You'd been a little puff of laughing smoke and ashes."

"Do you see me laughing now?" Robin shot back.

"Right here we go, it's laughing time."

Robin rolled his eyes. "I would find this amusing under better circumstances."

"Then what would you suggest, Hoodie?"

"You can start by calling me Locksley. I'm not fond of Vaisey's pet name."

"Oh, now that is amusing, Mr. Hood."

"Oh really?" Robin fired back, irritation growing. "That's funny. In fact, I feel a laugh coming on!" He let out a boisterous laugh.

"GUARD!" The Doctor yelled, rattling his chains as Robin repeated this several times. "You can't lock me in here with a laughing person!"

"HA!" Robin let off another one for extra measure.

"Guard, I cannot remain in this cell! Execute me now!"

"You heard him!" Robin yelled back. "Execute the old fool!"

"No, hang on, execute him!"

"I do not fear death!" Robin played along.

"Shut it! I want to see if his head keeps laughing even after it's been chopped off!"

"Guard!"

"GUARD!"

"WILL. YOU. TWO. SHUT. UP!" Clara erupted. "Do either of you understand, in any way at all, that there isn't a guard out there!"

"Oh." The Doctor fell silent.

"I did." Robin piped up.

"No, you didn't." The Doctor shot back.

"I said shut up," Clara interjected. "Is this the best you both can do? Are you both determined to starve to death in here squabbling?"

Robin scoffed. "I'd last a lot longer than this… man-crone."

"Really?" The Doctor shot back. "I think you'll find that I have a certain genetic advantage—"

"It's not a competition on who gets to die slower!" Clara erupted.

"It would be me though, wouldn't it?" The Doctor added.

"There was supposed to be a plan," Clara ground out. "Do either of you have a plan?"

"I have a plan," the Doctor supplied.

"Me too," Robin supplied. "Well, half a plan."

"Robin, you first."

"Why him?" the Doctor sounded affronted.

"Shut up," Clara said. She turned back to Robin. "What's your plan?"

"Um…" He shifted uncomfortably, trying to find some slack in his chains. "Biding my time."

She rolled her eyes. "Thank you, Prince of Thieves" — she turned to the Doctor—"last of the Time Lords?"

"I do have a plan," the Doctor repeated.

"Do you have one that doesn't require the words 'sonic screwdriver'?" Clara interjected. "You might have forgotten that the Sheriff of Nottingham has taken your sonic screwdriver. Just saying."

"I know!" the Doctor backtracked. "I know!"

Clara slumped. "Your plan was basically the screwdriver though, wasn't it? It's always the screwdriver."

"…let's hear Robin's plan first," the Doctor babbled.

"Oh for God's sake!" Clara groaned.

The trio could hear a key scrape in the door as the door creaked open. Robin grimaced at the familiar face of the jailer as the short man entered the dungeon. The jailer's sallow face alit with delight as he saw Robin.

"'Ello, my lovely," the jailer smirked, making his way over to the outlaw. "Fancy seeing you here again, eh?"

"Once was more than enough for me," Robin ground out.

"Really?" The jailer's right fist rammed into Robin's solar plexus, eliciting a low moan of pain from the younger man. "You won't have your lady friend or your short-arsed manservant helping you out now, innit?"

The jailer turned to Clara and the Doctor. "The Sheriff had me listen in on your little squabble, to find out who's the brains of this operation."

"Ah, so that he can do the interrogating," the Doctor mused. "Very clever."

Robin groaned, straightening his posture. "He'll get nothing from me."

"No, he'll get nothing from me," the Doctor corrected. "Interrogation is where I always turn the tables."

Clara rolled her eyes, and Robin sighed with resignation.

"Gentlemen, you are wrong on both counts." The jailer made his way over to Clara. "Now, the Sheriff seeks an audience with her."

He took the keys off his belt and unlocked Clara's chains.

"No!" the Doctor bellowed.

Robin rolled his eyes.

Much put down his bowl of stew. He wasn't full, nor was he hungry. As his gaze roved about the campfire, he noticed that Little John was the only one eating. Allan, Djaq, and Will poked morosely at their bowls, their expressions identical to Much's.

"So Robin's being held captive in the castle," Much began.

"As well as that Doctor bloke and the bird," Allan broke in.

"Don't forget Marian too." Will added.

"Marian?" Much stammered. "But… but she was in Knighton the other day!"

"Will and I checked Knighton after the contest today," Djaq said gently. "Knighton Hall was ransacked. And… we found Sir Edward's body outside the dwelling. No trace of Marian."

"I'm right here!" A familiar voice broke in. The five turned to see a cloaked figure standing at the entrance of the shelter.

"Marian!" Much cried gratefully, leaping up and rushing to hug the young woman. After a brief embrace, he pulled back to take in her appearance and to allow the others to hug her. Marian looked beyond exhausted, her clothes were tatters, but she had fashioned a rough eye mask and hood around her head. It wasn't quite the Night Watchman outfit, but given the circumstances, the gang was relieved to see her.

"We thought you were…" Allan trailed off.

"Dead?" Marian offered, pulling her mask and hood off her face.

"Captured." Djaq put in.

"Good to have you back," Little John smiled broadly, enfolding Marian in a bear hug.

"Me too." Marian gently extricated herself from the hugs. She looked around the shelter, her eyes darkening. "Where's Robin?"

Much deflated. "The Sheriff has him. And two others."

"How'd you escape those freaky purple knights?" Allan piped up, crossing his arms. "Can't imagine they'd just let you out for a stroll like old Giz would."

"They didn't." Marian held up an elaborate saber, strapped to her belt. Its pommel was set in gold and encrusted with rubies and sapphires. "I managed to grab one of these swords from the vaults. They only had two of those gargoyles monitoring the labor. When I nicked the first one in the ankle with the saber, I threw its aim off and its target hit the second one. Me and a few others managed to escape."

"At least we don't have to worry about rescuing you," Much said.

"I appreciate that," Marian said wryly.

"Now we just have to worry about Robin."

Clara was expecting to be herded into a chamber, not into an elaborate stone dining room with tapestries and family crests adorning the stone walls. Her stomach growled with hunger, but her gorge rose as the Sheriff of Nottingham delicately picked chicken from his teeth. She noticed one of his canines had a sapphire in it, and wondered whether he had a full set with coordinating colors.

"Well?" the Sheriff asked, noticing Clara's discomfort. "Let it not be said that the Sheriff of Nottingham is a poor host."

She forced a smile on her face. "Had a bag of crisps this morning, thanks."

"Hmm, I'm not familiar with that term," Vaisey mused. "Your words are strange."

"I should think they are."

"Spirit," Vaisey took a big mouthful of a roll in his mouth. "I'm usually not fond of women that exemplify this, but you are an exception. Very direct."

She shrugged. "You can take the girl out of Blackpool."

The Sheriff swallowed and gestured to the table. An array of items lay on the dining room before her: the Doctor's spoon, a grilled cheese sandwich, a gauntlet, the yogurt spoon, his sonic screwdriver. "Taken from your friend's tunic. Such an interesting array of items, I must say."

His hand landed on the screwdriver. "Including this one. Such a powerful object. So, tell me… are you from beyond the stars?"

Clara shrugged. "You're the one with the robot army. You tell me."

The Sheriff picked at his teeth again, smiling.

"Say what?" The Doctor wasn't following.

"Moan! Groan! Act like you have the turk flu or something."

"What for?"

Robin rolled his eyes. "So we can get that jailer back in here."

"It's your plan, you moan."

"No, no, no, that won't work."

"Why?"

"Because you are clearly more advanced in years and have a more sickly look."

"I have a what?" The Doctor was getting more flustered.

"You're pale as milk. It's the way with the Scots." Robin scoffed. "Strangers to vegetables."

"I'm not moaning," the Doctor insisted. He crossed his arms. "You moan!"

"Really?" Robin sighed. "If you want something done…" He began to moan loudly, as if he was in great abdominal pain.

The jailer's pasty figure appeared as the door was unlocked and opened. "What are you two going on about?"

"No business of yours!" the Doctor shot back.

Robin began whispering in the Doctor's ear, while the jailer tried to eavesdrop.

"Speak up!" the Doctor said to Robin. "I can't hear you."

"What ails him?" the jailer asked irritably.

"None of your business," the Doctor replied promptly.

"Again, I ask, what's my lovely's problem?"

"Well…" the Doctor searched for an answer. "If you must know, he's… he's having a nervous breakdown."

"A what?"

"He's like this when he's in any kind of danger," the older man continued. "He just gets so afraid, that he goes into a complete fit."

Robin aimed an icy stare at the Doctor.

"I honestly think he might die of sheer fright. Like a tiny, shriveling old mouse."

Robin scoffed to himself. "A mouse?"

"Oh dear, I think he's soiled himself." The Doctor dug in another jibe.

"Oh, let the outlaw die," the jailer replied dismissively. "It'll save us the trouble of executing him."

"But…" the Doctor trailed off. "What about the reward?"

"Reward?" The jailer snapped to attention, grabbing the Doctor by his lapels. "Tell me!"

"Uh, he carries a vital message! The Prince has promised a bounty!"

"How big of a bounty is it?"

"It's enormous."

The jailer shoved the Doctor aside and headed to Robin, pulling tight on his chains. "So tell me, my lovely, what about this reward?"

Robin cocked one eye open, a smile spreading across his face. "Has anyone told you how bad your breath is?" His left knee caught the jailer squarely in the crotch. Groaning, the jailer collapsed on the floor. His keys fell free, clattering to the floor.

"Soiled myself?" Robin asked in disbelief, retrieving the keys.

"Did you?" the Doctor replied. "Well, that's getting into character!"