I decided to be cruel, yes I know. It was surprisingly fun, I'll have to do this more often... within reason.

Marian almost laughed in his face. That was it? The best he could think of?

Then she heard Organa's soft whisper, "Oh, is Sir Collin the one you made that deal with?"

What deal? Her father had made a deal with this man? Whatever it was, it was lessening her punishment. Women had been executed for less than what she had done at the fair.

Rough hands grabbed her arms and half led, half dragged her away. As they led into the darkness of the dungeon, she remembered a bet she'd made with Robin once when they had been nine and twelve after they had snuck into Huntington Hall and stolen quite a few sweet cakes from Robin's pantry.

"I wonder which of us will make to a dungeon first…" she had thought aloud.

"If we keep this up, we'll be put down at the same time." He had sounded so certain about it.

"No, I'll make it first," she said, as if it would have been an honor.

"That's what you think. I think I'll prove you wrong."

Marian smiled at the memory. "I won, Robin," she said, even as her wrists were manacled to the wall in her cell. She should've been unhappy about being put into a dungeon. The floor beneath her was cold and wet, and she could hear a rat running across it on the other side of her cell. Why didn't Marian care? Because she had won the bet. Even with Robin traveling miles away straight into a deathly war, she was still winning a bet against him. If she was remembering correctly, now they were even.

Once he got back, this would make for an interesting story to tell him. If he came back. And if he returned, she knew that things wouldn't be the same. He would be changed, just like every other man who went to war. From what Marian knew, it affected everyone differently. What she didn't know was what would change in Robin. Nothing too severe like losing his mind, she hoped.

Food or water didn't come, and her imprisonment began to seem like more of a penalty than it had before. For three days she waited, wondering when she would be released. Her tongue went dry, but she couldn't summon any spit to wet it again. Her stomach was none too pleased either; growling at her, and demanding nourishment. But she wasn't the only one; she had watched prisoner after prisoner being brought down. Each time she wondered what their crime had been.

Marian gained a cellmate on her third day; a thirteen-year-old girl who had stolen an apple or two during market day. When the girl asked why Marian was there, she had told her about the archery tournament, recounting the tiniest detail for her, even though it gave her a pounding headache. The girl's eyes had grown wide in excitement.

"I saw you there," she said. "I wish I could've done something like that. Being down here would've been worth it then. I wouldn't have minded losing a hand."

"When does the sheriff plan on taking it?" Marian asked, feeling sorry for the girl and wishing she could help.

"Tomorrow morning, I think."

Suddenly, bright torchlight bounced off the walls, making Marian blink in surprise at the nearly painful light. A guard had come to escort her back to the castle. The thought was relieving; water was close at hand. She rubbed her chafed wrists when the manacles were removed.

"Come on, then," the guard said, pulling Marian to her feet, whether or not he knew that she wouldn't have been able to by herself. "The sheriff and his wife are waiting for you. I don't want to be responsible for holding them up."

--*--

Marian squinted at the bright light of day, wondering what she looked like to the people working in the castle, with her dress in ruin, and hair in tangles. She was sure they knew who she was, looking at her the way they were. Their condescending glances, however, meant nothing to her. How could they look down on her, when they knew nothing?

As they approached the main hall, she heard shouting.

"Sheriff, you can't do this!" a distinct Saxon voice said. "As earl I can authorize it. There is no reason for you to keep that right from me. I refuse to—"

"I did not invite you here to argue with you. Leave now or suffer for it. I have other business to attend to." After a pause, "Go on, I said!"

The guards brought her into the room, leading her as if she were still prisoner. Marian supposed that she was. The Saxon man who had been quarrelling with de Lacy was about to storm out the door, and Marian caught a look at his face. He seemed familiar somehow, but she couldn't place it.

"Ah," the sheriff said. "The Lady Marian Fitzwater, returning from the dungeon, I've been waiting for you." He cast a scornful look towards the guard.

The Saxon man stopped and turned around, looking at Marian in the queerest way. "You're Lady Marian Fitzwater?"

"Of course she is, didn't you hear me, Huntington?" de Lacy asked.

Huntington? The light dawned, and Marian realized that he was Robin's father. This was going to be interesting. She just hoped her knees would support her until the end.

"Why was my son's fiancée imprisoned?"

"Oh, didn't you hear about the girl who entered the archery tournament at my fair? I thought everybody knew by now. Strange isn't it that your son didn't tell you? I wonder if he had something to do with it. Hmm… That gives me something to think about. But, didn't I ask you to leave? Move!"

"Archery tournament, eh girl? No wonder he picked you," the earl said as he left the hall. Marian wasn't sure what to make of Robin's father, so she let it slip from her mind for the time being.

"Well then, Lady Marian, can I assume that your accommodations were to your liking?" The sherriff's tone said clearly that he didn't mean a word of it.

"I liked them very much, thank you," Marian said, making it full of conviction.

The sheriff scoffed in response. "I'm sure." Turning to Organa, he said, "My dear, she's all yours. And for the sake of my nose, make sure she bathes." He made it seem as though Marian was at fault for the smell. She wanted to tell de Lacy that he was the one who had decided that the dungeon was the place for her.

Organa directed her to her rooms, where Marian found her trunk set unopened. Good, they hadn't gone through her things. Before Organa came back, she quickly opened the trunk and found her dagger. Stowing it away under the mattress she kept an eye on the door to make sure she wasn't caught. Just as she was stepping away to lean agianst a wall, the door opened to Organa leading an old servant woman lugging an empty tub behind her. A full bath? That was odd; Marian had thought that it simply would have been a basin of water and soap to clean up with.

She hadn't noticced until then that there was a pitcher of water and cup waiting for her. After the first cup she said, "Hey Robin, next time one of has to be in a dungeon, you can go." It wasn't until after her fourth cup that she realized that Organa was giving her strange look.

"Down to your shift," Organa ordered, recovering. Marian obeyed, throwing the witch a nasty look. The servant woman returned carrying a bucket of steaming water and dumped into the tub. Another younger servant entered, and Organa instructed her to comb Marian's hair until it was completely free of knots, large, or small. The old servant came in and out with water all the while.

Marian sat still as the girl combed out her hair, keeping an eye on Organa who was looking through Marian's trunk. She heard a little sigh escape her pursed lips. "These won't do at all. All of these garments are too plain and old-fashioned for you to wear any longer. I'll have them burned and bring new gowns for you."

Marian jumped from her seat, causing the comb to yank her hair painfully. She hissed in pain and said, "Don't you dare! I like those, and they're fine for me."

"No, none of these are fit to be worn." Organa looked through them again. "Except maybe this blue one," she said, holding up the gown Marian had worn for the betrothal dinner.

"But—"

"They will be burned, like it or not." Organa set aside the blue one and moved the trunk into a corner. "Your hair is done now, get into the bath."

"Do you want to take off your necklace first, milady?" the girl asked. The question drew Organa's eye to Marian's neck where she gave out a little gasp.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, suspicious.

"It's mine, and don't even think of melting it in a furnace," she said rudely, reaching back and unclasping the small chain.

"Where on earth did you get it?"

"Rob—," she stopped herself. "My fiancé gave it to me as a betrothal gift." Marian set it on the bedside table, and stepped into the tub, her shift filling with air as she sat down.

"A real emerald…" Organa murmured, having gone so far to pick it up for examination. Marian would have leaped out of the tub to snatch it back, but the servant girl had started washing her hair already.

--*--

The next morning Marian awoke late, knowing it had to be early afternoon by then. She hadn't sat up in bed willingly though, a scream had pierced through her sleep. Marian remembered what the young girl she had shared a cell with had said about when she would lose her hand: 'Tomorrow, I think.'

Marian swung her legs out of bed and ran to her window. There, in the courtyard beneath her, was the same girl writhing on the flagstones. Without a right hand. Marian seethed, as she heard the sheriff say, "Now go, before I take the other one too." The girl struggled to her feet and hurried away, going as fast as she could.

That wasn't right, somebody should have done something. She should have done something. But what good would that have done? She scowled, knowing that she couldn't have helped if she wanted to.

Wait a minute, what was the date today? Marian usually tried to keep track in her head what day it was. The time in the dungeon had thrown her off. Let's see… January sixth? If that was true then Robin was seventeen. She felt a smile crack her face, "There, see? I didn't forget."

Marian wondered if she'd continue talking to the air as if Robin were standing next to her. She'd never done it before… but then, Robin had never been away from England before either.

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