Well, this is it folks, final chapter; this is just a short little fic. Thanks to my two Guest reviewers, and enjoy. :)

The Sheriff clicked his fingers, and immediately the boy hovering by the door went out to fetch more wine. He was annoyed. This Lady Grace person had so far proven to be almost as skilled at wordplay as he was. Every time the subject of the poor of Nottinghamshire was mentioned, she confounded him by averting the conversation to other things, such as Prince John and King Richard. She even surprised him by asking which of the two he would rather see on the throne of England.

"King Richard, naturally." had been his response, but he had a feeling she did not believe him. He would have to ask Gisbourne later if she was particularly good at reading expression.

Speaking of Gisbourne, the man had been of no use throughout the entire conversation. He merely leaned against the wall, saying nothing, watching whoever was speaking and offering no input of his own. The Sheriff's scheme to get Grace to provide a generous donation was not going according to plan.

The boy appeared with a new jug of wine and announced in a fearful whisper that the kitchens had prepared for dinner. The Sheriff cursed to himself; he had wanted this conversation to be over in a matter of minutes, not hours, and they had already talked their way through lunch.

"Shall we reconvene after a spot of food?" he asked in what he hoped was a gracious manner.

"Thank you, Sheriff, but I believe we have reached a stalemate in this discussion. I see now that there will be no persuading you to cut your peoples' taxes."

"Sorry," he replied, not sorry at all. "But King Richard's campaign needs funding from somewhere, and since the Church will not pay..."

"I understand. Thank you for your time, Sheriff."

As she got up to leave, he panicked. He did not have what he wanted from her, and if he did not make his move now, he never would. He skirted his table in order to reach her.

"Your Ladyship," he pleaded, appearing at her elbow, hands clasped in front of him. "Might I make an offer? If you really are so... outraged... at the strength of my taxes, then perhaps you could assist the people of Nottingham."

Grace raised an eyebrow.

"A small donation, perhaps, to lessen their pain."

At last she seemed to understand, and leaned towards him, voice low. This looked promising. "My Lord Sheriff, the people of Nottinghamshire pay twice in a week what the people of Hampshire pay in a month. In a county where feeding the peasants is not a hanging offence, my donation to the poor is already well founded. The more you tax your people, the less I shall tax mine. After all, King Richard's requirements are only so high."

With a triumphant smile that the Sheriff longed to wipe off her face, she breezed past him and up the stairs. No sooner had she left the room did the Sheriff make his frustration evident. With a growl, he threw his wine goblet; still half full; across the room.

"She knew!" he hissed at Gisbourne. "She knew! How did she know?"

"My Lord, I tried to warn you that she is clever. She may well have known, or simply worked it out for herself throughout the conversation."

"Warn me? You did no such thing as warn me!"

Gisbourne protested as the Sheriff began to hit him, safe in the knowledge that the taller man would not retaliate. "If she was able to work that out, Gisbourne, what else could she interpret? You tell me that. She might now be wise to everything!"

"And if she has, she will have nothing more than speculations and assumptions, My Lord."

"True..." the Sheriff considered this, calming down slightly. "Very well Gisbourne, let her leave. That little promise of hers is a perfect excuse for me to continue to tax the poor of Nottingham; the King does, after all, have his requirements."

Chuckling to himself, he bounded up the stairs, once again pleased with the events of the day, and headed towards his room for dinner.

"Did he suspect anything, My Lady?" Stephen asked, not for the first time.

"Not that I could tell. And anyway, if he did, all he has are speculations and assumptions. Nothing to use against me. Now stop worrying about it."

A soft knock on the door cut off Stephen's response, but his face gave enough of it away.

"Come in," she instructed, and motioned to Stephen to continue packing her bags. Sir Guy entered the room, his face, as always, unreadable.

"He did not suspect a thing," he announced, mostly to Stephen. "He was convinced you had been warned of his little plan, but I managed to persuade him that it was not an issue."

"Thank you."

"You are leaving?"

"I loath to be away from my father for long when he is dealing with unruly peasants," she said, hoping her cover story would pass. Not that it mattered if it didn't; Guy would never tell his Sheriff something as meaningless as that.

"You ought to stay until morning. The road through Sherwood is dangerous at night."

"If these outlaws of yours are so busy giving out food and rescuing peasants during the day," she reasoned, attempting to cover up Stephen's sudden cough. "When do you suppose they sleep? If I leave now, I can be well out of Sherwood by nightfall."

"Very well..." Sir Guy accepted, and then paused. Grace turned to Stephen, sensing what he meant by it.

"Stephen, could you see to the horses please?"

Her guard cast a suspicious glance, but left without a word.

"You are welcome to stay as long as you like," he offered, stepping towards her.

"Guy, I would love to spend more time with you. But I must return now; there is other business for me to attend to."

"Your father is ill," he stated. It wasn't a question; he knew.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"Everyone knows it, but," he picked up on Grace's visible disappointment instantly. "I will do my best to keep such news from the Sheriff."

"Thank you Guy. It seems I have a lot to show gratitude for today."

"It does not matter. But please..."

He had been about to ask her to stay until the morning, she could tell, but he was interrupted by the sudden and unannounced arrival of Stephen. She immediately took a small step away from Guy.

"Forgive me, My Lady," Stephen was out of breath. "The messenger has come from Hampshire."

"Send him in," she instructed, but Stephen was ahead of her. Robert, her father's most trusted messenger, was already making his way into the room. He cast a questioning eye at Guy, but proceeded with Grace's nod.

"My Lady. Your father, His Lordship the Sheriff, is dead."

Once again, the forest was quiet. It usually was at this time of the day, and Robin had promised his gang that they would spend only another half an hour out in the trees. He understood their reluctance; it was getting dark and cold, and even he didn't really want to be out there much longer when there was a warm camp to be going back to. Twenty-five minutes, by his count, passed, and he was about to give up when the sound of horses reached his ears. He smiled again; they were in luck.

The five horses and the formation in which they were riding were a familiar sight to Robin as he watched them pass beneath his tree, and he signalled to his men to call off the ambush. Instead he alone emerged, landing deliberately loudly to the side of Lady Grace's guards. The five of them slowed to a stop; she had been trying to find him, it seemed.

"My Lady," he greeted, stepping out onto the road. Grace swung off her horse in one deft movement.

"Robin. I cannot stay long, I must return as quickly as possible. I merely came to tell you that while I could not work out the finer points of the Sheriff's plan, but I do know it has something to do with replacing our King with his brother. At least, he hinted as much."

"So you have no definite evidence?"

"No, but be careful. With ideals like that he cannot be working alone; he probably has some very powerful friends."

"Thank you. And what of you? Why the sudden desire to leave?"

Grace turned away from him, hiding her face beneath her hood. He placed a hand on her shoulder, concerned.

"My father died this morning," she explained, a tear emerging from her eye. Robin wiped it away.

"Grace, I am sorry. If there is anything we can do..."

"No, no. Don't worry about me. I am just sorry that you can no longer count Hampshire as an ally; Prince John will undoubtedly waste no time in replacing him with someone much similar in character to your Sheriff."

"We will manage. Thank you for this warning."

"You're welcome. And be assured that I will not hesitate in alerting you as soon as word of King Richard's arrival comes to Hampshire; the shire houses most of his likely landing destinations." Grace turned and re-positioned herself atop her horse.

"Have a safe journey; if you like my men and I can accompany you to the edge of the forest."

"That will not be necessary; my guard are not quite as useless as the Sheriff's. Farewell, Robin of Locksley."

The five of them continued along the road, and Robin watched them go. "Farewell my friend," he murmured. He wondered if her life would be in danger from the new Sheriff of Hampshire. His men emerged from the trees, their weapons sheathed.

"So what now?" Will asked.

"Now we watch the Sheriff."

"I'm not being funny, but haven't we been doing that from the beginning?"

"Closely, Alan, we watch him closely. If Grace was right and he does have a plan to replace King Richard, then we will need to be ready."

As the six of them made their way back along the road and through the trees, the sun lowered and disappeared completely, ending the day with more questions than there had been at its beginning.

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