It's a dark and stormy evening over here, so I'm posting this chapter to the low sound of thunder... The ominous undertones are warranted, unfortunately: life's not treating Much well lately.

SleepingwithinWater: Marian annoyed me at first, but she's started to grow on me since then. My favorite moments with her and Robin are the quiet, honest ones, without all the "Oh, grow up!" and "No, YOU grow up!" banter. And we'll return to the gang in a chapter or two, I promise!

DoubleDaggered: The first season is "the good old days" for me - none of this nonsense about traitors and breaking fans' hearts and whatnot. Plus it's fun to write the gang as they settle in and get used to each other. ;)

~Si

Much's eyes snapped open, the back of his head cracking sharply against the stone as he startled awake. Heart racing, he strained his eyes and ears through the darkness for whatever had woken him. The dungeons were forever in an uneasy sort of twilight, and Much couldn't tell if he'd slept for hours or merely blinked. When the heavy footsteps resumed, Much jolted forward to stand up, and yelped when the movement wrenched at abused muscles, rippling through his shoulders and down his back like knotted rope set afire. Panting, feeling desperately vulnerable, Much wrapped an arm around his stomach and gritted his teeth, working his way up the wall; he would at least face his captors on his feet. He blinked a constellation of black specks from his vision just as Gisborne and a pair of his ever-present guards strode into sight.

"I hope you've slept well," the black-clad lieutenant drawled, his eyes traveling up and down Much as if inspecting a beast he might buy at market. "I can see you've given our last conversation some thought." Much avoided Gisborne's eyes, well aware of how lurid his bruises must be by now, how filthy his clothes were already becoming. The Master-at-Arms raised a mocking eyebrow that took in Much's defensive stance, the arm he held carefully crooked against his stomach, and Much said nothing, clenching his jaw deliberately. "And apparently, it has not loosened your tongue." The lieutenant sighed, perplexity crossing his face, and gestured to the guards. They entered the cell and hauled Much out to stand before Gisborne, who folded his arms, scrutinizing his prisoner anew with a thin sneer pulling at his face. For an instant, Much could imagine how Gisborne must see him: too slow or too stupid to avoid capture, easily caught and easily broken.

As the cold gaze scanned him, the guards' gloved hands digging into his arms, it dawned on Much that Gisborne had never expected him, the mere servant of a thieving outlaw, to bear up this long. Yesterday, Gisborne had not used any of the many instruments in the room, had not chosen any more complicated methods of torture beyond beating him soundly. There was no denying that had hurt, and badly, but if Gisborne thought that would be enough to make Much bawl out everything he knew about the gang and Robin, he was sorely mistaken. In Gisborne's hands, Much knew the tiniest piece of information about the gang would become a dagger plunged straight into Robin's heart. Therefore, it was Much's job to make sure Gisborne didn't gain one scrap of information from him, not one syllable, whatever the personal cost might be. In the Holy Land, he'd knocked back blades seeking Robin's blood, exhausted himself fighting his master's fever – this was small in comparison. Just a handful of hours, he told himself sternly, a little pain, and then Robin and the lads would arrive and he'd be free again. He could manage this, for Robin's sake. He would.

A queer expression crossed Gisborne's face, returned, and stayed. After a moment, Much realized he actually looked sympathetic, or at least regretful. The expression was utterly out of place on the man, whose features Much had always seen twisted into hatred, anger, or alarm. Trying not to show just how unnerved this change made him feel, Much did his best to meet the hooded eyes defiantly.

"I do understand your position, of course. You're Hood's servant: you feel indebted to him. Let me assure you, this loyalty is utterly misplaced." The flickers of false sympathy faded back to stony indifference, and Much allowed himself to relax just a bit. Gisborne continued, "Now, the Sheriff returns in a few days, and your outlaw master has run off with taxes that rightfully belong to the Sheriff of these lands. He's abandoned you here, the worse for wear, to take the blame and punishment for it all. Is that the act of a man worth your loyalty?" Much bit his tongue against the urge to remind Gisborne whose fault it was that he was 'the worse for wear', and ducked his head to fix his eyes on his own boots, firming his mouth into silence again. His muscles cried out at the change of posture, though, and he shuffled a little to regain his balance without the use of his pinned arms, the guards providing no help at all. Unfortunately, Gisborne seemed to mistake Much's uneasy shifting as signs of a conflicted heart, and he leaned closer, blotting out the light of the torches.

"Just a word or two, and you're free of this dangerous game. Tell me where he is, how to find him, and I'll make sure the Sheriff knows of your assistance." His voice was low and soothing, inviting. Much had heard similar honeyed tones from traders in the Holy Land, luring customers in with intimate smiles and glowing words. In his first days there, as they passed through a town, Much had nearly spent all his humble savings on a tiny reliquary containing a finger bone from Saint Catherine, patroness of millers; in the nick of time, Robin had caught sight of Much through the crowd and pulled him aside. Just as the promise of a holy relic turned out to be nothing more than the same choking dust under his feet, Much knew better than to put any faith in the assurances flowing from this peddler's mouth.

Before he knew what he was doing, Much was shaking his head, first minutely, then harder, despite the angry throbbing it set off in his skull, in the side of his face. The looming presence faltered, then took a step back, Gisborne's dark head tilting ever so gently to one side.

"Oh?" came the whispered query, a serpentine warning that brushed cool scales around Much's neck and warned him to choose his words very carefully. Much knew there would be pain for this, and it would be dreadful. His insides turned to ice at the very thought. In fact, Gisborne might decide Much was no more use at all, and these would be the last words Much would ever utter.

Past his pounding heart, which had somehow lodged in his throat, Much said, "I won't do it. I won't." The guards turned him roughly toward the side room, anticipating the lieutenant's signal, and Much planted his feet, raising his voice. "You can't make me betray him. I've got no family, like Roy, nobody you can threaten or- or torture. Me. That's all you've got, is me." He trailed off, trembling from the effort of resisting the guards. When Gisborne spoke again, the bladed edge to his voice set Much's hands shaking again, and even clenching his fists couldn't stop the tremors.

"Oh, I can make you betray him. And I'm prepared to take my time doing it." A sharp gesture by Gisborne was all the warning he got before a guard's fist hammered into his aching stomach; Much doubled over in agony, unable to breathe, unable to be sick, unable to do anything but stumble blindly as the guards hauled him over the threshold, Gisborne's inexorable stride counting out the seconds as he was forced to his knees and stripped of his vest, left only with his trousers and shirt. His boots followed, leaving him shivering in the damp air; heavy shackles bit down on his wrists, shocking a gasp from him. Fingers knotted in his hair, wrenched his head back and trebled the throbbing in his skull, and Gisborne was above him purring, "Let's start with a little refresher first, shall we?"

A/N: I have this story nearly complete on my computer, but the last handful of chapters are still somewhat up in the air. If there's a moment between characters or any sort of scene you'd like to see in this tale before it ends, let me know, and I'll see what I can do. Thanks for reading! ~ Si