A slightly longer chapter for you all this time! The length may start to vary more as we go on; it depends on how long my mental camera crew wants to spend with each scene.

SleepingwithinWater: Ack - I didn't mean to frighten you into all-caps! XD I just meant that I have this story almost entirely written out, but we're not even to the halfway mark yet, folks. Technically, there's an end in sight, but not for a good while yet! A nice moment between Allan and Much... hmm. I'll see what the gang will cooperate with. ;)

DoubleDaggered: Writing for Gisborne's kind of making me hate the guy, too... Yes, his life's been rough, and he has terrible taste in father-figures, but still. It's kind of awful trying to see Much from his point of view; his mind's not a happy place. O_o

purple6psyche: Welcome to the fandom! :D I'm glad everybody seems in character - it's hard to tell sometimes after rereading and rewriting so often! And Much just IS rather whumpable... Plus this gives him some well-deserved attention from the gang. I'm sure he'll thank me later. Maybe. :/

Happy reading, and a lovely weekend to you all!

~Si

Marian spent a few extra minutes that morning smoothing her hair and selecting her dress. She chose a rose-colored gown, feminine and flattering, one she knew Guy liked to see her wear. If she had to charm her way into conversation with the man, particularly to eke information from him, she would need all the advantage she could get. She brushed her hair until the dark waves shone, then hurried downstairs.

By the time she arrived in Nottingham under an overcast sky, the market was in full bustle, everyone coming out to make the purchases rain had deterred them from yesterday. Marian nodded pleasantly to the gate guards, stopped to speak with a shop-owner here and there, and generally tried her best not to look desperate to enter the castle. As Robin had said last night, there was very little time to spare, and guilt gnawed at her heart for making small talk and running her fingers through fabrics while Much was left to Gisborne's mercy, but it would not do for anyone to be able to say they had seen her rush into the castle, looking anxious and alarmed.

Finally, she wound her way from the market into the castle itself, a length of cream silk over her arm, ostensibly material for a shawl she wished to embroider. That would give her an excuse for being in Nottingham when she met Guy, all the reason he would require. He had a straightforward mind, direct and forceful; if his exasperated sighs were anything to go on, he found Marian flighty and capricious, and her tale of wishing to shop for silks would satisfy him easily.

Last night, Robin had passed over his usual admonitions to be careful, to stay out of danger, but Marian felt them hovering by her ears nonetheless. Her plan to engage Sir Guy was simple but risky, and would take some clever work to avoid making her look suspicious. If the matter of the silver was as urgent as Marian believed, Guy would waste no time extracting an answer from his prisoner. She would find the lieutenant in the dungeons, almost certainly, and hopefully she could learn enough there to help Robin form a plan. The only problem would be how to disengage from Sir Guy afterward, but that was a smaller matter she was accustomed to navigating by now.

She slowed her steps as she approached the dungeon door, and spread a sweet smile across her face for the two guards standing outside.

"Is Sir Guy within?" she inquired, smoothing the fabric of the shawl.

"He is, my lady, but he is not to be disturbed." Faintly, from behind the door, Marian heard raised voices, one certainly Guy's distinctive, commanding snarl. It took all her willpower not to flinch back at the ragged cry, a different voice, which shuddered along the stone into barely-audible sobs. Her heart thudded in her chest, and she tipped her head imploringly at the guard who had spoken, pretending she had heard nothing.

"I should like to surprise him…. He promised I could speak with him on a personal matter. It will only take a few moments."

As she spoke, she took a step closer and wound her fingers around the wrought-iron ring in the door. The guard hesitated, looking past her at his companion, who was equally uncertain. Marian flashed them a smile and tugged the heavy panel open, slipping through before they could find their voices.

Inside, down the steps, a wave of odor and clammy air nearly brought her up short. She had been in the dungeons only rarely, hating the place for all it represented and caused. The jailer, a detestable man, made no attempt to clean the cells or keep them suitable for human occupancy, and now the stench of offal, all the products of terror and sickness, made her press the silk fabric tightly against her nose and mouth.

On her left, at the end of the corridor of cells, was an open doorway, torch-lit like the rest of the dungeon, and it was that room which was the source of the terrible voices she had heard. All she could hear now was the scuff of someone's boots, and a faint gasp now and then. Keeping the soft silk against her face, Marian strode forward quickly; though she wished for a moment to steel herself, the guards could regain their nerve at any time, and then she would lose her chance.

Inside, the Master-at-Arms stood with his back to her, dark head angled down to study the figure at his feet. Much knelt there, his face screwed up in agony, cradling his shackled hands close to his chest and breathing in jagged gasps. His faded cap was gone, his brown hair nearly hiding his face as he rocked gently; he wore only his linen shirt and trousers, feet bare against the shadowed floor.

"Tell me how to find Hood, or we'll do another finger," Guy said patiently after a moment, a reasonable man offering charitable alternatives. Much's head jerked up, his breath catching, to reveal purpling bruises that shadowed his jaw and one of his reddened eyes. Marian could never learn to comprehend this side of Gisborne, the casual way he could torture a man for hours, manipulating and calculating how to break him, and his better qualities would never eclipse this black aspect of his nature, despite Robin's fears. Her heart sank when Much clenched his jaw, eyes shut tightly again, and slowly shook his head, the movement tipping him to one side.

"Your choice," Guy growled, and jerked Much's arm up savagely, chains clinking, to hold the injured limb at his prisoner's eye level. Much let out a strangled sob, and Marian quickly uttered a short shriek, muffled by the shawl.

Gisborne rounded on her, gloved hand at his sword-hilt before he had finished the turn, but the battle-ready tension melted when his eyes fell upon Marian cowering in the open doorway. For a moment he gaped at her, his two selves colliding at the sight of Marian in this place. After a furious glance at Much, whose convulsive breaths were suddenly the only sound in the dungeons, the gentleman in Gisborne won out, as Marian had been praying it would.

"Lady Marian…" He strode swiftly toward her, moving to block her sight of the outlaw with his body. "You should not be down here. These are not fit sights for a lady's eyes." He caught her arm, drawing her along with him toward the dungeon doors. She required little acting to lean into his support, feigning a noblewoman's horror at such a shock. The knowledge that the hands supporting her had inflicted Much's wounds Marian forced to the back of her mind; this was the most critical part of her plan, and she could not risk distractions.

Guy pounded on the heavy doors, which swung open immediately. The rush of fresh air was an immense relief, and Marian shut her eyes to breathe it in, sensing Guy tense beside her. He slipped an arm around her waist, holding her upright, and snapped at the guards, "I told you I was not to be disturbed! If the Lady Marian suffers any ill effects from your negligence, I shall see to your punishment myself. Find some men to keep watch on the prisoner until I return." In a far gentler voice, he continued, "Marian, I will escort you to your rooms and summon a physician..." Without waiting for her assent, Guy set off down the corridor, keeping her close at his side.

Marian bided her time, waiting for a degree of tension to fall away from the strong arm encircling her. She only had until they reached the rooms reserved for her here, and she needed as much information as possible. Sir Guy was already flicking his eyes down at her, his face grave; probably he was concerned that she had not protested, and attributed it to serious upset on her part. She let out a small sigh, casting her eyes at the stones at their feet, taking care to let her voice waver just the slightest bit.

"Marian?" Good. He was worried in earnest now. "I am sorry you witnessed that… It must have been upsetting."

"Yes…" she murmured, eyes downcast still. "That poor man." The slightest exhalation from the Master-at-Arms, a stifled sigh at her indiscriminate sympathy.

"You need not feel too badly for him, my lady. He is an outlaw, one of Robin Hood's number. He is fortunate he lives at all." They turned a corner and walked on, Gisborne matching his pace to her deliberately slow steps. "You, ah… You may have heard that Hood and his men attempted to steal the Sheriff's silver yesterday afternoon. They succeeded in part only – I captured that one, Hood's personal servant. He will lead me to the money. It is only a matter of time."

Only because Marian was listening carefully did she hear the layer of false confidence Guy applied to his last words. So Much had not given up any information, at least not yet. Suppressing the small smile that knowledge prompted, she said, "Do you not fear Robin Hood will attempt a rescue? He has done so before, I have heard."

"He may," Gisborne admitted. "But it will do him little good to liberate a dead man." The dark edge to his voice brought Marian's eyes sweeping up to his face in horror.

"You will have him executed?"

"He is a traitor to his country, Marian, by defying the law as he and his master have done," Guy explained patiently. "He has refused all opportunities to mitigate the sentence by giving me the information I require. Perhaps he hopes the Sheriff will restore his precious Bonchurch to him, reinstate his seat in the council of nobles." A scoff. They were only a corridor or two away from the guest rooms now. Marian heaved a sigh, turning her fear into a sound of weariness.

"It's a pity matters cannot be simpler, like trades at the market. Hood has the silver, and you have his man. Perhaps an exchange…?" Guy's aquiline features twisted into a sneer at her words.

"Bargain with outlaws? Hardly, my lady. And I would not have Hood so nearly within my grasp only to let him walk away."

"You would not be the man I know if you did," Marian replied lightly, stopping with him at her door. "And certainly the Sheriff will find a way to retrieve the money when he returns." She pretended not to see how her words tightened his lips and sparked black anger in his eyes, instead offering a demure smile. "Thank you, Sir Guy. And please do not trouble yourself to call anyone. I feel better already, though I think I shall lie down for a while." Reluctantly, Guy released her waist, taking her hand instead to brush it with his lips.

"My lady." He gave a courteous bow and retreated slowly down the hall, but not before Marian had caught the flicker of repressed frustration rippling across his face. Shutting the door, she dropped the silk onto a nearby chest and sagged into the chair at the empty writing desk to think. Her parting needle about the Sheriff had hit its mark, she was certain. Gisborne would do everything in his power to resolve the situation before Vasey returned, even a simple exchange, man for money. Not that he could be trusted to let Robin and his men walk away unscathed, but at least Guy would need Much alive for the exchange, which she was fairly confident he would propose to Robin. Her simpering act had accomplished that, at least, though that felt little enough when she remembered the desperation in Much's blue gaze.