A/N: Thank you for all your comments and thanks to Emmithar for the beta as usual :)

Chapter 4: Choices

It was with some reluctance that they left the camp behind to make their way through another icy winter day, leaving the shire to go to York as Robin had decided. Allan had no real idea why the man believed the situation to be any better there than in Nottingham, or how he hoped to achieve anything there. In Allan's experience, rulers were pretty much the same everywhere, they cared little about what effects their doings had on the common folk, so he figured that the peasants in Yorkshire weren't faring much better than the ones in Nottingham – not that Allan had really paid any attention to it in the past. So he questioned Robin's assumption that the other shire would have their storages filled, and that they would still be able to trade.

Robin had argued that not all sheriffs were like Vaysey. There would be ones who would understand that the peasants needed to make ends meet for the sheriff to collect his taxes and win the approval of king, or prince, or whoever they were seeking favor with.

Allan was busier pitying the fact that they had left the camp. He wasn't always keen on being stuck there, but he had come to realize that in these harsh winter conditions it was the best place he could be in, considering the circumstances of living in the forest. He wouldn't have minded a warm place in a cottage, but then he was an outlaw and these kinds of comforts had been far away for a considerable time now. And even before he had become an outlaw, life as a thief hadn't always acquired him these either. He guessed that this winter was actually better than a good number of ones he had lived through before. He had a place to stay. He had food, although it was getting scarce even for the outlaws. But these were things that certainly had not always been secured before. He often had needed to thieve and lie for them day after day. Well, now he was often fighting for them day after day. Or doing things he could probably not exactly be proud of.

Especially now that he also came to realize that the present comparative safety of his situation came from the fact that the gang had secured and filled their camp in a group effort. None of them would have been able to do as much on their own. Allan had no clue about carpentry; it was to Will's credit that they even had the camp. They often complained about Much's cooking, but then the man had also found new ways to make the little they had edible. Djaq had been able to help them with any of the common ailments that came with the cold of the winter...

And he, Allan, he had met Gisborne again. When the gang had decided to go to Nottingham after several weeks of absence, a fight had started inside of him as to what he was to do. The best solution, he guessed, would have been to drop it altogether. While he had originally justified the betrayal – and he could really not call it anything else – with the fact that it had started under torture, he by now admitted to himself that it did not mean he had to continue it any further. He was no longer in any more danger from Gisborne than any of the other outlaws were on a daily basis, he now had little more reason to give him information than any of the others had – if not for the money that was.

So the sign of chalk had appeared again outside of the tavern. Neither Djaq nor Will, who had been close, had noticed Allan's inconspicuous movement. And Allan told himself that it could not hurt at all to be able to buy some pints of ale to warm the heart on this frosty day, nor would it do so to add a little something to the small stash he had hidden in the forest, hoping to have a start for the time when their outlaw days would be over.

Then his look fell on Djaq who had asked him a question while he had been in thought. She had needed to repeat herself and Allan had realised with a sting that it was not he who was looking at the most insecure future of all of them.

The realisation had almost caused him to raise his arm and blur the sign he had made only moments before. But he had not done so, knowing Djaq would notice his doings now, would question him. No, the sign remained, and mere minutes later, when they had already made their way over the market place, he excused himself from his friends, hurrying back to the tavern, knowing Gisborne would arrive soon enough.

Allan had been sitting and waiting on hot needles. The moment he entered the tavern his resolve had been for this to be the last meeting with the Master-at-Arms. He would tell the man so. He would even be able to reason it. Gisborne had been ready to let him hang, when the gang had been captured in the autumn. Why would he, Allan, work for him any longer?

And this was what he had actually told Gisborne, causing an amused grunt from the other. Allan had expected the man to react this way, if he had told him that he simply didn't want to betray the gang any longer. But the voiced disappointment about Gisborne's lack of interest in his welfare was apparently not a matter to be taken seriously by the Master-At-Arms either. Nevertheless, their conversation had been short; Allan had refused to give any information; indeed he would not have been able to tell anything that would interest Gisborne, the outlaws being stuck at their camp for most of the past few weeks. Gisborne had stood up with a smirk, voicing the guess that Allan would come crawling back to him soon enough, before he had turned and left the tavern in the course of moments.

Allan felt uncomfortable when he thought back of it now, while they were walking through the early morning light, the icy snow crunching under their feet. The visit to Nottingham had been altogether a rather depressing matter. He had seen how it weighed down on Will to have nothing to hand out, all the while knowing that the town's people were going as hungry as the villagers around Nottingham were.

Allan kept going, watching the tracks Much made in the snow walking before him, paying attention not to stumble on the slippery ground. The gang was marching along in silence, everyone occupied with their own thoughts. It was when Allan glanced to the side, having just avoided a low branch that hung over their trail, that he noticed that Robin was watching him.

He thought at first he was mistaken, but when he looked up again, the man's gaze was still on him. When Allan met it, Robin did not look away; it was as if he wanted him to know. Allan was about to make a comment, a joke maybe, anything he might come up with, when Robin spoke up. The man was not talking only to Allan though, was not giving an explanation, but called out to all of the outlaws.

"Alright, we know the sheriff has guards stationed in this village," he made a sign towards the settlement that they knew to be behind the thicket of trees. "We go in, take as many horses from them as we can get, and we're on our way."

Everyone nodded. They had talked about it before. Walking all the way to York would take too much of their time away, especially in these weather conditions. On horseback they would need to go careful as well, least any of the horses they were about to steal would fall and break its neck, or theirs for that matter. But still it would speed up their journey.

They walked into the village in a slow, deliberate manner, hoping to draw no attention until they were about to strike out. Few other people were in their way. Allan could make out two guards who were talking with each other, their horses bound next to them. A third guard was watching over the village, though Allan could only wonder what he was watching out for. It was not like they could expect outlaws to come to this place...

Allan frowned. Of course they could not know. Nobody had told the sheriff they would come here. Allan had not even known about it until this morning. And if he had known he would not have told Gisborne. Or would he? He had made it clear with the man that he would not give him any more information. But then Allan had to admit that he could not be certain what he would have done, if he had actually held any valuable information to sell. Had it been too easy to say he would not do it anymore, when he had actually nothing to sell?

He grabbed his sword tighter, as they moved stealthily towards the guards, and he glanced backwards briefly, once again finding Robin's gaze on him, before the man looked away this time, focusing on the task at hand.

Minutes later they were riding out of the village, angry yells of the unlucky guards sounding behind them. Allan drove his horse to run faster, following Robin's, once again having decided where he was going.

She had donned her heavy cloak again, but she felt cold nonetheless. The way down to the dungeons was always a miserable one. More than once she had been met downwards by the jailer, who oversaw the removal of a poor soul that had died from hunger or sickness or other causes Marian rather chose not to think about.

She was carrying a heavy blanket, yet another one she was taking down to her father, and she could only hope the jailer would allow it. She knew the man was only acting out of spite, was not actually following any rules the sheriff might have set. It was not like Vaysey would come down here and check whether the prisoners had any blankets at their disposal.

Marian figured that the sheriff only rarely descended down here at all. He left the dirty work to Gisborne, and only showed his face if he wanted to boast over a prisoner he considered of more value, either to display his power or to simply enjoy himself. Thankfully that had not been the case with her father.

There was a pain she could not explain, one that strengthened each time she ventured down here. Even for her the chill was unbearable, the smell made of a mixture that didn't even seem possible, and the dank, dark conditions worked to sap the very strength of one's spirit. For herself, she could not bear to be down here for more than a few minutes at a time. She could not imagine what it would be like to be confined… like her father. Slowly she moved in the dim light towards the cell, calling out softly to the man inside, who was slumped on his bunk.

"Father?"

He didn't react at first and it was only when she called again that he lifted his head.

"Marian."

When she heard his voice, she knew even more so than before that she had to do something. She handed him the blanket, knowing how little it would help down here. He did not even acknowledge it.

"Take it," she asked him quietly.

"Marian," he said again and she fell silent. He looked at her and she hated everyone in this castle. "If anything happens... you need to leave the castle." He said it calmly and she found herself nodding, although she knew she never would let anything happen. "We have friends; you know this, go to them. You cannot stay here. You are not safe here." He paused, but this time she did not nod.

"I take care."

"I do not like to say it, but if you need help, I am sure Robin will offer it."

She did not like him talking like this, not when she knew she had to do something, felt she had to be able to do so. She was going to stop this talk.

"Robin has left."

At first she thought she had accomplished as much, for her father fell silent for a few moments. Then he nodded quietly. When he was about to speak again, she wanted to explain, but realised then that it would do no good to discuss the matter here, neither for the sake of what really mattered at the moment and not for their safety either, considering the danger of discussing her alliance with Robin down here where the sheriff might have his eyes and ears.

"I will get you out of here," she asserted then and turned away with a strengthened determination, unwilling to stay any longer as she did not want to lead this conversation, did not want to hear any of his... goodbyes. It was not to be.

She rushed upstairs, passed a smirking jailer, and didn't slow down until she reached the corridor where she knew the chamber to be where the sheriff was holding yet another conference with a distinguished guest.

The door was open to a degree and she could hear the voice of a stranger carried outside into the corridor.

"So Prince John wonders, how you, sir, can be sheriff, if you do not even accomplish to apprehend a common criminal, that even more so, is supposedly the reason for Nottingham's inability to pay its taxes on time."

There was silence after this announcement. Marian walked forward quietly, moving through the open door. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to her as she entered the room. As she was making her way around the chairs only Gisborne glanced into her direction, but didn't offer any other acknowledgement.

"You have to realize that Hood is not a common criminal," Vaysey spoke then and Marian could barely keep a smirk from her face as the sheriff contradicted what he himself had often claimed. "He belonged to King Richard's private guard and has brought the man's war to England."

Marian frowned, coming to a stop behind the assembly. There was Vaysey, Gisborne, an unknown man that she believed to be the speaker of the earlier accusing words, two scribes who were apparently accompanying the man, as well as two nobles who Marian knew to be loyal to the sheriff. More in likely they were there for show. There had been no real Council of Nobles now for months, but that had yet to stop a few lingering nobles from supporting the sheriff.

What the sheriff was saying made no sense to her. It was true that Robin had been in the king's private guard, but he was certainly not acting on the man's orders here. Quite the opposite, Marian feared. It was always in the back of their minds that when Richard returned to England, things would go back to normal, whatever normal might be in that case. Robin would get his lands and titles back. This was what everyone thought. Everyone hoped, maybe. But if Marian thought about it realistically, it was not a given. Nobody could know the whims of a monarch. Maybe the man had long forgotten all that Robin had done for him in the Holy Lands, maybe he considered the man's acts as criminal as the sheriff judged them to be. It was not certain that Robin would not be an outlaw for the rest of his life.

Marian breathed out slowly, trying to focus on the reason she had come here. It was not Robin this time, no matter that the talk about him had distracted her.

"Hood is a criminal who is living in the forest," the speaker unknown to Marian insisted. "You are the sheriff. You are to apprehend him to ensure the taxes make it to London."

If Marian had not been in the gloomy mood she was in, she would have smiled at this, for she had hardly ever seen the sheriff as pressured as he was now. Nobody could threaten him in Nottingham, nobody who would want to could even kill him without endangering the whole town because he was under Prince John's protection. But if the prince was dissatisfied with the man... With these thoughts came the wonder as to why the prince was placing so much importance on a safe delivery of the tax money in a time like this. The crown surely needed it, but Marian could hardly imagine that John was keen on being quick to pay the ransom for the king's release.

"And as you failed to capture him as of yet, you may want to take other measures," the man continued. "I trust in your creativity."

Everyone in the room save for the prince's spokesman and his assistants knew that Vaysey had managed to take Robin captive several times in the past, but had each time failed to kill him. Marian knew that they had been more than lucky that he was still alive and a touch of worry came over her, as she realised that the ongoing conversation might harden the sheriff's resolve to finish Robin off, once and for all, instead of playing with him, as he so often did, like a cat would play with a mouse, before finally doing the killing strike.

The speaker's tone had signaled that this was the end of the conversation. Marian moved around the circle of chairs, approaching the sheriff. The man had yet to notice her, as he was leaning over to Gisborne. Marian knew that she was in earshot of the prince's man and that she was risking much. Her father had nothing to lose.

"My Lord Sheriff," she said loudly, ensuring everyone was to hear her. Gisborne's gaze shot up to her, but she ignored him. He had failed to help her.

She, on the other hand, was ignored by the sheriff.

"My Lord Sheriff," she repeated, showing a politeness she would never offer Vaysey if it were not for the man from London.

The sheriff still did not bother to look at her, but only hissed a, "Yes?"

"My father, Sir Edward, is very unwell, as you are aware. I ask you therefore most insistently to release him from the dungeons. He is a man loyal to you, as you need men in these difficult times, no matter what past disagreements may lie between the two of you." She pressed her lips together once she had finished, knowing Vaysey would not believe one word of what she had said. She had not spoken for his benefit.

She could see that the prince's man was observing the exchange. Still, the sheriff did not even turn to her fully, but grimaced with a look at the accounts that were lying in front of him on the table.

"A clue: no."

There was an ever so slight frown on the London man's face, but as much as Marian might have hoped for it, he did not interfere, and she realised that it had been a silly notion to think that the man would care to bother the sheriff about any matter such as this. He would be no help in freeing her father; his only message to the sheriff was to finally get rid of Robin, if that was what kept Nottingham from fulfilling its tax obligations.

The man strode out of the chamber, followed by his scribes. Vaysey gave her a smirk, while Guy avoided her gaze, as he followed the sheriff on his way out, Vaysey having something in his posture that had never been there before, a sign that he was indeed stressed.

And Marian made a desperate resolution.

TBC