Epilogue: Wherein Gisburne awakens and believes everything is as it always had been

Waking up after a night of overindulgence in wine was always an ordeal and a pain, but that was nothing new for Sir Guy of Gisburne. Nor had this awareness prevented him from drinking so much that he was no longer affected by the insults and reproaches that de Rainault uttered. Unfortunately, this state of affairs required an enormous amount of wine, and unfortunately, the next day there was a great deal of discomfort.

Starting with the problem of finding enough strength to even open his eyes. This was almost more than he believed he could manage at that very moment and therefore he was forced to rest afterwards.

While he lay on his hard bed, not stirring, but staring at the underside of the faded canopy, the after-effects of the booze pounded relentlessly in his head, preventing him from forming a clear thought. But maybe that was not such a bad thing, for he really had no need to reflect on the previous day. Neither about what had happened in Sherwood, nor about the events here in the castle after the Sheriff had returned.

But unfortunately, not even his own mind was following his wishes. Therefore, it so happened that although he was still not able to get up from his bed, he nevertheless took the path to the forest once again - in his thoughts.

Beforehand, he had long pondered what he could do to have for once the upper hand after all. All sorts of plans had already been devised and executed, not only by him and de Rainault, but by others as well. Sometimes they had even been successful - at least partially and for a while - but in the end it was always Hood who was victorious. And Gisburne, who had to suffer the consequences. Being insulted by the Sheriff was still the most harmless of all.

Since elaborate plans and long preparations were of no avail, the knight had decided to proceed on the spur of the moment. Instead of having the soldiers set off on a prearranged day or at a certain hour, he had simply barged into the garrison and forced all the men who at that very moment had stayed there to leave at once. Without having a destination in mind. This he only chose on short notice, while they were already on their way, and in his opinion he had chosen it at random. Thus, no one should have known in advance where he was headed.

But had it been of any use? No! As so often in the past, Hood had ambushed them and then forced them to retreat. The only good thing about the whole affair was the fact that this time he had not fallen into the hands of the outlaw. But that was too little to be content with. However, that did not change the outcome of the events. Or the consequences.

A disgusting taste in his mouth made the knight to turn his head slowly, for he had to figure out if there was anything left to drink in his chamber. On the chest that stood next to the head of his bed - and also served him as a table - he discovered then a cup and a pitcher, which he hoped he had not already emptied during the night, even if he could not recall doing so.

He struggled to get into a sitting position, which increased the pounding in his head, but also caused his stomach to complain about the movement, and the knight barely managed to prevent vomiting. The resulting mess would have been just what he needed.

After he had caught his breath a bit - and had not increased his ailments any further - he turned anew to the pitcher. To his relief, he discovered that it was not empty, and so he poured some of its contents into the cup. True, not all of it ended in there, as some of it also made its way onto the lid of the chest, which was already sporting many a stain; after all, this was not the first morning on which the knight's hands had been shaking. Not to speak of the nights when he still wanted to quench his thirst when being in a drunken state.

While he was pouring, Gisburne realized that the pitcher did not contain the remains of yesterday's wine, but had been filled with water. Despite him being drunken the previous night, he was quite sure that it had not been in his chamber when he had lain down to sleep - or rather, when he had collapsed almost senseless onto his bed - so a servant must have sneaked in and placed the jug here.

Usually the knight did not like it at all when someone entered his chamber while he was sleeping, but in this case he was willing to ignore it, for this allowed him to be able to drink some of this water right here and now and reap the benefits. It was amazing, but the liquid had not quite passed down his throat when he was already feeling much better. He treated himself straight away to a second cup and then he felt so good that he had no need to lie down anymore. However, also none to get up immediately. He actually wanted nothing more than to just sit on his bed for a moment, hoping the Sheriff would not demand his presence in the Great Hall. Unfortunately, this could happen at any time day or night, and no matter how the knight was faring at that moment.

But as he sat on the bed like this, he also recalled the last night and the contempt shown by de Rainault as a result of the latest defeat. This had however happened so many times over the past years that the Sheriff had not been able to bring himself to show excessive anger because of it. Then again, the knight had considered this to be a kind of affront to his abilities.

In hindsight, Gisburne was really glad that he had used the time until the Sheriff's return to recover somewhat from what had happened to him in Sherwood. The bath had done him good, even if the water had turned out to be tepid. But he was only the Sheriff's deputy and not the Sheriff himself, who probably would not expect to have to endure anything but hot water in his bathtub. That would certainly not be a good thing for the servants. But Gisburne could get as worked up as he wanted and punish the guilty, still the next time his bath water would not be as warm as he would like it to be.

Although the meal had turned out to be lukewarm, too, he had still regarded it as helpful, for in the presence of de Rainault he had not been able to get very much down. If for once one were to ignore the wine. Nevertheless, he would have preferred a warm meal.

The Sheriff, however, had also partaken of the wine more eagerly than of the food, which was a clear sign that the visit to his brother had not turned out as he had planned. When he was not belittling his deputy - or downing wine - he was rambling on in obscure hints that gave the knight no clue as to what had actually transpired. Not that the knight would be interested in what quarrel the brothers had with each other yet again, but he was regularly drawn into their disputes. For this reason, he would have liked to know what had occurred. But it was not so urgent that he would ask the Sheriff about it.

Gisburne had actually resolved not to let all of this get to him anymore, but he had no success with that either. Therefore, the events of the previous day had haunted him even in his dreams, although he remembered them only vaguely. But something in his dreams had left him with a sense of doom, but also with one of hopelessness, and had not abandoned him until now. At that moment he also realized that he had again failed to not dwell on it, although he actually had not wanted to let the aftermath of the nightmare spoil his day.

All of a sudden he felt the urgent need to empty his bladder, but was not yet able to take the way down to the latrine. Then he did not have to, for naturally there was a chamber pot under his bed, which he now pulled out. He rose with some difficulty, dropped his pants, and then relieved himself. Afterwards he pulled his pants back up and turned to his bed again, for he was seriously considering lying down once more.

But it was not to come to that, as suddenly he spotted the tunic on the bed he had worn last night. He frowned in confusion, for he was quite certain that he had not taken off this garment before collapsing onto the bed. After all, something like this had already happened to him many times.

All at once he wondered what he was wearing instead, and so he looked at himself. The very moment his gaze fell on the gray shirt and the gray pants, his entire dream came back to him.

But at the same time, he realized that this could not have been a dream. When he remembered the place where he had gotten these clothes he knew that had in fact not been a dream, for then he would still be wearing his tunic. The moment he had to realize in what he was actually clothed, he no longer could have doubts about where he had been, and all at once he was no longer able to stay on his feet.

Collapsing in front of his bed, he could recall in all clarity that indeed he had gone to Hell.

Somewhere in the far distance, he heard derisive laughter.