A/N: As a Robin Hood enthusiast (even of the Wishbone version, haha), I wanted to try my hand at making a VT version of one of the more famous stories, while still maintaining (most of) the lore of the VT retelling. Some bits of historical facts are inserted, but artistic license is still taken.
For this AU:
1) The Merry Men haven't abandoned him and stolen from Prince John.
2) Robin was still present at Prince John's archery demonstration and upstaged him.
3) Robin went to the dinner afterwards but was not accused of theft.
4) Although I recycle some ideas from "Good Man or Grifter?", this is a separate work.
Sometimes, William de Wendenal, the Sheriff of Bethlingham, questioned whether he was a good guy or a bad guy.
William, a tomato with a strong sense of justice and loyalty to the crown, had earned his position a few months before King Richard had left for the Third Crusade. What William did not learn until after the fact was that his territory would be part of the English land which King Richard would give to his younger brother, Prince John, as an incentive to remain loyal and not plot to take over the kingdom in his absence. Going against the king's command to remain on the continent, Prince John had taken up residence as an indefinite guest of Bethlingham Castle (with William footing the bill), and he had installed the dreaded Dungeon of Despair in William's own basement.
William shuddered every day to think of something so… so vile under his own home, but he could not disobey the prince's commands or prevent him from sending poor veggies into that life-draining oubliette. Although the turbulent union of justiciary regents — headed by Chancellor de Longchamp and greatly influenced by the queen mother, Eleanor — were the technical protectors of England in Richard's absence, they allowed John to do as he pleased within his own lands as long as he did not make a nuisance of himself. If the prince threw peasants into the dungeon or ordered that all his tenants pay a ham tax — or forbade anyone from eating the ham which he said rightfully belonged to him — then no one in London Town was going to ride out and interfere.
Thus, a powerless tomato like William could do little more than sigh and say, "Three bags full, sir," to the prince's tyrannical orders. As Sheriff of Bethlingham, it was William's job to collect tasty taxes from peasants who otherwise had only gruel and root vegetables to eat. Even if William wanted to give them hams out of his own pantry, the prince forbade him. John, and John only, was allowed the delicacy. So far, no one had dared to stand up to him.
Except for Robin Good.
He seemed to come out of nowhere, but he already had a reputation among the shire's peasants for giving hams away to those in need.
Naturally, Prince John wanted to nip that in the bud. He told William to invite him to dinner in his usual power move designed to intimidate dissenters.
"Be careful around the prince," William whispered to Robin when the cucumber arrived early at the castle, wanting to set up a presentation to explain his fundraisers. "That guy is the reason the Magna Carta had to be written."
Robin looked confused. "What's the Magna Carta?"
"You'll find out in about another two and half decades, if you don't end up in the Dungeon of Despair," William returned. "Just watch your step, okay?"
Robin tried to be polite. Over a one-sided meal, he encouraged Prince John to share his bounty with his hungry tenants and make life better for those who depended on him. His pleads, though moving, could not change a heart of stone.
"Stop giving away my hams, Brother Good," Prince John said in his deep voice, "or spend the rest of your days in the Dungeon of Despair."
William expected Robin to back down, like everyone else did, but after a moment of silence, the cucumber squared his shoulders and said the bravest words the tomato had ever heard.
"With all due respect, sir, I can't do that."
With that, any glimmer of clemency evaporated. At once, Robin was marked a traitor and ordered to the dungeon, but the cucumber was too slick for the guardsmen, and he escaped the castle in a swashbuckling spectacle. Prince John sent William after him, but that would prove a difficult challenge.
Even though Robin and his men were on the run, rumors had already begun to surface of the band sneaking into Bethlinghamshire to help children. Not even an arrest warrant could stop the cucumber from doing good where he could.
Looking into the official records and tax documents, William had learned Robin Good was the youngest son of the Earl of Mocksley, but he seemed to have left home as soon as he came of age, and he had run fund-raising charities in and around Sherwood Forest for a number of years. William had interviewed his relatives, but none seemed to know where Robin dwelt these days, even if they had been willing to turn him in.
For two weeks, William sent out his posse to comb Sherwood Forest and the surrounding hamlets, but no one caught even a glimpse of the cucumber or his men. William could hardly get any sleep from the constant anxiety, spending his nights pacing his chambers.
One particular evening, when his mind felt as rattled as an upset hornets nest, a soft knock arose, but he barely comprehended it. His heart pounded in his ears in time with his hopping steps, and he only slightly registered that his door had opened.
"Burning the midnight oil?" came a low, feminine voice.
William's sad eyes drifted to meet his wife. Anne, a blonde sweet potato with a lovely orange complexion, stood in the doorway, wearing a light-blue dressing gown that was currently popular with noblewomen. William sighed, pausing only to give her a nod of acknowledgment before he continued his pacing.
"Can't sleep," he admitted. "I'm between a rock and a hard place."
She hopped into the room, studying him. "Robin Good again?"
"Prince John, really," he snarked, "but yes. As long as Robin is on the loose — committing the crime of helping veggies less fortunate than him — my head is on the line. I don't know what to do."
"Think of something else for a while," she suggested kindly, "and come back to it with a fresh mind."
"Like what?"
She smiled and strolled over to the stone bench which sat before the fireplace. He noticed then she carried a lavender brochure, which she used to pat the spot beside her. He silently accepted the invitation, settling on the bench with a long face.
"Maybe this will cheer you up, Will," she said, passing him the brochure. A pink, elegant lady's slipper graced the front. Above, a pretty, violet script read: BALLROOM DANCING. At the bottom of the brochure were the words, SPONSORED BY THE SWANTHOLD ACADEMY OF DANCE.
"Ballroom-dancing lessons?" William said skeptically.
"Ever since Prince John made you run around, taking hams from the people, we haven't had a proper date night," she explained. "It might be fun to brush up on our dance steps before our wedding anniversary rolls around."
He grimaced, guilt piercing his already heavy heart, and glanced over the brochure, reading the snippets about the dances currently popular with Queen Eleanor — which made no sense, since the queen mother had not done any of these steps since the days of her husband, King Henry II. Frowning, William turned the brochure over, scanning the blurb with information about the dance academy.
His eyes bulged. A candle flickered in his mind.
"The school is located near Sherwood?"
"Yeah, and it's run by some old dancing master who used to teach the Earl of Mocksley's children," Anne remarked. "The brochure is outdated, but the instructor is supposed to be the best of the best, from what I've heard. Lady Matilda was raving about him when I told her I signed us up."
William sat up, a dawning ray of hope breaking gently through his despair.
"Sweetie," he said slowly, "where did you get this?"
"Oh, when I visited my sisters this afternoon, I took the shortcut through Sherwood Forest," she explained. "Some guy was holding several fundraisers to get hams for children's birthday parties. I know our budget is a little tight right now, Will, but it was only four shillings, and it was for a good cause."
William, meanwhile, had looked up sharply. "Guy? What guy?"
Her eyes suddenly glittered. "Don't tell me you're jealous—"
"Anne," he said quickly, pivoting toward her. If she had had hands, he would have grabbed them, but he settled for raising himself up as far as he could in order to meet her dancing gaze. "This is important. Was the guy you talked to a cucumber?"
"Why, yes," she answered, surprised.
"Wearing Lincoln green?"
"Yes."
"Single tooth, goatee, not-too-bright look on his face but smarter than he lets on?"
"Friend of yours?" Anne guessed.
"Babe," he said seriously, "that was Robin Good."
"Robin Good!" she breathed, leaning back, before her eyes narrowed slightly. "I thought he would be taller."
William slumped. "Just my luck. I've been scouring the countryside for this guy, under threat of despair, and my wife found him without even trying."
"I can take you back to the place I met him," she suggested, scooting closer in order to lean against him. "He might be there tomorrow."
"If he saw me, he might run away and escape," he sighed.
"Why not talk to the dancing master then?"
"I could try," he agreed, "but if he guesses I'm there to arrest Robin, he might alert him. He taught Robin and his siblings, you know. And I'm not about to throw the old master into a dungeon to extract information."
She pecked his forehead. "Of all the sheriffs in merry England, you are the most kind, dear."
He soaked in her touch, glad to have someone sympathetic toward him for a change. Because he had to carry out Prince John's selfish orders (or risk harm to himself or his family), no one in town liked him. Whenever he came near, people stopped talking or walked the other way. When he confiscated hams for taxes, everyone threw insults at him, making him dread each work day. The other sheriffs in the region didn't like him either, thinking he was too soft because he refused to resort to bullying to uphold the law. If it wasn't for the fact that William's wife was popular at the royal court, he might not have ever gotten invited to parties.
It was either this, or go to war with King Richard, he sighed to himself. Sometimes he wondered which was actually more pleasant.
"It's a shame to have to hunt for Robin," he said somberly, "because I know he's only trying to help kids and poor folks."
"Can't you just look the other way?" Anne suggested, gliding her invisible touch through his graying hair. "What's wrong with him sneaking hams to hungry children?"
He laid his round head against her lap, gazing glumly at the fireplace.
"Prince John can't stand anyone having a ham besides himself," he exhaled. "If I don't catch Robin soon, the prince will probably throw me into the Dungeon of Despair in his place. Then what happens to you, huh?"
"I'll be okay," she assured him. "You do what you need to, love. 'Always do good when you have the chance.' That's what Miss Lewis from down in the village says."
"But what is good in this case?" he returned.
Her invisible touch continued to thread his hair while they watched the fire crackled. It was just the sort of cozy moment which William would have enjoyed, if his heart was not so heavy, or his stomach so knotted up.
"Since Robin is so big on fundraisers," Anne suddenly said, "why don't you just use one to catch him?"
A wry "heh, heh" passed his red lips — then he raised his head, sitting bolt upright. His once haggard face shone with delight, making him look several years younger.
"I married a genius!" he cried, grabbing hold of her in a tight hug. "A beautiful genius!"
"Just figuring that out?" she teased.
He impulsively jumped up, planting a kiss against her soft orange cheek midair, then bounded toward his desk. His chair skidded when he landed on the cushion, and he quickly pulled out a roll of parchment.
Anne stood, crossing over to him. "Aren't you going to bed?"
"In a minute, babe," he said, sharpening his quill. "Just gotta write my ideas down first, before I forget them."
"I'll put the coffee on then."
Anne pivoted away with a smile, shaking her head. He grinned and waved his thanks with the tip of the white feather as she departed. Then he set to work, scribbling out a list of things he would need for his newly formed plan. He still felt bad about needing to catch Robin in such an underhanded way, but maybe once he had the outlaw in custody, William might then be able to plead to the Chancellor de Longchamp or even to Queen Eleanor on Robin's behalf. If that failed… well, at least William himself wouldn't be in the Dungeon of Despair, and he could find a different way to help Robin.
"Nothing personal, pal," he said aloud. "I'm just trying to do good in the one way I know how."
A/N: While the Sheriff of Nottingham is sometimes portrayed as Robin's rival for Maid Marian, in some of the earlier tales/ballads, he's married. For example, in one version of "Robin Hood and the Butcher," the wife is nice to Robin, so Robin spares the sheriff's life later out of gratitude.
Also, in Howard Pyle's retelling of the archery contest, the sheriff and his wife both attended, hence (part of) why I decided to have her in this fic. (That, and it's another excuse to have Katrina Dill in a fic with Bob.)
"But now all the benches were filled with guests, lord and lady, burgher and dame, when at last the Sheriff himself came with his lady, he riding with stately mien upon his milk-white horse and she upon her brown filly. Upon his head he wore a purple velvet cap, and purple velvet was his robe, all trimmed about with rich ermine; his jerkin and hose were of sea-green silk, and his shoes of black velvet, the pointed toes fastened to his garters with golden chains. A golden chain hung about his neck, and at his collar was a great carbuncle set in red gold. His lady was dressed in blue velvet, all trimmed with swan's down. So they made a gallant sight as they rode along side by side, and all the people shouted from where they crowded across the space from the gentlefolk; so the Sheriff and his lady came to their place, where men-at-arms, with hauberk and spear, stood about, waiting for them."
