I don't own the characters or places!
Not much later, Clint was working on a new set of arrows when someone knocked on the door to his workshop. He looked up from his work with a frown. Normally, people just came in without knocking. Only one person always felt the need to do that, and not because of politeness. But this soft knock hadn't been the hammering on the door that announced Guy of Gisborne's arrival. No, this one was far too calm for him. Hesitant, even.
He called whoever was standing in front of his door inside and focused on the arrow in front of him again. The shaft was perfectly straight, made of strong wood from trees that could only be found in the middle of the Sherwood Forest. He still had to add the small, sharp iron tip, then the weapon would be perfect. His hand drifted over the crow's feathers on one end absent-mindedly, while his other adjusted the metal so it would fit perfectly, without any risk of getting loose by movement alone…
"I didn't know you also made arrows." A familiar voice behind his back said and it took Clint all his willpower to remain calm and not flinch. He didn't want to ruin his work.
"Yes, and you have to concentrate for that. So be quiet for another moment, please." When his guest didn't say anything else, Clint focused on the arrow again, finishing it with a few skilled movements. Only then did he turn around to see Sir Phil Coulson standing in front of him, clad in his fine clothes. Even if he'd just entered the room, there was already a little sweat on his brow. One of the reasons why Clint always wore shirts without sleeves inside the forge. "What can I do for you, Sir?"
"You can call me Phil." Clint couldn't stop his eyebrows from rising at those words. The knights he knew never offered anyone to call them by their first names.
"Only if you call me Clint." He regretted the words as soon as they'd left his mouth, but Phil only smiled. "What brings you here?" The words were added quickly, mostly to cover his embarrassment at speaking so disrespectful with a knight. He knew he'd done it before, but suddenly, Clint felt uncomfortable, being alone with the other man. No one would react if Sir Phil Coulson suddenly decided that Clint wasn't worth his time and maybe even attacked him with the two big swords he was carrying.
Two swords? Only then did Clint take a closer look at the man in front of him. To his surprise, next to Phil's own sword at his hip, he was carrying another one in his hand. But not just any sword. One that Clint had seen many times, often directed at himself. Or rather Robin Hood. It was Gisborne's sword.
"I've heard Gisborne wants you to sharpen his sword." Phil held up said weapon, confirming his assumption.
"He asked you to deliver his sword?" His bewilderment must have shown on his face, because Phil laughed and shook his head.
"I offered to stop by and bring it here." He looked around, but not with the usual distaste people showed. No, in Phil's eyes open curiosity could be seen. Strange, considering that they were in a blacksmith's workshop. Everything was covered in dirt from the fire of the forge, broken pieces of metal lay around and it smelled of smoke and sweat. "I wanted to see where you work anyway."
Clint knew he was staring at him, so he forced himself to take Gisborne's sword the knight offered. "It's not very exciting in here."
"I would disagree. I've heard that your work is excellent." Phil was still smiling, his blue eyes shining in the light that shone through one of the windows.
"I'm not that good." He turned to one of his workbenches, placing the sword there carefully. He didn't want to give Gisborne a reason to throttle him for leaving even one scratch on the expensive scabbard. A true masterpiece, with an elegant but yet also sharp pattern all around. Clint knew it by heart. His father had made it a long time ago.
"You shouldn't undersell your abilities. Gisborne doesn't give his weapons to anyone lightly. Even the Sheriff mentioned you once, praising the sword you made him not so long ago."
"It took me ages to make it." He argued, but deep inside, pride bloomed. It was always a good feeling to hear that his work was appreciated, even if it was by Gisborne and the Sheriff.
"I saw it. It's a true masterpiece." When Phil's eyes wandered to Gisborne's sword, Clint shook his head quickly.
"I didn't make that scabbard. My father did." The ones he made himself weren't that beautiful. He could work with metal, but all those small, elaborate patterns were too much for his calloused hands. He was a fighter, not an artist. He could make weapons that killed or tools for a hard day's work on the fields, but not something that was aesthetically pleasing. "He tried to teach me, but I could never make something like it."
Phil's eyes were serious when he disagreed. "The one you made for the Sheriff was also a true piece of art."
Clint laughed. "Now you're trying to fool me. I wasn't happy with it at all."
This time, it was Phil's turn to look at him in surprise. "But why, if I may ask?"
"It looked clumsy and unskilled." He admitted with a shrug. He'd never made a secret of his abilities. It was widely known that if the people searched for someone to make them wonderful, shiny objects, they shouldn't ask him.
"I would disagree." Phil had the decency to change the subject, most probably sensing that he was feeling uncomfortable with the situation. "You're also making arrows?" He pointed at the one Clint had been working on upon his arrival.
"For the local huntsmen." He explained. "Also for the Sheriff's people sometimes, but they mostly use ones without metal tips, it being less expensive and easier to replace." They could make those by themselves and didn't need to pay Clint for them.
"I've never seen someone use crow's feathers before." Inwardly, Clint cursed at the observation. Not many people paid attention to this. Normally, he used other feathers for stability. The crow's feathers were only for one type of arrows. The ones Robin Hood used. He knew that it wasn't widely known by now, but there was always the risk that one of his arrows got in the hands of others. And as he already knew, Phil Coulson was a very observant person. Maybe he should take his other arrows in the near future and also advise Allan not to use the ones with the black feathers for a while.
"I use what I can get." He tried to let it sound casual. "My arrows never look the same." Luckily, the other quiver leaning against the workbench was indeed for one of the local huntsmen, therefore no black feathers to be seen. He placed the arrow Phil had looked at on one of the other tables quickly, using the short moment in which the knight was distracted. "Those are for one of the hunters who live in a nearby village." He explained once the arrow was safely hidden from sight.
It looked as if Phil wanted to reach for them, but he stopped and glanced at Clint, silently asking for permission. Only when he nodded did Phil take an arrow and inspect it silently. "This is excellent work." He muttered while he ran his fingers over the wood. "How do they fly?"
"You'll never see better arrows." Clint knew he was boasting, but when it came to his arrows, he couldn't help himself. They were the work he was most proud of.
The knight quirked an eyebrow. "Is this true?" The silent skepticism in his voice sounded like a challenge. One that Clint was happy to take, even if a voice inside his head shouted stop this, it's too dangerous! with all its might.
"Do you want me to show you?" He asked with a slight smile.
Phil's grin was answer enough.
Behind Clint's workshop was a small garden, a rare thing inside the borders of the city. It actually belonged to his small house which was right next to the forge. His mother had created it, wanting to have something green in their lives full of steel and ash. By now, the only person who took care of the plants was Clint's neighbour living on the other side of the workshop. Her name was Marian and she'd been Robin's fiancé before he didn't return from the war.
Clint had promised his best friend to take care of her, since Marian was stripped of her title and lands when Robin didn't come back and her family refused to bow to the Sheriff. Ever since, she was living a quiet life. She knew that Clint was Robin Hood, but she never said anything. It was also her secret to keep, she used to say. Sometimes, she even accompanied Clint to the camp of the outlaws within the forest. But not very often. She mostly stayed in Nottingham and tried to collect whatever information she could get for Clint. No one paid much attention to a woman who asked questions. That Gisborne was interested in her was also a small advantage. One Clint didn't like very much, but she insisted that it was fine. She could deal with him. Robin had taught her to use a dagger, so probably it was true.
When Clint entered the garden together with Phil that day, no one could be seen. Most probably, Marian was in the city, gathering information or simply enjoying herself. One of the weavers in Nottingham had offered her to work a few hours each day and she'd accepted with delight. The woman just couldn't sit still.
"You practice here?" Phil asked quietly when he took in the several targets that were standing in different distances from the houses. In total, there were four of them, the one furthest away about twenty meters from the workshop. Clint would have preferred a wider distance, but with the borders of the garden and the houses on its other end, it wasn't possible to get more space. If he wanted more room to practice, he went to the forest for that.
He nodded. "I have to test the weapons I build." He smiled slightly. "Of what use is an arrow when it doesn't fly straight?"
"Indeed." Phil eyed the targets again. "You can hit all of them?"
"On a good day." While Robin Hood was a master in archery, Clint Barton was averagely good.
Phil's lips twitched. "Show me." Clint wasn't sure if it was intended, but the knight let it sound like a challenge. So he took the bow, the quiver with the arrows made for the huntsmen, pulled out an arrow and aimed at the target closest to them. He decided that it was close enough so that even someone with not that much skill could hit the target right in the middle.
Apparently, Phil thought the same. "That was too easy. Another one." So Clint shot arrow after arrow, always making sure that the shots were good, but not perfect. Deep inside, he felt the desire to show Phil what he could do, that he wasn't just a boring blacksmith without many other talents. But then there was still that voice inside his head screaming that it would be too dangerous. He'd already seen the arrow with the black feathers, also showing him that Clint could shoot would be too risky. It would give too much away.
But then, after the sixth arrow, Phil turned to look Clint right in the eyes and quirked an eyebrow. "Not bad." He smiled patronisingly. "But not good either."
That's what did it. There was a mischievous gleam in Phil's eyes when he said the words, but Clint barely noticed it. He just smiled widely and narrowed his eyes. Challenge accepted. Without as so much as looking at the targets, Clint took another arrow. And another one. And another one. Not once taking his eyes off of Phil for longer than a heartbeat. The knight's eyes widened when he took in Clint's perfect aim, each target having been hit in the middle. Then he turned back to Clint and for a few moments, they just stood there in silence, facing each other. Birds were singing somewhere in the distance and they could hear a mother calling for her children on the street, but those were the only noises.
Until Phil started to laugh. "I knew you could do more than that!" He grinned. "You're amazing!" He went to the target furthest away and examined Clint's work. "Without even looking at your target. Fascinating."
"I have lots of free time." Clint tried to let it sound casual. "But was provoking me really necessary?"
When Phil turned to him again, his cheeks were red. "I apologise for that." He sounded sincere. "But a person who makes such arrows can shoot." His expression turned curious. "Why did you pretend otherwise?"
He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm just a blacksmith." He said in the end. "Not a warrior. Being in the war once was enough. I don't need to be sent out there again."
Phil's face showed understanding when he nodded. "It's horrible, isn't it?"
"Even worse." Without looking at Phil, he began to collect the arrows. When he knight began to help him, he stopped in surprise. "You don't have to do that."
"I want to." Phil offered him a smile. "I'm really sorry for provoking you."
"Forgiven. Just don't tell anyone about it"
Phil looked at him seriously. "You have my word."
Only then did Clint allow himself to smile. "Thank you."
For the next two weeks, Clint didn't see Sir Phil Coulson again. From what he heard within the city, the knight was busy both with the Sheriff and Guy of Gisborne. Apparently, they were discussing new strategies to catch Robin Hood and his outlaws. Clint didn't even want to think of all the ideas Phil could give them and what it would mean for his people. Helping the poor was already difficult enough, they couldn't use even more challenges.
But there would be challenges, he realized when he was running through the Sherwood Forest one day, followed by Phil Coulson and three more of Gisborne's men. They'd just robbed a courier on his way to Nottingham. It all went well, until they wanted to give the gold they'd stolen to the people. Because as soon as they left the forest, the two knights with their soldiers had already been waiting.
The outlaws did the only thing possible: they ran. All in different directions, of course. It was a small advantage, meaning that every outlaw only had two or three pursuers, instead of facing the group of opponents all at once. Not too far into the forest, their reinforcements would be waiting, hopefully alarmed by the constant shouts and whistles to be heard. If they could only reach them, the chance of making it out alive and without being caught would be much higher.
It seemed as Clint was the one having the worst luck. With three soldiers and Sir Phil Coulson on his heels, he knew that it was nearly impossible to outrun them. He was sure that the knight had decided to follow him because he was wearing the hood and the mask. Who knew, maybe the friendly face Phil showed the people in Nottingham was only a mask to hide his own personality as well? Maybe he was driven by the need to capture the famous outlaw Robin Hood himself. He was a knight without land. He only had the title. Capturing Robin Hood would surely be very good for his reputation. Clint was't sure why he felt disappointed by those thoughts.
His only advantage in this situation was how well he knew the Sherwood Forest. He changed directions regularly, crossed small rivers and jumped over tree trunks lying on the ground. At some point, one of the men behind him cried out, shouting that the others should leave him behind. Maybe he'd sprained an ankle while tripping over something. It made Clint fasten his steps, knowing that there was one less person behind him. He would reach the line of reinforcements soon, maybe that would distract the others enough for them to slip away unnoticed. They had people with bows positioned in big trees, that would surely cause lots of chaos.
The sound of a bird's cry echoed through the forest to Clint's left and he changed his direction again, now running towards the sound. If his pursuers noticed that it was a signal, they didn't let it show and kept following him.
He knew exactly which path he had to take and when he passed a certain tree, someone came running towards the soldiers on Clint's heels with a shout. Little John didn't even give them time to react, swinging the long, wooden walking stick he was so fond of as a weapon. Usually, they tried not to injure Gisborne and his soldiers too much, so they preferred to use sticks instead of swords.
However, when Clint whirled around to face Sir Phil Coulson, he drew the sword he was carrying, knowing that the knight surely wouldn't spare Robin Hood. Phil reacted immediately when he was suddenly facing his opponent instead of just following him. As soon as Clint reached for his weapon, the knight did the same and then the sound of steel against steel echoed through the forest, only drowned by the sounds Little John made while scaring the soldiers to death.
Clint ignored them as good as possible, instead focusing on the man in front of him. He'd already suspected that Phil was very good with his sword, but the other man still surprised him, moving like a dancer, the weapon being a perfect addition to his arm. It was like he was one with the sword, and if Clint wouldn't have tried to avoid being sliced open so desperately, he would have surely stared at the other man in awe.
Fighting with a sword had never been Clint's strong suite. Yes, his father had taught him well, but somehow, the feeling of metal in his hand never felt right. A sword was too long, too heavy to fight with it fluently. He preferred daggers or a bow, the latter providing the advantage that he didn't have to get too close to his opponents. That's also why he'd chosen the bow to be Robin Hood's preferred weapon.
He knew he had to stop the fight quickly. He tired too fast with a sword, not being used to hold one for a long time. Especially not the heavy one he was carrying right now. It had been his father's sword. Maybe he should make himself a new one, if he survived this encounter. One that was lighter and easier to use.
Clint hoped that he wouldn't have to hold on for too long. Most probably, John's shouts had alarmed the other outlaws waiting in the forest and they were already on their way to them. Then, this fight would be over quickly.
Suddenly, a sharp pain in his left arm made Clint gasp and he stumbled back, barley able to block Phil's next assault with his sword. He was lucky that the knight didn't hit his right arm, which was the one he used to wield his weapons.
When their swords collided again, Clint got the brief chance to look directly into Phil's eyes. Just like when they'd done it back in his workshop, it felt like the world was stopping around them. He thought that he could hear Phil gasp quietly, but then the moment was already over again and they were moving once more.
Luckily, not for long. More shouting echoed in the distance and Clint knew that their reinforcements had arrived, making as much noise as possible to scare away the Sheriff's people. It worked. The soldier who'd fought John and hadn't fled yet turned around to run away. After a short moment's hesitation, Phil Coulson did the same.
Only then did Clint allow himself to look at his injury. His shirt was sliced open and there was a long, ugly cut on his upper arm. Not too deep, but bleeding heavily. He sighed and sheathed his sword. Then he looked in the direction where Phil had vanished.
Had it been his imagination or had the knight looked surprised when their eyes met?
The cut on his arm wasn't deep and once they were back at camp, it didn't take long to stop the bleeding. It could leave a scar, but Clint didn't really care about that. He had enough of those on his body already, one more wouldn't make a difference. That night, Clint stayed with the outlaws, but he made sure to be back in Nottingham early the next morning. He rarely used the secret, unguarded passageways inside the city, but on this occasion it was necessary. He didn't want to be asked too many questions about his absence. But upon his return, he found out that it wasn't even needed. Marian had covered for him, explaining his absence to everyone who asked.
The story about Robin Hood's fight with Sir Phil Coulson spread in the city like wildfire. Some said the outlaw was heavily wounded, while others insisted that it was nothing and he'd be back soon enough. Which was true, only a few days after the incident in the forest, Robin Hood appeared in a small village again to give the inhabitants some gold. Just that this time, it was Allan wearing the mask. After Clint's injury, they had all agreed that he should stay in the city for a while. At least until the arm was completely healed again.
Not even a week after his last trip outside of Nottingham, Clint could work again properly. There was still an ugly red cut on his left arm, but it didn't hurt anymore and the risk that it would start bleeding again was very low. He even dared to wear his sleeveless shirts inside the workshop again. If someone asked, he could just pretend that he'd hurt himself during work. It wasn't unusual as a blacksmith, after all.
When that soft knock on the door to his workshop sounded again and Sir Phil Coulson entered moments later, Clint had to fight the urge to cover his arm anyway. It was a natural reaction, wanting to hide it from the person who caused the injury in the first place. So he forced himself to relax and greeted Phil with a smile. "What brings you back here?" He wanted to know, even if he already had a suspicion.
"The news that Gisborne's sword is finished have reached us this morning." Phil offered him a smile. "I thought that after bringing it here, I could also come to fetch it again."
"Gisborne also could have come himself." Clint muttered, but went get the sword anyway.
Phil chuckled softly. "Would you have been happy to see him, then?" There was something in his voice Clint couldn't quite place, but before he had time to think of it much longer, he was already handing the weapon to the knight.
"Honestly? I can live without regular visits from him." He said it quietly, hoping that Phil wouldn't just run to Gisborne and tell him about it.
To his surprise, Phil's chuckle turned into a laugh. "Nicely phrased."
"Are you happy to see him every day, then?" The question was out before he could stop himself. Inwardly, he cursed.
"There are people I'd rather see regularly." Phil replied smoothly, looking Clint right into the eyes. "How was your week?"
Clint stared at him in surprise for a few moments. "You want to know about my week?" He repeated incredulously.
Phil smiled sheepishly. "There must be very much to do, considering that the summer gets closer. People are working on the fields, devices can break. The huntsmen are in the forest a lot…" He shrugged almost helplessly, as if his interest in Clint was something he needed to explain.
"Honestly, it's been quite calm." He explained while running a hand through his hair. Only when Phil's eyes were suddenly directed at something other than his face did he notice his mistake. He'd lifted his left arm, which meant that the long cut was easy to see for the man standing in front of him.
Phil frowned when he looked at the injury. "You're hurt."
"It's nothing." He replied quickly. "Just an incident here at the forge. I wasn't careful with one of the tools. It's nearly healed again." He knew he sounded uncomfortable, but he didn't care. Maybe Phil would blame it on his embarrassment for hurting himself in his own workspace.
"It looks like it's been quite a deep wound." Phil was still looking at his arm and Clint shifted uncomfortably.
"It wasn't. Looks worse than it actually was, to be honest. Marian, my neighbour, scolded me endlessly when it happened." He hoped that mentioning Marian would make it possible to change the subject.
It worked. "Marian Dubois?" Phil asked curiously. He was still glancing at Clint's arm, but in the end, his eyes focused on his face again. "Lady Marian is your neighbour?"
"For a few years now." He confirmed with a nod. "You know her?"
"I've heard of her. Gisborne seems to be familiar with her." Phil frowned. "She was to be married to Robin of Locksley."
Clint nodded. It wasn't a secret in Nottingham. "The engagement was broken." They'd let it look like Robin rejected her after coming back from the war and becoming an outlaw. It was much harder than the truth, but as much as they could tell the people.
"You know Locksley?" Now Phil wasn't so much looking at him with curiosity, but with a focus that was nearly scary. Or immensely alluring, if someone would have asked Clint for his opinion.
"Only briefly." He said with a shrug. "We met a few times before the war."
"Didn't you also leave for that together?" How could this man know so much about the past? What was he doing when he wasn't outside, searching for Robin Hood? Doing history lessons?
"Going to war together is something different than knowing each other." Clint corrected him firmly. "Robin of Locksley was a noble. I'm no one of importance. He would have never spoken to someone like me."
First, it looked like Phil was about to protest, but then he just sighed deeply. "You're not."
"Excuse me?" Clint asked with a frown.
"Of no importance." Phil grabbed Gisborne's sword and walked towards the door. "I think everyone has a role to play in the great game, even those born without a title." He smiled slightly. "I have to leave now, there's a meeting with the Sheriff. He wants us to go into the forest again to search for the outlaws. Have a nice day, Clint."
Before he could reply, Phil had closed the door and Clint was left alone with his thoughts.
He didn't wonder for long about why Phil had given him that last piece of information. He surely didn't just tell him that they were to search for the outlaws again without a reason. So Clint went to the market in search for Much. He knew that he was in the city and using him would be the fastest way to get a message to the others. After all, Clint couldn't just leave the city himself. Not after Phil had seen his injury. It could also be a trap and the last thing he wanted was to give away the location of their camp.
Much promised to head out immediately and inform the others about the possible threat through their information network. Brother Tuck was travelling through the villages at the moment, he could get the message to someone within reach of the Sherwood Forest.
Even if Clint still felt uneasy, this step had to be enough. Much also agreed that he shouldn't leave the city, the risk of being caught was too high. Maybe Sir Phil Coulson had just given him the information to see how he'd react.
So he did the only thing possible in that moment. He waited, even if it felt like it was killing him. He hated it, just sitting there and not being able to do anything. He tried to busy himself with work, but when the small dagger he was working on became just a bulky piece of metal, he gave up with a groan.
He also tried to busy himself with shooting. It always helped to calm his mind, but not on that day. He even missed a few targets, something that never happened to him. Somehow, Clint had the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
His suspicion was confirmed when someone knocked on his door late in the afternoon. It was Marian, her face a fearful mask. "They've caught Robin Hood." She said once she was inside and the door was closed firmly behind her. "Today, in one of the villages closest to the forest."
"They… what?!" Clint demanded to know and stared at her. "But how?"
"Your message didn't reach them in time. They've robbed a few of the Sheriff's people who should deliver gold to London. When they wanted to give it to the people, they caught Allan. He was wearing the mask today." Her face was deadly pale and Clint suspected that he didn't look any better.
"He outsmarted them." His mind was racing. "Phil. I mean Sir Phil Coulson. He planned it all, the transfer of the gold, it was a ruse. They've been waiting for them in the forest." He wants us to go into the forest again to search for the outlaws. Maybe Phil's words had just been honest. Like he was stating a fact. Clint's heart was racing in his chest. "They want to hang him, don't they?"
Marian nodded, face grave. "Tomorrow." She confirmed.
"I need to go." Clint muttered, his mind already busy forming a plan. "We need to get him out of there tonight."
"You want to break into the Sheriff's castle?" Marian asked incredulously. "That's suicide."
"We can't leave him there. I can't leave him there." He was already collecting the weapons he needed. "It should have been me, Marian. I'm Robin Hood. Not him. He's barely more than a child!"
"He knew the risks when he offered to wear the mask while you're in the city." Her voice was soft. "You'll be risking your own life, Clint. If something goes wrong, you'll all hang tomorrow."
"I don't care." He said simply. "I won't let him die. And we also won't get caught. I already have a plan."
When Marian only sighed in defeat, he knew that he'd get all the help he required from her.
Getting a small group of outlaws into the city was a challenge, but they managed it without any incidents. It turned out that as soon as Clint left the city with his small carriage he used to deliver heavy things, Brother Tuck showed up, apparently surprised by this encounter.
"Blacksmith, what a surprise to see you here!" Tuck greeted him cheerily.
"Brother Tuck! We haven't seen each other in weeks!" Clint said back with a smile on his own.
"These past weeks have been busy. There were many lost souls waiting for guidance, I couldn't leave them alone. Sometimes, we all need someone to show us the right path." Through their secret code, he told Clint that the other outlaws were already waiting for him at Much's small house. Clint thanked him and continued his way through the small villages. No one asked any questions. By now, it was a usual thing that he delivered all the heavy things he built by himself.
Much was already waiting for him in front of his house, his expression troubled. "Come inside, quickly!" He said, already holding the door open when Clint jumped from his carriage.
Inside, Little John and Will Scarlet, together with three other outlaws, Duncan, Roy and Wulf, were already waiting for him. "I told him that it's too risky!" Will exclaimed quietly as soon as Much and Clint were inside the house. "This new knight tricked us."
"They'll hang him tomorrow." Roy's voice was quiet and he looked like he was going to be sick. "Your warning reached us too late, Clint. We heard of the gold and thought that it was just a coincidence. Not that it was planned."
"It's not your fault." Clint threw in quickly. "I underestimated Coulson. He's really good in what he's doing, no wonder they sent him from London."
"It's also not your fault, Clint." John threw in, probably sensing Clint's guilt. "You couldn't have done anything to stop them. If you'd been with us today, it would have been you they'd caught."
"What are we going to do now? We can't just let them hang him!" Duncan looked at Clint anxiously.
"No one will hang tomorrow." Clint said simply. "I already have a plan."
"You can't consider trying to free him." Will shook his head in disbelief. "That's too risky!"
"It won't be." He smiled slightly. "We'll just walk into the castle and no one will stop us."
After having explained his plan, the others just stared at him in silence. Until John shook his head with a laugh. "That's so insane that it might even work! But how will you get us into the city?"
Clint grinned. "All you have to do is to climb onto my carriage, John." Then he looked at the others. "And you'll need to get to the secret passageways to the city as fast as possible."