Mergh.

[maderr]

Not much Robin Hood tonight, alas. I would've had more, but apparently my sense of humor fails, and I'm too dejected to think of a new funny right now. It amused me all day, too *sigh* I'll think of something else tomorrow, I'm sure.



"Charm is not a bad thing to have," Robert replied, sensing now he was being challenged. "Indeed, it is a good thing to have. Look at my brother," he said playfully. "He has none."

"Yes," Marion replied, "and it is his most charming quality." She gave him a polite nod, then made her own way to the table, resuming the seat she had occupied last night.

Will smirked at his brother, who stood looking horribly confused.

Then Robert scowled, and took his own place at the table once more.

"So what are you going to do today, Will?" Marion asked when everyone was settled and eating.

"I thought I would spend the day with my brother," Will replied, tone idle but a glint in his eyes as he briefly glanced Robert's way. "Ah, do not let me forget to leave you coin, milady. Also, Alice should have the master ring of keys. Do tell her I said to give them into your care." He smiled. "I look forward to seeing you restore this place to its former glory.

He saw Robert giving him a look and gave a minute shake of his head. They would discuss it later.

Robert returned the nod, and reached for more cheese. "I wonder what remains of the old rose garden. I recall m—the Countess had a fine time getting those old thorn bushes to grow." He laughed. "My favorite words and phrases, I learned from listening to her fight with the rosebushes."

"I did not explore the outdoors much," Marion said, looking thoughtful – and amused, though Will doubted his brother could see that. "I shall seek out what remains of the roses later today, perhaps." She looked at Robert. "What do you do, young brother of Will? You did not follow him into the army?"

"Ha!" Robert declared. "He practiced his sword upon me growing up; I was not going to follow him so that he could do it further and with the King's blessing. I remained here, and fell under the tutelage of one of the local foresters. He died five years ago, and I have taken up his duties, appointed by the Warden himself." Bitterness flickered briefly across his face, gone so quickly Will almost doubted he had seen it.

He had thought Robert was merely being flippant – witty, but flippant. Suddenly he wondered if his brother were being honest. Had he been a forester before turning outlaw? Certainly no one had known Sherwood better growing up.

Yet one more thing about which he must inquire, when he had the chance to speak to the appropriate persons, as he would never get a proper answer from his brother.

Conversation turned back to the castle shortly after that, and Will put his questions away until he could address them properly. He let his brother attempt to flirt with Marion for a few more minutes, then cut it off when it was clear Robert was about to meet with a resounding defeat. He pushed his empty tankard away and stood. "I am afraid we must be off. Milady, I do hope you enjoy your day. Send someone to find me immediately if you should encounter any trouble."

"I will do that," Marion said, and reached out to cover his hand with her own. "Have a good day, Will." She turned to Robert. "The very same to you, of course."

"Thank you, milady," Robert said with less grace than he would usually display, obviously still feeling the sting of Marion's smooth rejections. He stood up, swallowing a last few bites of food.

Amused, for it was rare that Robert faltered about anything, Will nodded once more to Marion, then led the way to the courtyard.

"So are you coming with me?" Robert asked.

Will considered. "No," he said after a moment. "I believe I will pass through town, first. See what there is to see in the full light of day."

Robert's lip curled. "The Sheriff is about, no doubt looking for someone to arrest."

"No doubt in his efforts to catch an outlaw," Will said tartly.

"We are fighting back the only way we can," Robert snapped. "I wish you would see that."

Will glared at him. "Breaking laws and endangering lives is not the best way to handle the problem."

"You have not been here," Robert snarled. "Do not tell me what is best."

"I will see you shortly," Will replied coolly. "We can discuss this further then."

Robert turned away and mounted the roan mare that a servant brought to him. "As you wish." He turned to go.

"Is Tuck with you?" Will asked, forestalling him. "I want to speak with him."

A reluctant grin curved Robert's mouth. "No, we deposited him in his church just before sunrise. I am certain at present he is devoutly at his morning prayers."

"Indeed," Will said dryly. "Why in the world is Tuck Brewster turned monk?"

Robert shrugged, his momentary levity dying. "His idea, not longer after that new Sheriff arrived. He could not afford the taxes owed on his family's inn, not with his mother sick – she died this past winter."

Will winced. "I am sorry to hear it."

"Do not mention it to him, quite yet. He still does not hold together well," Robert replied. "Anyway, the last friar wandered off one day and never came back." He squinted thoughtfully. "My money is still that he was drunk and is lying dead somewhere in Sherwood, but so far the body has not turned up. Animals, as like as not." He shook his head. "Tuck took it up on a lark, thinking initially it would keep him from jail himself. I think he's rather come to like it, though. You know Tuck. He gets along with everyone. Running a church is not completely different from running an inn and tavern, or so he tells me." He shrugged again. "Since I and Little John and some others took up…foresting…he has also proved vital in obtaining and passing along information."

Will shook his head. "Little John I understand, but I thought Tuck had more sense than to get mixed up in such nonsense."

Robert snorted in exasperation and amusement. "His exact words were 'this a foolish idea, and if Will were here he would beat you black and blue for even considering it. I am not Will, alas, and I cannot seem to talk you out of it. So I will help you, since that way I can keep you out of some trouble, and hopefully alive.' So he helps."

"True enough," Will said with a sigh. He looked up at Robert. "Black and blue is what you will be at the end of the day, do not doubt that."

"Then you are going soft," Robert retorted, "for once you have left me on the ground colored scarlet." He raised a hand in farewell. "I will see you in due course, brother." Turning his horse, he rode off.

Shaking his head, equal parts amused and aggravated, Will called for his own horse and a moment later was riding away himself.

He arrived in the town to find it strangely subdued. More than a few looked fearful, almost all looked miserably resigned. The further into the town he got, the worse it seemed to grow, until he could hear a loud, angry voice.

"Did you think you would get away with it?" the voice asked coldly. "Has not a one of you idiots learned that challenging me is futile."

"Robin Hood—"

The protest turned into a choked cry.

Will lightly touched the hilt of one sword as he rounded the corner, and took in the scene dominating the small square at the center of a cluster of houses.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair, dressed head to foot in black, held a smaller, older man by the front of his tunic – and well off the ground.

The dark-haired man…

Will drew a startled breath. The man he had seen last night – Abraham, his name had been. Surely he was not…

But even as he thought it, the dark-haired man turned and threw the older man against his home, sending him crashing into the crates and bundles and other miscellany neatly stacked there. "I think it will be the stocks for you," Abraham said coldly, his voice so unlike the one Will had recalled over and over in his bed last night. "This is your second offense, Thatcher. You had best make certain there is not a third."

"Y-yes, Sheriff," the man said, not moving to recover from his awkward and painful landing.

Will frowned. "Here now," he called. "What is the meaning of this?"

Abraham jerked his head around, and Will saw his eyes widen briefly in surprise before they turned flat and cold again. Nothing, he thought bewilderedly, like the man he had met last night.

"Captain Scarlock," Abraham greeted. "There is no need for you to offer your assistance. I have tended matters."

"I—" Will bit off his reply, recognizing it for the trick it was – he was a royal soldier, he could not simply state he refused to assist with the maintaining of order and the upholding of the King's law.

Yet he could not stand by and simply watch the Sheriff – for the blazon upon his leathers made it perfectly and painfully clear that Abraham Woodward was the nefarious Sheriff of Nottingham about whom he had heard so much since his return.

"Sheriff," he said, as politely as he could manage without choking on it. "Of what crime is this man guilty?"

Abraham motioned dismissively. "Petty theft. Poaching. I would simply throw him in jail, but," he bared his teeth in a mocking smile, "the jails of late have been quite full. So, the stocks for eight hours." He motioned to his men, two of whom moved forward to take up the old man and carry him off. "Perhaps that will teach him to cut purse strings and shoot arrows where he ought not."

Will said nothing. He could see that people wanted him to do something dramatic, that many recognized him by name at least, if not by sight.

He dared not try anything, and the look in Abraham's eyes said he knew precisely the dilemma Will suffered.

"You could lessen it to four hours," he suggested with a bored shrug. "The man is old, and old men are oft addled. Tomorrow he'll like as not cut the purse strings of his own woman."

The Sheriff threw his head back and laughed. He motioned to the men who held the old man. "Very well, Captain, I will indulge you, as we are brothers in arms and all."

"I thank you," Will replied, and rode on, not lingering on the chance only more trouble was stirred.

He could feel the discontent, the glares upon his back, but what would they have him do? Dash about like a Robin Hood himself? Foolishness. There were better ways to solve such problems, and this very day he would begin to deduce what those alternative methods might be.

The brief encounter in the woods flickered through his mind, and he tried to overlap it with the Sheriff he had just met…the two would not mesh, save in appearance. Even that did not align properly, for the dark eyes had today been frozen, and the voice colder still.

Perhaps he was only remembering things as he wanted, and an encounter of a few moments was hardly anything by which to judge….

Shaking his head, he pushed the matter aside, for at the moment he did not have enough information to ponder, never mind use to make an informed decision.

He sighed as he reached Tuck's church, and tethered his horse in front, before slowly strolling inside.

The sounds of torturous groaning filled the room, and he looked without sympathy at the man sprawled on the floor, robes hiked halfway up his hairy legs from rolling about on the floor, hay stuck positively everywhere, gripping his head lightly with both hands.

"Serves you right, Tuck," Will said, moving to stand just over him, looking straight down at the face contorted in pain. "Do not think god will give you any sympathy, not when you have been making the same fool mistake for at least half your life, and I am fairly certain you have been drinking this hard since you were ten."

Tuck groaned. "Good morning to you, too, Will Scarlet."