I will not begin with once upon a time. Once upon a time was just a phrase fairy-tales used to hide the fact that their stories were unrealistic and no time period in the history of the world had a place for it. But with this story, yes it will be strange. But if one really thinks about it, it could happen. After all, story tellers don't know the magic of Sherwood Forest. Here in the greenwood, anything could happen. At least, anything that had nothing to do with fairies granting three wishes and magic, purple ponies galloping across the globe. So I will start with something totally new.
Chapter one
People called me shy. I didn't like strangers and I didn't speak in public. I only felt at home with my family and Katrina, my best friend. Many people considered silence a virtue in a maiden, but after they met me, they always said that quiet people bore them, but I just preferred to think and not speak. It wasn't entirely shyness. At least, I didn't think it was, but so many people have told me that it was, I wasn't so sure anymore.
It was a mild, calm summer day, the day I first met Robin Hood, who was anything but mild or calm. I sat on my window seat, staring at the drifting clouds, and imagining myself as a bird circling the azure, English sky. I closed my eyes and envisioned flying into the sky and away from this dreadful, drafty castle. The warm air whispered as I soared. The sun shone beautifully and I could see everything from my vantage point in the air—
"Marian," my friend, the Lady Katrina Warren-Woods, burst into my room, snatching me out of my sweet fantasy and back into dull reality. "You'll never guess what happened! Your brother, William, just brought back an outlaw, and not just any outlaw, the infamous Robin Hood himself!"
"Sorry," I apologized, inching a bit away from her and her too strong voice box. "I couldn't hear you. My ears died by the time you got to the second sentence."
Katrina lowered her voice just a bit. She was still yelling, though. "I said—"
"I heard you the first time," I cut her off, not wanting her to shout anymore.
"But you said…" Katrina looked confused. I sighed.
"Never mind," I told her.
Back then, I didn't care a bit for Robin Hood. He was just another name the elite of England cursed, another topic for gossiping ladies to discuss, another reason for my brother to be always absent. However, Katrina, being a notorious gossip, cared about him. The opposite of me, Katrina had red hair (straight at the top and curled at the ends), blue eyes, and an energetic, loud personality, while I had dark, wavy curls, dark eyes, and an introverted, hushed disposition. Since she always needed to know everything happening in the world, she wanted to find Robin Hood. And I went with her, partly because I had nothing to do other than dream about things that could never happen and partly because I felt a bit curious about the mysterious outlaw whose deeds people talked about all over the country. Robin Hood was the first outlaw in the history of outlaws to use the money he stole from people like my brother to help the pathetic villagers who couldn't fend for themselves.
SoI wandered the halls with Katrina, who said that if luck came our way, we might run into the guards with their prisoner. I kept grumbling on how we'd never run into them and we'd never accomplish anything, but Katrina just smiled and kept walking.
"Why are you so grumpy today?" Katrina asked finally after I've grumbled a good share.
"I don't know. Maybe because you have finally lost your sanity?" I snapped.
"Temper," Katrina clucked her tongue disapprovingly, "How unlike you. Have you been hanging around outlaws lately? Your brother would not approve."
I rolled my eyes and ignored her. It was true. I usually wasn't this cranky. Katrina could tease me all she liked, but I wasn't about to stop acting so grumpy and ill-tempered, especially since I went to sleep late last night, woke up extra early today, and now we were on an extremely pointless mission, looking for someone I could care less about.
As I turned around the corner of the hall, I had a collision with some idiot looking over his shoulder while he ran, causing me to fall backwards onto the ground. I almost knocked over a vase of roses on a pedestal in the corner.
Katrina scolded the person fiercely, while she helped me up. "Really, who do you think you are, running around the halls like this?"
"I beg your pardon, lady." The boy smiled, giving her an exaggerated bow. Katrina's eyes widened at his obvious audacity. If that boy wasn't careful, he'd get slapped soon. "I didn't know that ladies policed this hallway. If I did, then believe me when I say that I would have been much more careful." He looked surprisingly young, just a boy with shaggy blond hair and bright, green eyes. His face flushed pink from running as he stared at me, not Katrina. "I beg your extreme pardon, milady," he apologized to me, not sounding at all apologetic.
A loud voice interrupted his apology. "There he is! Catch him!" I heard thundering footsteps; then I saw a group of men running towards us.
The boy looked unnerved. "Sorry, got to go," he muttered as he took off running. A few moments later, a flood of guards raced past us. Katrina pulled me out of the stampede's way and into the safety of the small corner. We stood there, next to the rose vase on a pedestal, confused and nervous, until they turned the corner and disappeared.
"Who was that boy?" I mused. "And why were the guards after him? What did he do?"
"Reckless running," Katrina smirked. Then she grew serious. "But, my, was that boy insolent? He smiled at me when I scolded him for running! As if it was a great joke! And he smelled horrible."
"He apologized, at least," I defended him softly. I remembered the scolding the boy got from my friend and the bow he gave Katrina afterwards. No ordinary servant boy, this one. His speech sounded gentrified. Maybe a son of a great lord that ran away from home.
Then I realized who had run into me. The sly smile, the impertinence, the running away from the guards. Everything add up!
I had collided with Robin Hood!
Apparently, Robin Hood had not escaped successfully from the guards. His collision with me must have cost him his freedom. My brother filled me in that evening on what will happen to him. It wasn't like I asked him to tell me, though. I really would rather not know. But what did it cost me to listen to my brother for a few minutes as he bragged about his captured outlaw?
"They're going to hang him tomorrow morning," William told me excitedly, quite proud of his captive. His eyes shone brightly. "The Sheriff of Nottingham said that he might consider giving me a title for capturing Robin Hood. Maybe I'll get to govern some land. Then, I'll give you a dozen dresses, in all the colors of the rainbow, sister. And a little puppy or a kitten to keep you company. That'd be nice, wouldn't it, Marian?"
So it did cost me something to listen. It cost me my peace of mind. My brother meant well, I supposed. He loved me. But the fact that those dresses would be the result of some man's death sickened me. I knew I would never be able to wear them without feeling guilty. Oh, how I wished I hadn't ran into Robin Hood! He would die because he hadn't escaped, and he hadn't escaped because he ran into me. So when one got to the bottom line, the blame for his upcoming death laid on me.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you, sister?" William rambled on, quite unaware of the connections my mind just made, "And a garden, too. You've always been the quiet kind, so afraid to go out. A garden and the fresh air would be good for your health. Oh, and I'll buy you a lovely songbird too, just like the one Grandmother used to have down in Cornwall. And—"
"William, brother," I interrupted, unable to sit here in silence as my peacefulness just trickled away slowly from my body, replaced by floods of unwanted guilt. "I am very grateful for your kind offerings, but I'm not feeling well and wish some peace and quiet."
"Oh, yes, of course, Marian," William nodded seriously. "Silly me, rambling on and on like this. Do you wish me to get the doctor? Oh, I hope you're not ill. Really, sister, you should get out more. Your cheeks are so pale it's a wonder that no one mistook you for a corpse yet. Though I suppose pale skin is the fashion now. Like I said, a garden would be good for you. You're too much of a recluse, Marian. Being succinct is good, but you're just too taciturn."
"William," I sighed. Did he not get it? How could he not see that he was committing the same mistakes over and over again? Was he honestly that stupid? "Please. My headache is coming back." I really didn't have a headache, but anything to shut William up. However, if this continued, my lie would no doubt come true.
William suddenly realized that I just wanted silence. He opened his mouth, no doubt to apologize, but then clearly thought better of it and shut it quickly. He nodded at me, made some gestures that I couldn't comprehend, and dashed out the door. Ah, so he did possess the ability to learn from his errors! I was starting to have my doubts. Who would've thought that he had enough brains to catch the elusive outlaw? But he really had brains. He just had a habit of talking too much.
So Robin Hood was to be hanged tomorrow, and in the morning, too. What a wonderful way to start the day. Wake up to the cheerfully bright sun, get dressed, have breakfast, and perform an execution. How perfectly cute and jolly. I lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, thinking about the subject until dawn, trying to rid my blood of all that sarcasm, a result of the upsetting of my humors, which was a result of the news of Robin Hood's upcoming death, which brought me back to the main topic of this one-man (or rather, girl) discussion:
In just a few hours, the boy with the fair, blond locks and bright, green eyes would be dead. And many would consider that a blessing.
Would his men try to save him? I wondered. One of the Merry Men had visited our prison last fall, but he was rescued by Robin Hood quite cleanly. And by cleanly, I meant that not a drop of blood was shed in the process. No one realized that the captive had gone missing until it was time for the execution. By then the outlaws had long disappeared, and the guard on duty paid the price. So where were Robin Hood's men now?
As if to answer my question, I heard some noise outside my window. I closed my eyes to listen better, wondering if my ears decided to deceive me, which they tend to do more times than I cared to count. No, there was definitely someone outside my window.
I got out of my bed and grabbed my cloak. Wrapping it around me, I started for the window, but then hesitated. What was I doing? What if the intruder outside belonged to the Merry Men? Would I sound the alarm? Or would I just freeze up and stare at the men like a simpleton? What was wrong with my body system, shutting down? I froze, wondering what to do.
"Davey, are you sure we're in the right place? I mean, I don't think this tower is meant to keep prisoners," someone said.
"It doesn't matter," his companion—probably Davey—snapped. The voices sounded as if they were from somewhere relatively close. "We need to get into the castle. It doesn't matter how we get in, as long as we get in."
"I don't know…" The other person sounded uneasy. "What if someone finds us?"
Their voices grew louder and louder. Then I remembered that my maid never closed my window at night, for she said that I needed fresh air. She only closed it in the winter, but it was summer. The nearing intruders' voices put pressure on me as I contemplated my choices, torn between my urge to shut the window and my fear of strangers. What if I ran to close the window, but I was too late? Without realizing it, I backed away from the window and into the far corner of my bedroom. The purple curtain rustlings as the wind blew scared me, though any other times I would have found it interesting to watch.
Then I heard a thump as someone fell through the window and into my room. I pressed my body against the wall and wished myself to turn invisible.
There came another thump, indicating that the other man had fallen in. I closed my eyes, trying to make myself smaller and less visible.
"Great," one man said. "Now we're in some lady's bedroom. What now? Oh, I know! Let's consult the genius that got me in here in the first place."
"This room's empty," Davey said, ignoring the jab. "Come on; let's stay here until we find out what to do." There was silence, and then Davey spoke again. "Ooh, look! We could sell this brooch for a few pounds!" I heard metal clinking. "Mark, you've got to see this! We should do this more often!"
"And risk getting caught? No thanks, I'm good." There was more silence, and then I heard Mark: "Oh, wow. Look at this. Maybe we should do this more often!"
Someone lit a candle, giving him some light. I could see the two outlaws' faces now. They seemed both fairly young; one had deep, blue eyes and the other dark brown. Both their faces held a grim expression and when the man with the brown eyes turned around, I could see a nasty scar starting near his right ear and down across his cheek. I let out a small whimper.
Both men jerked around, and I knew they saw me. The one with the dark brown eyes (probably Mark) glanced sharply at his companion.
"Nice going, Davey," he said sarcastically. "This room sure is empty."
Davey ignored his friend. "Who are you?" He demanded.
"Marian Fitzwater," I said quickly, terrified. What will they do to me? Kill me? Torture me? Take me for ransom?
"You won't tell anyone that we're here, would you?" Davey asked me. I shook my head empathetically. Terror had a strange way of making a person obey without a question. I had forgotten the answer other than no. Oh, yes, I remember now. I could have said yes. Oh, well. It was too late to back out of it now. Besides, who knew what these outlaws would do if I said yes, I would tell on them.
"Are you mad?" His companion hissed at him. Davey turned away from me slowly to face the speaker. "This girl is Marian Fitzwater. Her brother's the one who dragged Robin here in the first place. William Fitzwater? Marian Fitzwater? Or does the genius not make the connection?"
Davey whipped around to stare at me. He obviously hadn't thought of this earlier. "Well," he said thoughtfully. "That does change things a bit, doesn't it? You've got a rope in this room?" I shook my head no. "Well, then you're just going to have to keep quiet and listen to us or else you'd get hurt."
"What are you doing?" Mark demanded.
"She's got to come with us," Davey explained in the tone of one explaining something to a simpleton. "That way we can keep an eye on her. Come along, Fitzwater. You can show us the prison. Normally, we would have to drag you… or carry you… like a sack of flour or something. You're so small you can't possibly be that heavy." Seeing my shock, he hurried on, "But I don't think that would be necessary if you behaved. I don't want to carry you around the castle anyway."
"We should still tie her up. What if she ran away?" Mark grumbled. "Robin had always told us not to take risks. The girl could run away, sound the alarm, and we'd be dead. Bind her up."
"I said, I don't believe that such treatment would be necessary if she behaved," Davey repeated, not looking at his companion, but at me. "Well, Marian Fitzwater?"
I stared at him. I had no intention of being a traitor, but Robin's beautiful, green eyes came back to haunt me. Choosing between life and death, I could either make up to Robin Hood for costing him his freedom or do what my brother and Katrina would surely do in my situation and call the guards. I swallowed hard and reached for the lit candle. And carrying me like a sack of flour? I was worth more than that, thank you very much! I would behave.
"This way," I whispered.
The two men followed me quietly. They slipped through the castle like ghosts or shadows, swift and noiseless, alert for any signs of danger. As for me, I said nothing, just stared straight ahead and tried to keep breathing. Running around the castle like this with two complete strangers—not to mention they were also outlaws trying to save another outlaw— really made my head spin. I wished for the strong, comforting presence of Katrina. The candle light flickered.
"You breathe loudly," Mark commented.
"Sorry," I apologized hastily. Would I give them—us— away? I held my breath.
"No need to apologize," Mark said mildly. "No one can hear you beside us anyway. You rich folks are all deaf. I just needed to point it out. Or else it would drive me crazy."
I let out the breath that I held in before I turned blue.
"Don't mind Mark," Davey rolled his blue eyes. "He's a bit different."
Mark shoved his friend gently with feigned anger. Davey punched him back lightly, and Mark whispered something in Davey's ear, an insult not meant to insult. His friend's cheeks reddened, as he faked annoyance. I felt a strange, hollow feeling settling within me. These two men—or boys, rather—were obviously very close—close enough to hit and banter with one another without any hard feelings, without any prides wounded. How different they were from the touchy men and women I grew up with! My mind wandered instinctively to Katrina. Just how close was I to Katrina really? Would I get away unscratched with the type of comment Mark no doubt just made to Davey? Knowing my friend, I probably wouldn't.
"This is the prison," I whispered to the outlaws when we stopped at the top of the long, winding staircase that led down into the prison. "Robin Hood's down there somewhere." I turned to leave, but Davey stopped me.
"Robin would want to thank you personally for your help," he told me as he turned me around—literally. "You'd better come with us, lady."
Mark pushed me down there roughly, but most likely not to be mean or anything. He probably wanted to make sure that I wouldn't turn around and sound the alarm on them. I stumbled down the first few steps. Mark snorted.— "Typical rich girl," he muttered, "Idiots, all of them." —So I took a deep breath and forced myself to walk down the rest of the way and into the prison. I had never been down here before, never even been near here before.
As we walked by all the dungeon cells, looking for the blond-haired green-eyed boy, the prisoners lifted their heads (many of those heads, crawling with lice, were battered and bloody) to look at us with hopeless, dull eyes. I tried to imagine Robin Hood looking so desperate like that and failed. I could not imagine his eyes filled with anything other than playful teasing. Yet these prisoners' eyes were horrible. Help, their eyes pleaded to me. Please, help me. Let me out of here! I've got a wife and children back home. I was just trying to feed them.— No! Stop it! I squeezed my eyes shut to shut out the horrible vision, and ran into Mark, who began a curse, but stopped in time. Prompted by Davey's glare, he muttered a quick, insincere apology to me.
"Just don't look," Davey whispered to me, turning me away from one near death man who stuck out his skeleton arm to me through the bars of the jail door. "It won't do you any good to see them like this. You can't do anything about it anyway. So don't let your pretty, empty head worry about it."
I nodded and tore my gaze away from them, refusing to let the jab rankle. My mind was probably quite empty if I compared it to the twisted designs of theirs. And even when many of the imprisoned men called out, even when their expressions haunted me, I didn't look back.
A guard ran toward us, beginning to curse. Mark swiftly grabbed his bow and drew an arrow out from the quiver on his back. I heard the swishing of something slicing through the air. The guard's curses silenced. Davey suddenly clutched my shoulders and hauled me down the hall. His fingers dug into my flesh, but I was too terrified of what had just happened to cry out. I dared to glance up at the outlaw. His eyes told it all. I should not see the guard's death, but it didn't matter. The man's dying shrieks, echoing through the sad hall, had already done the damage.
Mark ran up to us. He said nothing, but glanced at my pale, terrified face. Finally he muttered: "Robin's the concern, not the guard." And with that, he continued walking as if nothing had happened. After a few seconds of hesitation, Davey followed. I lingered behind for a brief moment, but the thought of being so close to a corpse made me feel queasy, and I hurried to catch up to them.
When we reached the end of the hall, Mark stopped and stared into the little cell in the very corner. A boy lay on his side in there, staring at us with huge, shocked eyes.
"Mark," Robin Hood breathed, struggling to sit up, "Davey."
Mark reached for the key to the door and unlocked the cell. He had it hanging on his belt, so I assumed that he had stolen it from the guards, as only the guards had the keys to the dungeon cells. We watched in complete silence as the key slipped into the lock. Mark's fingers twitched, and the key twisted.
"Beautiful," Robin managed a ghostly grin.
Davey opened the door and the two outlaws ran in to help their leader up. Robin stumbled and almost fell in front of me. He lifted his head, and I found myself staring into those deep eyes of his. Suddenly, I realized that I was struggling for air.
He smiled at me, though no doubt he recognized me as the girl that had made him get caught. His expression gave no hint of bitterness; however, my face grew hot with guilt. "Thanks."
I looked away, unable to look the outlaw in the eye for some reason. "You're welcome."
"Robin," Davey said impatiently, pulling him away. "Come on, let's go."
Robin bowed to me (not the sarcastic, mocking bow he had given Katrina before, but a real, sincere bow), nearly lost his balance because of his weak condition, and began to follow his men as they walked away. I watched the three outlaws leave before walking slowly back to my bedroom, torturing myself with images of the desperate men in jail. My heart ached for them, yet why I knew not. They were not criminals, I knew. That portion of the jail held not crooks, but peasants who could not pay their taxes. Yet taxes were mandatory. So why did I suddenly feel these twinges of pity for them?