Nocturne, Chapter 6
Title, Chapter: Nocturne, Chapter 6
Author: railise
Summary: The outlaws go to the rescue!
Characters/Pairings: The Outlaws, Vaizey; Robin/Marian
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Warnings: Starts the morning after 1x13 ends; AU from there. Seriously weird crime briefly discussed within this chapter. (Really. I needed something irredeemable.)
Disclaimer: If somebody else wants to claim David of Ollerton as theirs, I should probably smile and nod. However, he's one of the few things within that's actually mine; the rest pretty much belongs to the BBC, Tiger Aspect, et cetera, and legend.
Artwork by shinysparks
Previous Chapter
~6~
A crowd was already beginning to gather when the gang reached the west gate. That worked well, since it was easier to sneak into Nottingham Town. However, the guards were checking everyone who went through the castle gates, and there were extra men stationed around the top of the castle walls, so the outlaws ducked behind a nearby shop to figure out a plan.
Robin was used to schooling his brain to work through a problem at times when most people would be panicking. It was something he had to know how to do when harvests came in well under what was needed to feed his village, or when a disease was sweeping through the area and threatening his peasants; and the ability had saved his life and many others in the Holy Land. Since taking to the forest, it had served the outlaws well, too; however, he was finding that it failed him every so often, and he was not certain why that was. Perhaps, he had simply relied on it too much over the years, and there was only so much he could ignore. Or, perhaps, he was losing the distance that came of being a lord and a commander, coming to think of the small group of people around him as something closer to family, thereby making him more emotionally invested. That would very likely be the case where Marian was concerned.
Whatever the cause, he needed to think clearly, and ignore the voice in the back of his head which was demanding to know how this had happened. That was not what was important now. After they saved Marian and were back at camp, then, he could try to sort the rest out.
Studying the expectant faces regarding him, he pulled himself together. "Right. We need to get in, and we also need to make sure we can get back out after we rescue Marian. They're watching the gates too closely, so the kitchens are our best bet."
"That's awfully close to the dungeons," Much remarked unhappily. "And the sheriff already knows we use the kitchens. It'll be a short trip, if we get caught."
"Got a better idea?" Allan retorted.
Much scowled at him, which was answer enough.
Robin held up a hand. "More areas down there give us a better chance of escaping; we can lose them easier in that maze than in the open, if it comes to that." He surveyed the gang, and other than Much's pout, saw only agreement. None of them were particularly pleased at the plan, but without another option, they would follow it.
They set out to rejoin the crowds, making their way to the east side of the castle wall. Guards were posted near the sewer and the handy window where kitchen scraps were dumped; there were only two of them, and they were easily handled. John took care of the first, and as Robin knocked the second out cold, he wondered to himself how much longer it would be before they climbed through and found an entire company of armed men waiting for them. Kitchens were usually seen as inferior, places where lords would not deign to tread, which was what had made this so perfect. However, Vaizey was craftier than that, and as he had indeed been aware of their entering there once before, Robin knew it would be a mistake not to be cautious.
Today was not the day that the sheriff acted on that knowledge, fortunately. Cloaks drawn tightly around them, the gang crept through the warren of rooms beneath the castle, emerging from a doorway behind the tree in the courtyard. No one noticed them as they blended in with the assembly that had turned out to witness the execution of the famed Night Watchman.
Or, that turned out to try to prevent it. "Save the Night Watchman!" a woman shrieked from near the stairs, and several other voices chimed in. A scuffle broke out as sheriff's men moved in to subdue the protesters, with more people joining in the fray.
Bemused, the outlaws exchanged glances. "This might be easier than I thought," Robin murmured. If the protest continued to grow, that should distract the guards enough to carry out the rescue and make a clean getaway. Pulling his hood further around his face and trying to keep his bow and quiver hidden under his cloak, he gestured for the lads to follow and moved closer to the gallows.
From their new position, they could see the castle entrance, and readied themselves when the sheriff appeared; the crowd stilled, as well. Holding up his hands for attention, Vaizey called, "People of Nottingham! Too long has a criminal menace moved amongst you, disguising himself as a hero. But, in fact, this famed 'Night Watchman' is nothing more than a common thief; and, moreover, is a murderer, who helped Robin Hood's filthy hoarde kill dozens of men hired to bring them to justice!"
A roar of denial rose from the crowd, but scatted among the protests were a few sorrowful wails, and cries of, "Hang the murderer!" Robin cringed, dropping his eyes as he tried not to remember how quickly he had felled those woodsmen and soldiers. He had been acting on instinct, refusing to permit them to find Marian's body inside the cave, knowing there was no escape either way; but he should have thought. He should have found another way, a way that did not involve making any more widows and orphans than Nottingham already had. While a voice in the back of his mind pointed out that he was beyond coherence then, enveloped in grief, he silenced it.
The situation was on him. His men had been acting to save themselves, but once he had gone on an all-out attack, they followed suit. Marian had nothing to do with it whatsoever, not even aware that it had happened; and now, Vaizey was trying to pin it on her, turning the pain of the mourners against her. Robin mentally added it to the list of things he would one day pay the sheriff back for.
Vaizey held up his hands again. "I thought about hanging this villain two hours ago, since I am certain that Robin Hood wishes to help him escape, and knew Hood would suspect an hour's advance after the last time I hanged some of his little friends. However, I could not spare you all the sight of this dastardly devil dangling from a noose!" Some cheers rang out, and Robin sighed. While the disapproving majority was good to see, he wondered if any of the excited faces had ever been aided by Marian's graciousness. He would understand if a man trying to feed his starving family sold him or one of the lads out to the sheriff for coins; that was not something Robin would begrudge, disappointed though he may be. However, he would hope that such a person would at least demonstrate some remorse.
"So!" the sheriff called. "Without further ado, I give you... the Night Watchman. Guards!" He clapped and stepped aside, making room for a small procession to pass.
From their vantage point, the gang could not see the dungeon door open into the stone corridor above them, but they could hear it, as well as the footsteps making their way over to the castle steps. As surreptitiously as possible, Robin drew three arrows, nocking the first and preparing to raise, aim, and fire as soon as he was able. Around him, he could sense the others tensing for action, as well. The sense grew stronger as the first guard came into view at the top of the stairs, and Robin was about to lift his bow when the prisoner appeared-- but, instead, Robin froze at the sight.
They all did.
"What on earth is going on?" Much wondered, earning shushes from the others.
"Where is Marian?" Djaq asked softly.
Robin's eyes narrowed as his gaze swung from the masked figure to the chipper sheriff. "What are you up to, Vaizey?" he muttered.
That was not the Night Watchman; it was not Marian. While the outfit was correct, it was on a man.
Allan grinned, relaxing. "Well, that's a relief, ain't it?"
"Maybe." Robin shot him an irritated look, although most of it was directed at the situation instead of his friend. "We do not know who that is. It could be a villager, or an unlucky castle servant."
The condemned man and his circle of guards was moving slowly, whether due to the crowd or for dramatic effect was unclear. They were only about halfway to the gallows, but would be at their destination soon enough. Robin racked his brain for a plan, coming up with nothing that would not get them led to the noose, as well.
Djaq beat him to an idea. Sidling up behind a group of the earlier protesters, she yelled, "Save the Night Watchman!"
The rallying cry was more effective than a flame to Greek fire, and the cluster of people was almost instantaneously a mob, grabbing at the guards and the prisoner. As Djaq rejoined the others, Robin grinned at her approvingly, to which she smiled smugly back.
Just as she had intended, someone got hold of the prisoner's mask, yanking it off before being pulled away, themselves. It was not a face Robin recognized, but Allan apparently did. "Hang on; that's David of Ollerton!"
"Who's David of Ollerton?" asked Will, at the same time John exclaimed, "Are you sure?"
As Allan took another look and nodded firmly, just before a guard slapped the mask back in place, Much repeated Will's question. "David of Ollerton-- the Butcher of Bonham Street," John answered.
"Killed his wife, cooked her up, and fed her to their neighbors for Sunday dinner," Allan informed them.
Much's face wrinkled in horror. "Ugh, that is... beyond revolting!"
Djaq's expression was subtler, but no less disturbed. "What reason did he give for doing such a thing?"
"There is no reason for that," Will muttered.
With a shrug, Allan replied, "He said she forgot that he didn't like turnips one too many times, and if she liked 'em so much, she could share a plate with them."
"He killed her over turnips?" Much exclaimed. "Is he mad?"
Allan shook his head. "No, that's the worst part. He's not mad at all. Cold as stone, a creepy bugger, but not mad."
While John was clearly as bothered as the rest of them, he was also apparently noticing the same thing that Robin was: they were making too much noise. "People have been killed over less-- such as being too loud."
They all took the big man's hint.
The story was ringing a bell with Robin, and pondering it, he came up with a tidbit of information. "I thought he was to be hanged last week."
"He was. Supposed to be, that is," Allan amended. "But, that is definitely him, so I'd say it's a safe bet somebody took his place, if they dangled anybody."
Robin frowned. "I'm afraid to ask why, since there had to be a reason, and Vaizey was likely behind it." Turning away from the spectacle to face the gang, he said grimly, "He may have escaped his punishment before, but he's receiving it now. Let's go home."
In another circumstance, most or all of them might have wanted to try to save the prisoner. Not one of them was so inclined this time, however, and they were somber as they made their way out of Nottingham and back into the forest.
Somber... yet relieved, at least in Robin's case, though he doubted he was alone.
Marian was still safe.
* * *
Robin's relief was short-lived, although his active concern shifted from Marian to the peasantry of the shire. While he never stopped wondering, in the back of his mind, whether or not she was well, there was a more immediate concern to deal with at home.
The people were starting to give up.
It was not a very obvious thing, at first. The villagers were a little quieter in the days following the execution, but that was not unexpected. What was unusual was that they were still subdued nearly a month later. The hopeful relief that had shown on their faces upon receiving the outlaws' donations had morphed into a vague sadness, something barely perceptible, yet there. Robin was wondering if he was imagining it, until Will mentioned it to him, too.
In fact, they were all noticing the situation, and agreed to see what they could learn about the cause behind it.
One candid woman from Clun, a weaver called Anna, said what the other villagers seemed hesitant to voice. "It's not the same without the Night Watchman," she told Little John. "We've heard the rumors that it wasn't him the sheriff hanged, but he hasn't been round, has he?"
John frowned. "Are we not bringing enough?"
"That's not it," she replied. "I mean, yeah, it's easier when you've both been by; we don't have to make things stretch so much. But, he's been coming round for years. Whether or not that was him on the gallows, it's stopped him." With a resigned shrug, she turned and went back into her cottage, leaving John to piece the rest together.
"The Night Watchman gave them hope," he explained to the others that evening. "We continue it, but she started it. Now that she's gone, so's their reason for hoping in the first place."
"So, what is it we're doing, then?" demanded Allan, obviously affronted. "Not being funny, but that's insulting."
Staring into the flames of the campfire, Robin's hands were folded, absently rubbing his finger over his chin as he thought over the problem. While part of him agreed with Allan, that the gang was helping enough, he understood what Little John was saying. This was not a logical situation, it was an emotional one-- and that was no less serious than something he could tactically address. They might fill the peasants' bellies, but if their spirits were damaged, the outlaws were still fighting a losing battle.
"We are doing our part," Robin told him. "But, they need someone to do the Night Watchman's part, as well." An idea was starting to formulate in his brain, and Much apparently recognized the signs.
"You have that look again," Much said suspiciously.
Robin grinned at him. "We've been doing well with our heists lately... there is enough in the stores for some extra deliveries."
"Wait-- you want to be Robin Hood and the Night Watchman?" Allan exclaimed.
Robin merely shrugged, the solution obvious in his mind.
"It would make sense," agreed Djaq. "We already collect most of the things the Night Watchman gives out."
From where he was sitting off to the side, Will said, "I think I know who made Marian's mask."
"Lads, it's time the Night Watchman joined our gang," Robin laughed.
Next Chapter
Author: railise
Summary: The outlaws go to the rescue!
Characters/Pairings: The Outlaws, Vaizey; Robin/Marian
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Warnings: Starts the morning after 1x13 ends; AU from there. Seriously weird crime briefly discussed within this chapter. (Really. I needed something irredeemable.)
Disclaimer: If somebody else wants to claim David of Ollerton as theirs, I should probably smile and nod. However, he's one of the few things within that's actually mine; the rest pretty much belongs to the BBC, Tiger Aspect, et cetera, and legend.
Artwork by shinysparks
Previous Chapter
~6~
A crowd was already beginning to gather when the gang reached the west gate. That worked well, since it was easier to sneak into Nottingham Town. However, the guards were checking everyone who went through the castle gates, and there were extra men stationed around the top of the castle walls, so the outlaws ducked behind a nearby shop to figure out a plan.
Robin was used to schooling his brain to work through a problem at times when most people would be panicking. It was something he had to know how to do when harvests came in well under what was needed to feed his village, or when a disease was sweeping through the area and threatening his peasants; and the ability had saved his life and many others in the Holy Land. Since taking to the forest, it had served the outlaws well, too; however, he was finding that it failed him every so often, and he was not certain why that was. Perhaps, he had simply relied on it too much over the years, and there was only so much he could ignore. Or, perhaps, he was losing the distance that came of being a lord and a commander, coming to think of the small group of people around him as something closer to family, thereby making him more emotionally invested. That would very likely be the case where Marian was concerned.
Whatever the cause, he needed to think clearly, and ignore the voice in the back of his head which was demanding to know how this had happened. That was not what was important now. After they saved Marian and were back at camp, then, he could try to sort the rest out.
Studying the expectant faces regarding him, he pulled himself together. "Right. We need to get in, and we also need to make sure we can get back out after we rescue Marian. They're watching the gates too closely, so the kitchens are our best bet."
"That's awfully close to the dungeons," Much remarked unhappily. "And the sheriff already knows we use the kitchens. It'll be a short trip, if we get caught."
"Got a better idea?" Allan retorted.
Much scowled at him, which was answer enough.
Robin held up a hand. "More areas down there give us a better chance of escaping; we can lose them easier in that maze than in the open, if it comes to that." He surveyed the gang, and other than Much's pout, saw only agreement. None of them were particularly pleased at the plan, but without another option, they would follow it.
They set out to rejoin the crowds, making their way to the east side of the castle wall. Guards were posted near the sewer and the handy window where kitchen scraps were dumped; there were only two of them, and they were easily handled. John took care of the first, and as Robin knocked the second out cold, he wondered to himself how much longer it would be before they climbed through and found an entire company of armed men waiting for them. Kitchens were usually seen as inferior, places where lords would not deign to tread, which was what had made this so perfect. However, Vaizey was craftier than that, and as he had indeed been aware of their entering there once before, Robin knew it would be a mistake not to be cautious.
Today was not the day that the sheriff acted on that knowledge, fortunately. Cloaks drawn tightly around them, the gang crept through the warren of rooms beneath the castle, emerging from a doorway behind the tree in the courtyard. No one noticed them as they blended in with the assembly that had turned out to witness the execution of the famed Night Watchman.
Or, that turned out to try to prevent it. "Save the Night Watchman!" a woman shrieked from near the stairs, and several other voices chimed in. A scuffle broke out as sheriff's men moved in to subdue the protesters, with more people joining in the fray.
Bemused, the outlaws exchanged glances. "This might be easier than I thought," Robin murmured. If the protest continued to grow, that should distract the guards enough to carry out the rescue and make a clean getaway. Pulling his hood further around his face and trying to keep his bow and quiver hidden under his cloak, he gestured for the lads to follow and moved closer to the gallows.
From their new position, they could see the castle entrance, and readied themselves when the sheriff appeared; the crowd stilled, as well. Holding up his hands for attention, Vaizey called, "People of Nottingham! Too long has a criminal menace moved amongst you, disguising himself as a hero. But, in fact, this famed 'Night Watchman' is nothing more than a common thief; and, moreover, is a murderer, who helped Robin Hood's filthy hoarde kill dozens of men hired to bring them to justice!"
A roar of denial rose from the crowd, but scatted among the protests were a few sorrowful wails, and cries of, "Hang the murderer!" Robin cringed, dropping his eyes as he tried not to remember how quickly he had felled those woodsmen and soldiers. He had been acting on instinct, refusing to permit them to find Marian's body inside the cave, knowing there was no escape either way; but he should have thought. He should have found another way, a way that did not involve making any more widows and orphans than Nottingham already had. While a voice in the back of his mind pointed out that he was beyond coherence then, enveloped in grief, he silenced it.
The situation was on him. His men had been acting to save themselves, but once he had gone on an all-out attack, they followed suit. Marian had nothing to do with it whatsoever, not even aware that it had happened; and now, Vaizey was trying to pin it on her, turning the pain of the mourners against her. Robin mentally added it to the list of things he would one day pay the sheriff back for.
Vaizey held up his hands again. "I thought about hanging this villain two hours ago, since I am certain that Robin Hood wishes to help him escape, and knew Hood would suspect an hour's advance after the last time I hanged some of his little friends. However, I could not spare you all the sight of this dastardly devil dangling from a noose!" Some cheers rang out, and Robin sighed. While the disapproving majority was good to see, he wondered if any of the excited faces had ever been aided by Marian's graciousness. He would understand if a man trying to feed his starving family sold him or one of the lads out to the sheriff for coins; that was not something Robin would begrudge, disappointed though he may be. However, he would hope that such a person would at least demonstrate some remorse.
"So!" the sheriff called. "Without further ado, I give you... the Night Watchman. Guards!" He clapped and stepped aside, making room for a small procession to pass.
From their vantage point, the gang could not see the dungeon door open into the stone corridor above them, but they could hear it, as well as the footsteps making their way over to the castle steps. As surreptitiously as possible, Robin drew three arrows, nocking the first and preparing to raise, aim, and fire as soon as he was able. Around him, he could sense the others tensing for action, as well. The sense grew stronger as the first guard came into view at the top of the stairs, and Robin was about to lift his bow when the prisoner appeared-- but, instead, Robin froze at the sight.
They all did.
"What on earth is going on?" Much wondered, earning shushes from the others.
"Where is Marian?" Djaq asked softly.
Robin's eyes narrowed as his gaze swung from the masked figure to the chipper sheriff. "What are you up to, Vaizey?" he muttered.
That was not the Night Watchman; it was not Marian. While the outfit was correct, it was on a man.
Allan grinned, relaxing. "Well, that's a relief, ain't it?"
"Maybe." Robin shot him an irritated look, although most of it was directed at the situation instead of his friend. "We do not know who that is. It could be a villager, or an unlucky castle servant."
The condemned man and his circle of guards was moving slowly, whether due to the crowd or for dramatic effect was unclear. They were only about halfway to the gallows, but would be at their destination soon enough. Robin racked his brain for a plan, coming up with nothing that would not get them led to the noose, as well.
Djaq beat him to an idea. Sidling up behind a group of the earlier protesters, she yelled, "Save the Night Watchman!"
The rallying cry was more effective than a flame to Greek fire, and the cluster of people was almost instantaneously a mob, grabbing at the guards and the prisoner. As Djaq rejoined the others, Robin grinned at her approvingly, to which she smiled smugly back.
Just as she had intended, someone got hold of the prisoner's mask, yanking it off before being pulled away, themselves. It was not a face Robin recognized, but Allan apparently did. "Hang on; that's David of Ollerton!"
"Who's David of Ollerton?" asked Will, at the same time John exclaimed, "Are you sure?"
As Allan took another look and nodded firmly, just before a guard slapped the mask back in place, Much repeated Will's question. "David of Ollerton-- the Butcher of Bonham Street," John answered.
"Killed his wife, cooked her up, and fed her to their neighbors for Sunday dinner," Allan informed them.
Much's face wrinkled in horror. "Ugh, that is... beyond revolting!"
Djaq's expression was subtler, but no less disturbed. "What reason did he give for doing such a thing?"
"There is no reason for that," Will muttered.
With a shrug, Allan replied, "He said she forgot that he didn't like turnips one too many times, and if she liked 'em so much, she could share a plate with them."
"He killed her over turnips?" Much exclaimed. "Is he mad?"
Allan shook his head. "No, that's the worst part. He's not mad at all. Cold as stone, a creepy bugger, but not mad."
While John was clearly as bothered as the rest of them, he was also apparently noticing the same thing that Robin was: they were making too much noise. "People have been killed over less-- such as being too loud."
They all took the big man's hint.
The story was ringing a bell with Robin, and pondering it, he came up with a tidbit of information. "I thought he was to be hanged last week."
"He was. Supposed to be, that is," Allan amended. "But, that is definitely him, so I'd say it's a safe bet somebody took his place, if they dangled anybody."
Robin frowned. "I'm afraid to ask why, since there had to be a reason, and Vaizey was likely behind it." Turning away from the spectacle to face the gang, he said grimly, "He may have escaped his punishment before, but he's receiving it now. Let's go home."
In another circumstance, most or all of them might have wanted to try to save the prisoner. Not one of them was so inclined this time, however, and they were somber as they made their way out of Nottingham and back into the forest.
Somber... yet relieved, at least in Robin's case, though he doubted he was alone.
Marian was still safe.
* * *
Robin's relief was short-lived, although his active concern shifted from Marian to the peasantry of the shire. While he never stopped wondering, in the back of his mind, whether or not she was well, there was a more immediate concern to deal with at home.
The people were starting to give up.
It was not a very obvious thing, at first. The villagers were a little quieter in the days following the execution, but that was not unexpected. What was unusual was that they were still subdued nearly a month later. The hopeful relief that had shown on their faces upon receiving the outlaws' donations had morphed into a vague sadness, something barely perceptible, yet there. Robin was wondering if he was imagining it, until Will mentioned it to him, too.
In fact, they were all noticing the situation, and agreed to see what they could learn about the cause behind it.
One candid woman from Clun, a weaver called Anna, said what the other villagers seemed hesitant to voice. "It's not the same without the Night Watchman," she told Little John. "We've heard the rumors that it wasn't him the sheriff hanged, but he hasn't been round, has he?"
John frowned. "Are we not bringing enough?"
"That's not it," she replied. "I mean, yeah, it's easier when you've both been by; we don't have to make things stretch so much. But, he's been coming round for years. Whether or not that was him on the gallows, it's stopped him." With a resigned shrug, she turned and went back into her cottage, leaving John to piece the rest together.
"The Night Watchman gave them hope," he explained to the others that evening. "We continue it, but she started it. Now that she's gone, so's their reason for hoping in the first place."
"So, what is it we're doing, then?" demanded Allan, obviously affronted. "Not being funny, but that's insulting."
Staring into the flames of the campfire, Robin's hands were folded, absently rubbing his finger over his chin as he thought over the problem. While part of him agreed with Allan, that the gang was helping enough, he understood what Little John was saying. This was not a logical situation, it was an emotional one-- and that was no less serious than something he could tactically address. They might fill the peasants' bellies, but if their spirits were damaged, the outlaws were still fighting a losing battle.
"We are doing our part," Robin told him. "But, they need someone to do the Night Watchman's part, as well." An idea was starting to formulate in his brain, and Much apparently recognized the signs.
"You have that look again," Much said suspiciously.
Robin grinned at him. "We've been doing well with our heists lately... there is enough in the stores for some extra deliveries."
"Wait-- you want to be Robin Hood and the Night Watchman?" Allan exclaimed.
Robin merely shrugged, the solution obvious in his mind.
"It would make sense," agreed Djaq. "We already collect most of the things the Night Watchman gives out."
From where he was sitting off to the side, Will said, "I think I know who made Marian's mask."
"Lads, it's time the Night Watchman joined our gang," Robin laughed.
Next Chapter