Nottinghamshire - Castle de Burgh
Late Evening

The feast began so merrily and ended with a bitter taste and tears. When Earl De Burgh stopped in front of the door, guarded by two of the Sheriff's loyal men, his stomach was one rock of hard stone, and his heart equally heavy.

"Open the door," he commanded, his voice as dark as the shadows that shrouded the hallway and everyone's mood in the gloom.

The small room was hardly befitting a lady, yet it was undoubtedly better than the cold and dingy cells in the dungeon where any other prisoner would have ended up. Nevertheless, it remained what it was: a prison. Some nobles had spent their entire lives behind closed doors or walls after committing crimes.

When the Earl entered the room, Lady Marian de Burgh sat by the window in a simple chair. Her gaze was fixed in the distance, and the first thought that came to him was how much this image suited her and how much she resembled his beloved late wife.

Marian seemed out of place in a strange way wherever she went. It had always been that way once one looked more closely. It was in how upright she sat and jutted her chin instead of obediently keeping it lowered. When the nurse slapped her as punishment, Marian looked up, and even if there were tears in her eyes, they failed to hide the fire behind them that no slap or Bible verse could smother.

Sometimes the Earl had wondered if he should have been stricter. Was it his fault, and was it up to him? His wife had been remarkable too. Headstrong and stubborn, with the same light in her heart and eyes that could inspire others. Had Marian been born a man, she could have achieved great things. Where her way of thinking and living would have already caused problems for a simple, middle-class woman, it was an unavoidable doom for a nobleman's daughter. Earl De Burgh had always known this and had no heart to stop it.

And now she sat there like a delicate doll made of porcelain, in a noble dress and with finely combed hair - but with iron clamps around her legs and wrists. The metal clanged softly as she moved and turned to face the visitor, who had not come just to put down a tray of food.

"My child. I wish I could say I never imagined such a thing in my darkest dreams," he said softly, approaching his daughter. All night he had been awake - but not in paralyzed dismay or inaction. He had taken sides and tried to smooth the waters.

Gently, he put his hands on Marian's cheeks and bent to breathe a kiss on her forehead. "What you did was extremely brave. I know you were only trying to help. But did you have to go so far as to point the Arrow at the Sheriff?"

Marian closed her eyes. Her Father smelled of wood and fire; he had probably been brooding in front of the fireplace all night. Still, after a stirring night, his smell wrapped her up like a soothing blanket, stroking her troubled mind like comforting fingers. When something bothered him, he liked staying near the fire and staring thoughtfully into the dancing flames. The scent gave her a sense of permanence.

"I don't regret what I did, Father." All night, she had thought about it. Over and over again. Whether it had been a mistake. But the answer was certain for her: no. It wasn't. "I wanted to help people. Every Sunday, the Father preaches charity, goodness, and mercy - but the chalices of the churches and the King are made of gold, but the peasants' plates are empty."

"I know, my child. I know." Earl De Burgh heaved a deep sigh. Slowly he disengaged himself from his daughter. The small bed groaned as he sat down on it. It had not been used for too long. Exhausted, his upper body tipped slightly forward as he rested his elbows on his thighs and brought his hands together. With a thoughtful expression, he turned the signet ring on his finger back and forth a little. "Marian, our status offers us rights, but we also have duties through it. I, too, wish every day that the people here in Nottingham are well, that they are healthy, and that their work comes easily. But like in chess, we must plan and look beyond the next move."

As if she didn't know that! Wasn't she who had preached that very thing to Robin and the peasants? "Father, I-"

Earl De Burgh raised his hand to interrupt his daughter. "You know I have always supported your mother's efforts and yours too. Whether it was food to be given or grain to be shared."Marian's brow furrowed in uncomprehension. Her Father's voice sounded neither reproachful nor angry.

"I cannot refuse to pay taxes as an earl. Otherwise, royal soldiers, emissaries, and stewards would have come and taken what was due to the Crown. Even if our help was limited because of that - it kept people alive, Marian. A new Earl might be more ruthless than I am. We gain nothing by openly making an enemy of the Crown."

"But then nothing changes, Father. As you said yourself: Throwing coins on the street does not change the situation of the people. Bread and grain, too, are only a temporary comfort. Our chambers are empty now, Father. Most of the cattle have been sold, exchanged, or slaughtered. And the Prince Regent sits in London, far away from here, not caring about suffering as long as he can lavishly set his tables and make new gifts to his French mistress." Marian looked gloomily at the chains on her wrists. Then she rose slowly, and the rattle of the chains accompanied her steps as she lowered herself to the ground before her Father. This time it was she who reached for his hands.

"There are rumors," she murmured more quietly this time. As if she had to make sure the Sheriff's men didn't hear. "That King Richard might still be alive, and he might return." Her fingers squeezed her Father's a little tighter. She expected surprise, wonder, and the same hope that news had inspired. Instead, however, her Father merely placed his hand over hers.

"Until we have more than rumors, we can build nothing on them. King Richard is not here to help us... or you."

Marian stared at her Father as she recognized the truth in his eyes. Slowly, whirring, the coin spun in her mind, tying up loose threads, and suddenly everything became so much more straightforward."You knew about this," she breathed, and her Father nodded slowly. "But is it true, Father? Where is the King while his country bleeds? While his brother gives the tyrant?" wanted Marian to know.

"It is said that he was set somewhere on his return journey. Somewhere on the mainland. There was correspondence that Sire Malet claims to have seen at court. This is also why Sire Malet, Barons Fitzwalter, de Percy, and I are gathering soldiers. When the King returns... if the King returns, he may need an army."

Marian's eyes grew wide. She thought she had played her Father, the Sheriff, and Guy, had lied to them cleverly and had fooled them. Yet her Father had been so infinitely more adept at it. He mimed the crown loyalist and stoked the fires of rebellion in the shadow of the Sheriff facing him.

"As an Earl, I cannot openly support the rebellion. I am too close to the Crown because of my standing. And it is a matter of waiting for the right moment to take a stand. The eyes of Prince John's faithful are too watchful on my loved ones and me. I cannot simply give vast sums of money to barons and knights to buy soldiers. But what if those funds never reached my castle? What we needed was a thief. A man of ideals, skilled and devoted to King Richard. A man with nothing left to lose... We almost had to stop Locksley from marching straight on London. And yes," he sighed softly, "your betrothal to the sheriff's son was welcome to me to thin the doubts about us."

Slowly he raised his hand to stroke her cheek. "He had asked for you, you know. Robin, I mean. In response, I should have expected that fool to steal from my land, of all places. His hatred of the Sheriff and the young of Gisborne is matched only by his hatred of the prince." The Earl curled his lips a little. "I'm not exactly a friend of his methods. They raise too much dust in my country. The money stolen benefits the rebellion, so I try not to put more obstacles in his way than necessary. But I disapproved of his involving my daughter," he clarified more seriously.

"It wasn't his idea, Father," Marian lied now. "I wanted to do more for the people than hand out a few coins from the pockets of corrupt counters. That's why I asked Robin to work with me. Oh yes, just so you know now, our enumerators always put coins in their pockets."

"So robbing the tax coach was your idea?"

Marian nodded slowly. "After the count or on the way, the security of the cargo is the Crown's responsibility, not yours. I didn't want to cause you any more trouble than before," Marian explained, looking guiltily at the ground. "But we met many homeless men in the woods. They were desperate, without guidance, and everything was getting out of hand."

Accompanied by a deep sigh, the Earl's shoulders sank a little lower. There was just silence between them for a few moments, and only the soft crackling of the fire could be heard.

"I'm sorry, Father," Marian whispered softly.

"We must all find our way. Silently and in the shadows. Or open and willing to face the consequences. I love you, Marian." Her Father's eyes were full of pride but also obvious pain at the same time. "As a second cousin to His Majesty, our royal blood is thin, but it is there. However, your thimbleful of royal blood can save you from the gallows. You know that neither the Crown nor the clergy likes clever women. Wise heads must roll. Renounce rebellious thoughts, kneel, and swear allegiance to the Regent and the Word of God. Then perhaps you can hope for mercy and another tomorrow. That is all I can do for you, my child."

Marian swallowed, but it did not help to loosen the tightness around her chest. Her eyes burned, and she blinked against them to hold back the tears. Gently, she took her Father's hand, leaned forward, and rested her forehead against the back of his hand. "I don't know if I can do that, Father," she murmured. "I can't just watch anymore."

The Earl's free hand rested gently on his daughter's head. The soft red hair gently rippled under his fingers, and he remembered old times when his child had fallen asleep on his lap. But Marian was no longer the little girl who was afraid of the thunderstorm. She was the young woman who had climbed a gallows and cut down her friend. A noblewoman who wept for a maid and whose pain had turned to strength.

"I know," he whispered. So softly that perhaps only the wind could hear it.