The morning over Nottingham was, as usual, beautiful. The sun's emergence above the horizon cast a pleasant golden hue over the forests and abodes, accompanied by the chirping and singing of birds and ever-so-slight gust of wind to grace the features of those who wandered out.

But thanks to the scheduled events of this day, few citizens could enjoy such pleasantries. They knew what today had in store: the planned execution of an outlaw, beloved by them and despised by those in power.

An event that had been darkly dubbed "The Black Archery Contest".

Prince John's men had been quick to reorganize the courtyard into an arena. The design had no need to be too elaborate. It was built around the tallest tree in the courtyard, around which a thick rope was looped and lay dangling from a branch. Its end resembled a noose that many a victim of John's wrath had suffered from. But this one would not hang Robin by the neck, as he would soon discover. A short gate was placed around the tree at a distance, to mark how close the participating archers could get before taking their shot. And even further out lay a series of stands for the viewing audience to observe the carnage. All of which were filled with terrified townsfolk ... but not out of their own desires to be there.

Prince John's decision to kill off the fox in such a demeaning way was heartless enough, but he had taken it even further. Knowing the foolish fondness his subjects had for the outlaw, he resolved to make sure that such a show would have its audience. In an act of pure cruelty, the sinister lion had ordered, by law, that the Nottingham citizens attend the tournament and witness the demise of their hero. Should the arena not end up filled in entirely, he would impose taxes on the town that would drive the luckiest of the populace to the brink of homelessness. The Sheriff had gone around spreading the word, having no remorse or hesitance in giving the news, not feeling an ounce of sympathy for the sobs of the children, or the drooping heads of the adults as they felt their hope shriveling away.

Thus was the reason for the stands being filled in, and why the mood was no more enthused for it. As the trumpets blasted mightily across the field in a proud, victorious tune, they were not accompanied by any applause or cheers of anticipation. Only the saddened, fearful, hateful silence as they tried to comfort each other in this forced display of misery. The pomp and circumstance only served to further amp up those actually involved with this event, the only individuals who were present by choice.

This included each possible victor, given their own fanfare as they entered the premises.

All the while, Prince John sat on his luxurious throne as usual, Hiss once more by his side. In front of him were the twelve contenders who qualified, each hopeful to be the one either skilled or lucky enough to land that sought-after fatal shot and claim victory. They stood in a line, heads held high as they tried to look poised, dignified, and determined for their leader and their crowd.

"You believe in me, your Highness. When I see that fox swingin' around, I'll be showing him what real archery is." These words came from a thin weasel, standing among the other players.

Many skilled archers and bounty hunters had come from far and wide upon hearing the news, eager to either prove their worth in their craft, attain some shallow form of glory, or get in close with the powerful prince. A decorated aristocrat named Phillip of Spain had endured a full night of travel to make it in time, eager to achieve the prize offered for the winner. James Coterel of the infamous Coterel gang was eager to finish off the crook, for Robin had halted more than a few of his criminal acts in the past. His toothy grin gave away his excitement. And the current speaker, Spanish-born but English-raised Chucho Arriaga, adorned in tattered rags, was shaking his leg and cackling, as he thought about the honor and valor he would be seen with should he take down such an infamous figure. Only one female stood among the group, that being a fox almost entirely shrouded in a dark cloak and hood, only going by the name Catalina. Neither Prince John nor Hiss had heard of her until yesterday, but the skill she had showcased when vying for entry was all they needed to accept her into the competition.

"The quite the competent bunch, wouldn't you say?" John voiced to his slithering companion.

"Mmm hmm, yes, very promising," Hiss responded. Although his voice did not share his ruler's enthusiasm, rather dripping mildly with sarcasm. He still stood by his notion that this whole idea was simply begging for trouble. But alas, he knew it was pointless to debate, and withheld his tongue. But the opinion could only be so concealed, just enough for the oblivious "king" to not notice.

"Promising, indeed."

The member of the squad who said this stood proudly above the rest. A tall, glowering wolf was dressed in a dark grey-black tunic, forest green cloak sweeping down his back, fastened at the collarbone by a silvered fang. His fingers glittered with rings of silver just beneath the wide-ended, black, fingerless gloves covering his hands. A wicked, knowing smirk lay upon his lips as he bowed low, his golden eyes never leaving the prince's.

With a voice as oily as his fur, he introduced himself. "A pleasure to meet you in the flesh, great king. Sir Guy of Gisborne, honored to be at your service."

Prince John knew of Sir Guy of Gisborne. He was a hired killer and bounty hunter, working outside the realms of the law, but often in support of those in power rather than in opposition. This allegiance to authority allowed him to get away with his many vicious deeds, acting as a shield the likes of which Robin refused to accept. He was known as one of the most skilled archers across the known towns and countries, with techniques and mastery that rivaled the greatest ever known. The only thing more pronounced than his abilities was his ruthlessness. As opposed to the noble Robin Hood, Guy was cruel, coarse, and sadistic. Whereas the Sheriff held an apathy and lack of caring for how his actions affected others, Guy took active joy in squashing and belittling his victims. He knew the power he held, and he relished wielding it on the innocent.

John could see all of that already. However few his doubts in these contenders were before, he could now rest assured that he had at least one truly worthy competitor for the grand prize, one who would bring forth both skill and spectacle.

"And might I say," Guy crooned as he coolly approached the would-be king, "It is a true privilege to take part in this extraordinary show you and your fine crew have assembled. Sincerely, Your Majesty, be proud of yourself on this day. One for the history books, really."

The wolf vigorously shook the lion's hand, so much so that he nearly dislodged Hiss from his master's shoulder. He tightened himself to keep steady, trying to withhold an irritated groan.

"Alright now, I think you've made your point quite clear," Hiss said.

It was more than obvious that, in addition to his other attributes, Guy of Gisborne was quite the suck-up, and it quite frankly did a number on his formidable image in Hiss's eyes. He stared at the archer knowingly, and was met with a barely-noticeable scowl and growl towards the snake.

The prince chuckled in immense flattery, eyes darting around shyly at the generous compliment. "Oh my, you're far too kind, good sir. I've heard many ... enticing things about you, and am quite hopeful that you deliver on them today."

"I will, great one," the killer stated with conviction. "For the honor of you, and the honor of the mighty government."

He turned around to face his opponents in competition, and raised his bow triumphantly. "Long live Prince John!"

"Here here!" the rest of the participants shouted back, similarly raising their own weapons. Catalina looked far more hesitant than the rest, but still played along.

It made Hiss wonder how many of the rallying cries were real, and how many were just some thinly-veiled attempt to look good in front of the prince. Although there was no question which of the two applied to Guy of Gisborne. Pathetic, he thought.

"Rrrgh!"

A new moan of exertion redirected the group's cheering. They turned to its source, to see that the Sheriff was now entering the scene. But he wasn't alone; being carried underneath his arm, still bound and gagged, was the famous fox himself. He was fighting and twisting, kicking his bound legs out behind him, but was clearly no match for larger Sheriff.

"Easy now, boy," the wolf mocked with a snicker.

Robin was tossed down onto the grass, forced to hit the ground face-first. "RRPH!!" he grunted out, through the terrible, dirty fabric still jammed mercilessly tight in his maw.

The outlaw would have been grateful to finally receive some sunlight and fresh air (however little of it he could breathe in), after spending an ungodly amount of time in that gloom-ridden cell. Being subjected to such hopeless surroundings and conditions, unable to do pretty much anything about it, had been threatening to eat away at even his strong heart. But knowing why he was being brought out and what lay in store for him, Robin would almost prefer going back down there.

Breathing and huffing through his nose, the bound Robin lay on his stomach. His bound fists were clenched as he squirmed and writhed a bit more, grunting as his svelte, elegant body moved angrily. He only stopped himself when he heard the merry giggles of the prince and Sheriff. He looked up before him, and his eyes grew when he then saw what he was quick to realize were his potential executors. They came in several different shapes and sizes, but all were here with one common, deplorable goal.

At the same time, said twelve hopefuls were also getting their own first look at the legendary rascal. They observed his squirming, in disbelief that this small, skinny vulpine figure was the one who had caused such trouble for the prince.

"That's him, ain't it?" Coterel said.

"Look at the little guy," Phillip chuckled.

"He don't look so tough," Chucho joined in.

"Hrrrgh," Robin rolled his eyes as he groaned in annoyance at their comments. I'd show you how tough I am if you boys were willing to play fair! he thought. The view from his current position made them all look even more imposing as they stared down at him, but he kept his eyes narrowed bravely. He pulled his wrists and arms with all of his strength, doing the same with his legs and ankles. But his only reward was the all-too-familiar sound of creaking ropes, keeping him securely in their overpowering grasp.

But he froze when he saw Guy begin to walk over to him.

"So this is the great Robin Hood. Legendary ... outlaw, apparently," Guy said, clearly unimpressed.

When Robin saw who spoke, his shoulders would have tensed had they not already been bunched up by the ropes. Like most, Robin too knew of the feared Guy of Gisborne. And based on the knowledge he had, his hope had been that all he ever learned about this wolf would be strictly through hearsay. But he was not so lucky, and he sank his teeth deeper into the gag upon realizing that he was now potentially at this fiend's mercy.

Pulling out all the stops, eh John?
“The prince calls you outlaw," Guy mocked. "But I know of your deeds in these parts. Your desire to help the pitiful people rightfully at the bottom. And I laugh at such a term."

Not wanting to literally take this berating lying down, Robin Hood launched his upper body to end up on his thickly-furred knees. He then kicked his legs out to nimbly backflip himself onto his bound feet. The Sheriff got visibly upset at this and went to shove him back down, but Guy held a hand up, signaling him to stay.

The gagged fox stretched his rope-wrapped legs and torso, trying to make himself look as tall as possible, despite still being dwarfed by his new adversary.

"What good is it to wield a sword if you never dare stab with it?" Guy continued. "To fire a bow when you never once aim for the enemy's heart? To break the law if you do not revel in all the benefits being above the law brings you?"

Prince John snickered at the verbal lashing. Robin twisted his head around and tersely snarled, wiggling his upper body in his ropes out of vain impulse. Of course none of them would understand. They all were thickly unable to comprehend the idea of performing such endeavors for anything other than selfishness or greed. The idea of helping others without expecting anything in return was foreign to these brutes.

They knew nothing of the pain he felt in seeing injustice. What inaction cost the needy. Or what it cost him personally.

"I shall not call you an outlaw, or even a common thief!" Guy's spiel went on. "To do so would disgrace even the lowest, basest fool to ever so much as steal an apple."

He was hovering over Robin now. The wiry fox tensed, ears folded back, eyes flaring with biting hatred. The look was intensified by the snarl his gag forced upon his lips.

Guy leaned down to place his face inches above Robin's, forcing the fox to lower himself a bit. "... No, Robin of Loxley. I call thee a fool, and a coward!" His voice had intensified, and Robin flinched from its volume and proximity.

"Nnrh," he grunted.

The savage wolf then turned around to face his fellow contestants, as Prince John looked on with glee.

"So I say to all of you, three cheers for the man afraid to take a life! For the pitiful man who could be free in Sherwood now, if he'd only struck to kill! Three cheers for the phony hero of England!”

A series of hollers and hurrahs broke out, as every one of the competing archers played right into Guy's crooked speech. Robin couldn't help but be afraid by the sight and sound of twelve individuals cheering for his demise, all allowed to inflict it in the name of sport. He struggled lightly, knowing that he had no chance of escape by now, but still not wanting to simply stand there and take this.

"Nnnr! Mmrrh!"

Prince John rubbed his paws together. A devious, childlike grin was plastered onto his golden features.

Excellent, he thought.

Robin kept fidgeting, keeping balanced on his bound feet with relative ease, but predictably achieving nothing from it. Only the increased humiliation from the watchful eyes of these mercenaries and crooks.

As he struggled, however, he soon noticed that one of the contenders was not cheering with nearly as much enthusiasm as the rest of the group. It was Catalina, the hooded female fox. She was raising her fists to try and blend in, but Robin could see that something was off. She almost looked ashamed to be there, though no one else seemed to notice.

She was small and slender, much like him. The black cloaks she wore almost completely covered her face, the only features visible being her eyes. They were quite striking, if he were honest. Pure, radiant, shimmering with a subtle kindness that the other players sorely lacked.

They strangely felt safe ... inviting ... hopeful ...

... Familiar ...

And when they finally looked directly at his own, Robin Hood did a double take.

... It can't be ... Is ... Is that ...

The villainous fanfare around him might as well have gone mute. All the bound and gagged outlaw could now focus on was the look he exchanged with this vixen. Her eyes brimmed with worry, but also a silent promise that he was not alone in this.

That cemented it for Robin. His heart pounded, as he confirmed that this was no stranger.

---

And so the storm began.

Robin had reservations over this new Sheriff from the beginning, but he tried his best to write them off as him being overly paranoid. However, over the next few weeks, he was no longer able to prevent himself from seeing that those concerns were, indeed, justified.

The wolf initially made nice with most of the higher-ups and nobles, as well as several citizens he came across. They all felt that they could be safe and protected under his watchful eye, especially with the pedigree of his father. He made a few little demands here and there regarding taxation, seeming rather insignificant in the grand scheme of things and therefore deemed acceptable by most.

But little by little, those demands began to grow. He went from asking for a tiny portion of earnings, to noticeable dents in their wallets, to amounts that made some of them question if they could even get through the next month with what they were left with. When questioned about it by the few brave enough to even do so, the Sheriff would give some generic excuse, such as how it was for the enhancement of security, or an investment in some new marketplace. But as time went on, not only were those changes not seen being implemented in any way, but many townsfolk were able to notice that the one benefitting the most from their "donations" was the Sheriff himself. His uniform received an upgrade, no doubt costing a pretty penny that few believed was worth it. The only noticeable renovations were done to his own living quarters, as if his prior arrangements weren't lavish enough. He was even putting on a couple of pounds from the increased amount of food he was consuming, while the town at large conversely could be seen going in the opposite direction from the rations a few of them now needed to implement.

Robin dearly hoped that his family would do something about this. Such blatant abuse of power, such negligence to those in need, couldn't be allowed to continue. And yet, to his great chagrin, they continued to maintain their outlooks of complacency, either woefully believing there was nothing that could be done or just turning a blind eye to it entirely. It was like those he expected to support him were leaving him out to dry, not to mention the many other souls who relied on them. It hurt his heart, and made him feel even more worthless.

But as bad as that was, it was nothing compared to the biggest source of his misery at the current moment. That dishonor went to the news that brought what felt like an official end to his childhood: Marian, his dear, beloved friend and love interest, was leaving him.

Sir Fugali announced that he and his daughter were departing for London, where she would continue her studies into adulthood. Some prestigious school had apparently accepted her readily, although Robin hadn't even realized she had applied. He was wondering why she never told him, until he learned that she herself was unaware as well. It concerned Robin as to why such a drastic decision was made without her involvement, without her say. But once she was accepted, Fugali seemed insistent that his daughter go, and it thus appeared that the decision was set in stone.

The opportunity was grand, that Robin couldn't deny. But that didn't make it hurt any less. It was as if a mighty foe had thrust his dagger squarely into the fox's open heart, with the days leading to her departure being the period of bleeding out, fading away into lifelessness.

Additionally, he suspected another motive for the move. And it once again came back to the Sheriff. From the moment Marian had become acquainted with the authority figure, his fondness for her was clear as day. But whispers and rumors had begun forming of a possible betrothal at the Sheriff's behest. And so, Robin had a growing inkling of suspicion that the decision was at least partially motivated by Sir Fugali's desire to get Marian away from the visibly corrupt wolf. Once more, it was logic that Robin couldn't fault, but that his wounded soul was unable to come to terms with.

The young Robin had no definitive proof for this theory. But the possibility alone further spurred on his growing disdain for the new Sheriff.

Things between him and Marian leading up to her departure were sour. He gave the typical congratulations one would expect, albeit too halfheartedly to warrant any level of gratitude from Marian. After that, the two barely spoke. Marian repeatedly sought out her friend, but Robin could only run from any heartbreaking confrontation the two would surely need to have. He didn't know what he could say to her, and even beyond that, what feelings could emerge from doing so. Feelings that he was now powerless to act on.

At the dawn of the morning she was scheduled to leave, Robin found himself wandering aimlessly through the woods around his manor. The air was thick with heavy fog, a light misting gently dampening his fur. The trees were nearly bare, with only a select number of falling leaves displaying the final days of the dying Autumn season.

It seemed all too appropriate; his entire world was falling apart around him, and he hated it. He kicked up the grounded leaves, balling his fists. For all his good fortune and admirable social status, the teenaged fox would have traded it all away to keep his friend here. Just for the one remainder of his innocence, his freedom and safety, to stay as it was.

"Robin?"

The tod's eyes widened when he heard her ever-soothing voice. He slowly turned around to see her standing there. She looked sadder, more defeated, than he had ever seen her. Her head was low, her shoulders hunched over. Robin couldn't help but think back to the cheerful, shy, yet upbeat girl he'd first come to know all those years ago. That girl was no longer here, and he found himself wanting to scream out at the world for stealing her innocence alongside his.

"Marian," Robin whispered.

The two were cautious as they walked towards each other. The only sound accompanying them was the pitter-patter of the gentle sprinkling onto the trees, and the last of the chirping crickets before the full morning summoned them away. A tiny gust of wind blew across the fur on Robin's face, highlighting his caring, kind, handsome features. It made Marian's heart ache even further at the thought of leaving him.

"Marian, I-I ... wh-what are you doing here?" Robin asked. The sting in Marian's eyes made him regret phrasing it like that.

"Robin ... I-I'm about to leave, a-and ..." She was shaky, barely able to even speak. "A-and we haven't even ... spoken for days."

Robin sighed and looked down as well, deeply ashamed of himself. He had tried to deny his reality, long enough to avoid the painful goodbye. Rather than a proud warrior, he had taken the route of a coward.

Marian deserved better than such ignorance. Better than him.

He looked back up at her, and felt his lips begin to quiver alongside hers. How could he keep going without that beautiful face, without that charming grace ... Lord, how could he no longer look into those eyes? They were the most wonderful sight he'd ever seen, bearing into his soul with an understanding that no other being had ever been able to give to him.

And now he was about to lose it all.

No, he realized. I must hold on to them. If it must only be in my memories, so be it ... I'll fight on for her. Like I always have.

"I'm sorry," he croaked out. "I just ..."

Marian looked at him expectantly as he finished.

"I don't want you to go."

The vixen's eyes squeezed shut, but it couldn't prevent the single tear slipping through her defenses. She rushed forward and collapsed herself into Robin's chest, and he carefully brought his slender arms around her as she wept. His chin lay upon her neck as he felt a few tears of his own slide down his face.

He wouldn't let himself forget this moment. The feeling of her in his arms. The warmth she brought him in the frigid morning. Her quiet sobs, even, for they spoke to everything they had been through in their youths.

All of this, too, he would hold on to. In his darkest thoughts, in his deepest despair, he would keep her with him.

---

And now, against any odds he could have hoped for, here she was again.

While he didn't know everything, there was obviously a plan in motion, one that Marian was a part of. And he didn't doubt that Little John - God willing he was still alive - was in on it too.

Robin already admired Marian in every way, but he couldn't have foreseen her doing something like this. He didn't doubt it was the most dangerous thing she had ever done.

And it was all for him.

Just like that, Robin's lips couldn't help but curl upwards against the gag, uncaring of the ache that surged up as a result. Just when all seemed to be lost, a new spark of hope was relit within him. Even as the Sheriff grabbed him by the back of his collar, dragging him away to be prepared for the tournament, he was more optimistic than at any point in his imprisonment.

Through the dirt that kicked up as his heels dug into the ground, he could see Marian getting smaller and smaller as he was taken further away from her. Transported from the loving eyes of the fair maiden, to however he was to be presented as a living target. He saw her look of fear, but while his own heart was racing, he did his best to shoot her a look that expressed his faith in her.

Just as it had always been, the wonderful Maid Marian kept his heart going.

They had found each other after being separated. He believed that such a miracle could happen again.

---

Robin Hood (1973) belongs to Disney.

---

Here we are again, as promised. I had a mild bit of writer's block in getting this part started, but once it got going the rest fell into place, thankfully. Right off the bat, I want to credit AchromaticStallion for the idea and concept behind Guy of Gisborne. He introduced me to this figure of traditional Robin Hood lore, giving me a sense of what he's like and even providing me with his introductory paragraph, as well as the monologue he gives Robin. And as usual, the contents of the flashback were also based on his ideas.

As for myself, the other named competitors are based off of real-life bandits and notorious figures of old. Chucho el Roto, the Coterols, etc. Just little callbacks and ways to get names that could fit the Disney Robin Hood world. Even the name Catalina is based off Catalina de los Rios y Lisperguer, though her and Marian's personalities seemingly couldn't be more different. Regardless, Guy is the one to watch here. ;)

Like I've said before, my next task is returning to The Siege of Ga'hoole. The next chapter of this fic will probably come somewhere in between the final chapters of that one. Once Ga'hoole is finished, my job is solely to get this story done, at long last. :D

Thank you to all those still reading! Hope you find the waits for these chapters to be worth it! :D