Will's Hanging
Dec. 12th, 2007 12:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ceitfiannaRight, I should be asleep, but I've been meaning to write this for a long time now and oddly Atonement gave me the inspiration I needed. Cut for length and warnings for torture and pain of many levels, this is what changed Will so one October.
The Harvest was good and Nottingham was quiet, Sir Guy made forays into Sherwood but never found anything as the men waited and readied for the Winter. Will watched and laughed as Sir Guy kept just missing them and one night decided to see if he could confuse them, so left a false trail to lead deep into Sherwood.
On an all but moonless night, the trail was found. In the darkening woods, they watched their step as Sherwood was quiet; their horses shied at the smallest movement. It was one of the older men who heard it first; a stifled laugh and they all grew quiet, a flash of red in the Green catches his eye. Will’s not paying enough attention till suddenly his tree is shaking and he’s on the ground, his knife drawn and horn at his lips, but not quick enough. As the lonely sound of the horn rings out through Sherwood, his knife is kicked away and Sir Guy smirks as his sword rests on Will’s throat,
“My, my, what do we have here? I believe we’ve caught ourselves a small prize tonight, lads.”
All the words he means to say seem to dry up in Will’s throat, he should be defiant, but his only thought is they’ll have heard the horn. The ground is far too cold and hard against his back as a rope appears, he struggles desperately fighting with everything he has and praying that Robin and the others will be in time. Time can’t seem to make up its mind whether to be too fast or too slow as they tie him up, laughing and cursing while he fights back. Sir Guy puts a stop to it, slapping Will,
“You’re ours now, boy, and in a few days you’ll die but for now, we’ll break you. A foolish thief, barely worth the rope to hang you or flay you, but oh the Sheriff will be pleased.”
Then the long walk begins, dragged behind a horse, Will’s walked in Sherwood since he was a lad but tonight; it seems he finds every stone and root along the road and as the light dawns, they reach Nottingham. Women who have known him since he was all knees stop and stare at the bruised and weary figure behind Sir Guy’s horse. Sir Guy smiles and nods to everyone, he is bringing the Sheriff one of Robin’s men. They will truly see how weak Robin is when this boy breaks and crumbles in the dungeons. Will tries to keep his head up, he won’t bow, he won’t show his fear, keep straight, keep sure, he’s Robin’s squire, a man of Sherwood. The walk takes too long, all through town, the wakening market and into the castle’s courtyard where the Sheriff laughs and now Will finds words as the Sheriff congratulates Sir Guy, Will spits on the ground,
“Ye’ll get naught from me but blood!”
“You dare to speak to me, outlaw? For that, you will suffer as you live and die, I would have been merciful and just sent you only to the noose, but now a traitor’s death. Chain him!”
Throughout the courtyard the Sheriff’s voice rings as does the slap across Will’s face before he’s dragged to the forge, eyes turn away from him; whatever sympathy there may be is hidden for fear of the Sheriff’s wrath. Cold and white at a window, Marian looks down praying that the Sheriff has not seen her yet as she turns. The anvil rings out as she can see clearly; Will, looking stricken and defiant, and she turns to cry. Then she must prepare, be strong for him, for Robin and Will who will not hang in three days time, they will save him.
Below he is pulled into the castle and down into the dark depths of the dungeon where the chains are looped through the wall and the Sheriff grins,
“For three days, you will know only pain, boy, till I bring you to the sun and your last day. Robin will try to save you, I’m sure and then he shall be mine too and you will die.”
The words eat into Will and so he doesn’t notice the whip till pain shoots across his back and he bites his lip, he won’t scream,
“Now, you will tell me how to find the others, the pain will not stop if you do but at least you will perhaps not go as deeply into Hell.”
In answer Will spits again at the Sheriff’s feet and is met with a resounding crack,
“Do enjoy yourself, keep him alive, they must see him bleeding and broken in three days time.”
Then the pain begins, he can feel each stroke, but he will not scream, not give them his cries so his lip soon bleeds as freely as his back. Finally pain gives a small release and he swoons pulling against the iron chains that hold him upright; only to be woken again with cold water that creates new horrors. With no light in the darkness but a few candles, Will has no idea how long it is till they leave him: hanging by iron and bleeding, his shirt is gone so he shivers as his body searches for some type of rest. The other prisoners watch him, whispering quiet prayers for the brave outlaw, too young lad, good man, he’ll save you. Though Will hears none of their voices lost in pain and guilt.
The next day is as the first, they feed him at least, a bit of bread and water, carried by a trembling servant who keeps her eyes down afraid to look at the outlaw though she sees all they have done. Nottingham will know, Sherwood will know, he will not be forgotten in the darkness, her words carry up through the stone to Marian, to Robin, anger is stirred deep within in the Green for a lad, a thief, a man of Nottingham.
On the second day, the priest comes proud and confident beside the Sheriff, his eyes keep far from the dirt and prisoners to look at the outlaw,
“Clearly one of the Devil’s, look at that hair,”
With a grimacing gesture he pulls Will’s head back, pulling on his firey hair now dampened by sweat and pain and blood,
“Repent now, outlaw, tell us where the others our and perhaps only the gallows will await you. Dare not promise heaven to such as you, perhaps the Lord will be forgiving and let you into Purgatory.”
Words are harder now, his mouth chapped and bleeding, but Will speaks,
“I am Robin’s man an ‘ave naught to repent o’.”
His head is wrenched back by smooth white hands as the priest looks into his eyes,
“Then the Devil will know you!”
Then the pain begins again, the cycle seeming constant and never ending, stripes across his back, a few moments of blessed darkness before the water strikes again. The third day is just more pain, through the laughter a few words come through, the gallows are set as is the trap.
When finally they leave, he hangs, blood crusting on his wrists and back, he should pray, ready himself for death but that takes too much thought. He has not betrayed Robin, he is still Robin’s man unto death as in the old stories, he is loyal and true though he be but a pedlar’s son. A hand touches his cheek and Will flinches away and he hears a soft voice,
“Shh, Will, is but Marian. Oh what have they done to you?”
He’s afraid to open his eyes for surely she must be a fading dream, he will die tomorrow, the gallows are erected. Yet slowly he dares to see her dark hair and eyes of compassion, Nottingham’s Lady,
“Nay, do not speak, he will come, Will.”
In a croaking and tired voice he’s able to manage,
“Didna break.”
Marian falters at that, but her hand never stirs,
“Nay, you are his man and he will bring you safe.”
Then ever so gently, she kisses his forehead and disappears into the darkness again. Will’s not sure if he dreamed the moment or not.
Too soon morning comes and with it the Sheriff’s laughter as Will is lowered from his chains, stumbling and weary but not broken not truly. They have bloodied him, but he has not broken. The walk to the courtyard seems so long, up the dark stairs, to see the cold light of day, no sun shines today for it hides behind deep clouds and Nottingham is silent. A cart awaits and Will is pulled up roughly to stand and be shown to all the world. He stands tall and true though his back is bleeding and seems not part of him.
Then Nottingham fades into his mother’s eyes watching her outlaw son go to die and he almost breaks for her. How can he ask forgiveness for serving Robin? How can he have betrayed her so?
Too soon he stands on the wooden gallows, the chains removed as his hands are bound behind his back and the Sheriff laughs,
“Any last requests, boy?”
He finds the word somewhere deep within himself and Will Scarlett blazes on the gallows,
“Let me fight, give me a sword an I will die as a man!”
For one long moment, he has stolen the Sheriff’s thunder and then a hood descends on his head as his crimes are read off against the Crown, against the Shire and what he will die for. As the last words echo in the chill morning air, a lilting horn calls out and the world shifts as a friend cuts him free and Will sees daylight again and chaos. The bearded face of Little John greets him with a complicated smile and worried eyes,
“Can ye fight, my friend?”
Will can’t speak, he’s too tired, too mazed to even think, but takes the sword John hands him and he fights once more, finding a way out of Nottingham. He has no idea how they won, how they escaped only that soon they were in Sherwood and Robin was there and looking at him with eyes full of pride and worry. John speaks first his voice gravely and unsure,
“Thought I’d lost a good sparrin’ partner.”
Green eyes peer up at him, not sure what he can mean, “Forgive me.”
Again its John who speaks, Robin has no words yet, Tuck is watching and worrying for Will, and fire burns in all their eyes for what has been done to him,
“None o’that, wouldna be Sherwood without ye.”
Will finds tears in his eyes and suddenly emotion and pain win out and there is only darkness for a time, but this time the darkness of peace and home.
The Harvest was good and Nottingham was quiet, Sir Guy made forays into Sherwood but never found anything as the men waited and readied for the Winter. Will watched and laughed as Sir Guy kept just missing them and one night decided to see if he could confuse them, so left a false trail to lead deep into Sherwood.
On an all but moonless night, the trail was found. In the darkening woods, they watched their step as Sherwood was quiet; their horses shied at the smallest movement. It was one of the older men who heard it first; a stifled laugh and they all grew quiet, a flash of red in the Green catches his eye. Will’s not paying enough attention till suddenly his tree is shaking and he’s on the ground, his knife drawn and horn at his lips, but not quick enough. As the lonely sound of the horn rings out through Sherwood, his knife is kicked away and Sir Guy smirks as his sword rests on Will’s throat,
“My, my, what do we have here? I believe we’ve caught ourselves a small prize tonight, lads.”
All the words he means to say seem to dry up in Will’s throat, he should be defiant, but his only thought is they’ll have heard the horn. The ground is far too cold and hard against his back as a rope appears, he struggles desperately fighting with everything he has and praying that Robin and the others will be in time. Time can’t seem to make up its mind whether to be too fast or too slow as they tie him up, laughing and cursing while he fights back. Sir Guy puts a stop to it, slapping Will,
“You’re ours now, boy, and in a few days you’ll die but for now, we’ll break you. A foolish thief, barely worth the rope to hang you or flay you, but oh the Sheriff will be pleased.”
Then the long walk begins, dragged behind a horse, Will’s walked in Sherwood since he was a lad but tonight; it seems he finds every stone and root along the road and as the light dawns, they reach Nottingham. Women who have known him since he was all knees stop and stare at the bruised and weary figure behind Sir Guy’s horse. Sir Guy smiles and nods to everyone, he is bringing the Sheriff one of Robin’s men. They will truly see how weak Robin is when this boy breaks and crumbles in the dungeons. Will tries to keep his head up, he won’t bow, he won’t show his fear, keep straight, keep sure, he’s Robin’s squire, a man of Sherwood. The walk takes too long, all through town, the wakening market and into the castle’s courtyard where the Sheriff laughs and now Will finds words as the Sheriff congratulates Sir Guy, Will spits on the ground,
“Ye’ll get naught from me but blood!”
“You dare to speak to me, outlaw? For that, you will suffer as you live and die, I would have been merciful and just sent you only to the noose, but now a traitor’s death. Chain him!”
Throughout the courtyard the Sheriff’s voice rings as does the slap across Will’s face before he’s dragged to the forge, eyes turn away from him; whatever sympathy there may be is hidden for fear of the Sheriff’s wrath. Cold and white at a window, Marian looks down praying that the Sheriff has not seen her yet as she turns. The anvil rings out as she can see clearly; Will, looking stricken and defiant, and she turns to cry. Then she must prepare, be strong for him, for Robin and Will who will not hang in three days time, they will save him.
Below he is pulled into the castle and down into the dark depths of the dungeon where the chains are looped through the wall and the Sheriff grins,
“For three days, you will know only pain, boy, till I bring you to the sun and your last day. Robin will try to save you, I’m sure and then he shall be mine too and you will die.”
The words eat into Will and so he doesn’t notice the whip till pain shoots across his back and he bites his lip, he won’t scream,
“Now, you will tell me how to find the others, the pain will not stop if you do but at least you will perhaps not go as deeply into Hell.”
In answer Will spits again at the Sheriff’s feet and is met with a resounding crack,
“Do enjoy yourself, keep him alive, they must see him bleeding and broken in three days time.”
Then the pain begins, he can feel each stroke, but he will not scream, not give them his cries so his lip soon bleeds as freely as his back. Finally pain gives a small release and he swoons pulling against the iron chains that hold him upright; only to be woken again with cold water that creates new horrors. With no light in the darkness but a few candles, Will has no idea how long it is till they leave him: hanging by iron and bleeding, his shirt is gone so he shivers as his body searches for some type of rest. The other prisoners watch him, whispering quiet prayers for the brave outlaw, too young lad, good man, he’ll save you. Though Will hears none of their voices lost in pain and guilt.
The next day is as the first, they feed him at least, a bit of bread and water, carried by a trembling servant who keeps her eyes down afraid to look at the outlaw though she sees all they have done. Nottingham will know, Sherwood will know, he will not be forgotten in the darkness, her words carry up through the stone to Marian, to Robin, anger is stirred deep within in the Green for a lad, a thief, a man of Nottingham.
On the second day, the priest comes proud and confident beside the Sheriff, his eyes keep far from the dirt and prisoners to look at the outlaw,
“Clearly one of the Devil’s, look at that hair,”
With a grimacing gesture he pulls Will’s head back, pulling on his firey hair now dampened by sweat and pain and blood,
“Repent now, outlaw, tell us where the others our and perhaps only the gallows will await you. Dare not promise heaven to such as you, perhaps the Lord will be forgiving and let you into Purgatory.”
Words are harder now, his mouth chapped and bleeding, but Will speaks,
“I am Robin’s man an ‘ave naught to repent o’.”
His head is wrenched back by smooth white hands as the priest looks into his eyes,
“Then the Devil will know you!”
Then the pain begins again, the cycle seeming constant and never ending, stripes across his back, a few moments of blessed darkness before the water strikes again. The third day is just more pain, through the laughter a few words come through, the gallows are set as is the trap.
When finally they leave, he hangs, blood crusting on his wrists and back, he should pray, ready himself for death but that takes too much thought. He has not betrayed Robin, he is still Robin’s man unto death as in the old stories, he is loyal and true though he be but a pedlar’s son. A hand touches his cheek and Will flinches away and he hears a soft voice,
“Shh, Will, is but Marian. Oh what have they done to you?”
He’s afraid to open his eyes for surely she must be a fading dream, he will die tomorrow, the gallows are erected. Yet slowly he dares to see her dark hair and eyes of compassion, Nottingham’s Lady,
“Nay, do not speak, he will come, Will.”
In a croaking and tired voice he’s able to manage,
“Didna break.”
Marian falters at that, but her hand never stirs,
“Nay, you are his man and he will bring you safe.”
Then ever so gently, she kisses his forehead and disappears into the darkness again. Will’s not sure if he dreamed the moment or not.
Too soon morning comes and with it the Sheriff’s laughter as Will is lowered from his chains, stumbling and weary but not broken not truly. They have bloodied him, but he has not broken. The walk to the courtyard seems so long, up the dark stairs, to see the cold light of day, no sun shines today for it hides behind deep clouds and Nottingham is silent. A cart awaits and Will is pulled up roughly to stand and be shown to all the world. He stands tall and true though his back is bleeding and seems not part of him.
Then Nottingham fades into his mother’s eyes watching her outlaw son go to die and he almost breaks for her. How can he ask forgiveness for serving Robin? How can he have betrayed her so?
Too soon he stands on the wooden gallows, the chains removed as his hands are bound behind his back and the Sheriff laughs,
“Any last requests, boy?”
He finds the word somewhere deep within himself and Will Scarlett blazes on the gallows,
“Let me fight, give me a sword an I will die as a man!”
For one long moment, he has stolen the Sheriff’s thunder and then a hood descends on his head as his crimes are read off against the Crown, against the Shire and what he will die for. As the last words echo in the chill morning air, a lilting horn calls out and the world shifts as a friend cuts him free and Will sees daylight again and chaos. The bearded face of Little John greets him with a complicated smile and worried eyes,
“Can ye fight, my friend?”
Will can’t speak, he’s too tired, too mazed to even think, but takes the sword John hands him and he fights once more, finding a way out of Nottingham. He has no idea how they won, how they escaped only that soon they were in Sherwood and Robin was there and looking at him with eyes full of pride and worry. John speaks first his voice gravely and unsure,
“Thought I’d lost a good sparrin’ partner.”
Green eyes peer up at him, not sure what he can mean, “Forgive me.”
Again its John who speaks, Robin has no words yet, Tuck is watching and worrying for Will, and fire burns in all their eyes for what has been done to him,
“None o’that, wouldna be Sherwood without ye.”
Will finds tears in his eyes and suddenly emotion and pain win out and there is only darkness for a time, but this time the darkness of peace and home.
