Polo and Dreameh's Medieval RP.

Archer flinched at the reply, clenching his jaw as his words backing up on him. Suddenly the world wasn't so much of a joke anymore. He swallowed nervously.
"My decision is final." The man said firmly, and that was all it took for the hangman to be urging him onto an upturned bucket, and yank the noose over his head. It took all Archer's might not to wet himself in fear. He started to tap his foot against the bucket, feeling the ground disappear around the edge of his boots.
How could this man be doing this to him? Threatening the duke was hardly worth dying for.
Is this what I get for helping out a little boy? He thought to himself. Does God really hate me this much?
But then, the mask man surprised him. He began scolding the hangman for going too fast. Both the hangman and Archer glanced at the mask man with confused frowns. The small amount of people watching murmured uncertainly to themselves.
Not only did he scold, however, he began to get his knickers in a twist, much to Archer's amusement. When the hangman finally loosened the noose from his neck he found himself smirking, much to his own surprise.
He couldn't help it. This man was more than just a worker of the duke, he had power!
Once he was freed, Archer grinned deviantly around the courtyard, then jumped coolly back onto firm ground. The further away he got from that noose, the better. But when he looked around for the man who'd supposedly saved his life, he saw him disappearing off behind a pair of doors. Giving the 'Frederick' a final look he jogged through the thin crowd towards the mask man.
"Squire... Hey, squire! Wait. A moment more of your time. Come on," he caught the door before it slammed in his face. "Hear me out, okay?"
Sighing, he rubbed his neck, cringing at the thought that it had a rope around it earlier. "Listen, I don't say this often so don't expect it again-... But, thank you. I owe you my life."

"Squire... Hey, squire! Wait. A moment more of your time. Come on," A voice called behind him, but Derek ignored it, striding on as he passed through a door into the local tavern, keen to blow off some steam before his journey. Archer caught the door, and added breathlessly, "Hear me out, okay?"
With a weary sigh, Derek turned, raising an eyebrow at Archer. "Go on, then." He grunted brusquely.
"Listen, I don't say this often so don't expect it again-... But, thank you. I owe you my life." Derek nodded in appreciation for the man's thanks, and replied simply, "Don't mention it." His voice lost a little of its stiff edge, but his face still remained firmly unsmiling as he added, "Duke Isaac is neither kind nor fair, and I don't know what you did to offend him, but it can't have been bad enough to warrant your death. Still..." He paused, turning to nod at the barkeeper, who pushed two pints of beer toward him. Derek lifted them, and handed one to Archer, "You get yourself into an awful lot of trouble awfully quickly, don't you?" He took a sip of beer, then sighed in relief, rubbing his face wearily. It had been a stressful couple of days.
"What did you do to offend old Isaac anyway? I've not seen him so bent out of shape in a while."
Derek took a seat at the bar, and kicked out the stool beside him for Archer. Ordinarily he was not one to socialize, but given that he would soon be leaving the village, he didn't see the harm it taking a little time to relax. Besides, he was keen to hear this story... Anything that involved offending his cruel father was enjoyable to him. Derek had never quite forgiven the man for his harsh treatment twelve years ago... Not that it was surprising, really. Every glance in a mirror served as a reminder...
Frowning, Derek stared down at his vague reflection rippling on the surface of his beer. He could just make out the blurry white form that was his mask, permanently covering the left side of his face. He felt his jaw clench in furious indignation. It was unfair that he should suffer a fate so cruelly permanent... After all, a half-face was always hideous, regardless of how handsome the remaining half may be.
Even when he finally met his future wife, he doubted the woman would ever dare look him in the eye. Nobody ever seemed to any more.

"Duke Isaac is neither kind nor fair, and I don't know what you did to offend him, but it can't have been bad enough to warrant your death."
Archer felt a weight roll off his shoulders for the first time, although he wasn't sure why it was so reassuring to have someone finally believe that he wasn't an extremely bad person.
"Still... You get yourself into an awful lot of trouble awfully quickly, don't you?" Archer accepted the pint of beer and sipped it gratefully, smiling slightly at the man's comment.
"It comes with the package." He replied, winking.
"What did you do to offend old Isaac anyway? I've not seen him so bent out of shape in a while." They sat down, and Archer hunched over his pint rather protectively, frowning to himself. He wasn't much keen to share with a stranger about a group of children who he cared about, as it was one of his weaknesses, and he wasn't risking it. Even to the man who'd just saved his life.
Besides which, he wasn't sure what he'd do if any of them got hurt because of him.
"Whatever was written on that scroll you read doesn't matter. The Duke would have had be hanged for stealing flour, if he wanted to." His eyes shadowed over slightly at the thought of that vile human being. "The black and white of it is, he's wanted me dead for a while. Just by showing my face I'd practically already signed my death warrant. The charges were just an excuse to him." His hand tightened around the steel mug, so hard his knuckles went white. "The reasons behind it are personal to me. You don't need to know why. Just that I said enough to him to turn his face burgundy with rage." One side of his mouth lifted in bitter-sweet pride of his achievement, and he took another sip from his drink.

Derek frowned at Archer as he went on to bitterly explain the duke's hatred toward him, cryptically avoiding any sort of real information, and Derek soon grew annoyed. His response was raising more questions than it answered.
"The reasons behind it are personal to me." Archer finished at last, his voice firm, "You don't need to know why. Just that I said enough to him to turn his face burgundy with rage." Derek's eyes narrowed at he watched Archer take a smug sip from his drink, and he replied crisply, "I should think, sir, that if anybody should know these reasons, it ought to be me. After all, I just risked my own credibility freeing you on an impulse, you know." He downed the last of his beer, and set the glass heavily back on the counter.
"Believe me, I get no special treatment from the Duke. He gives no quarter, and I ask none. Going against his decision is sure to prove an inconvenience for me, so I suggest you take this irksome secrecy of yours elsewhere."
With an irritable huff, Derek stood, resting a hand on his hip as he considered Archer.
Just what did you do to make Father hate you so much...? He may be generally unfair and bad tempered to everybody, but I've never known him to kill a man completely without cause. Besides, I know of his grudges, and you are not on that list.
He pursed his lips, curiosity piqued by the mystery shrouding the man before him. Studying Archer through tired green eyes, Derek caught a glimpse of a scarf hanging around the man's neck, and he felt a flicker of familiarity scuttle through him.
"Where did you get this...?" He asked, stepping forward to lift the end of the scarf in his gloved hand. He frowned, then removed his leather glove, and touched the soft material. Nostalgia rocketed through him, and Derek grasped the scarf tightly as he repeated, threateningly this time, "Where did you get this?! Where is the man you stole it from?" His eyes flashed as he snatched up the end of the scarf, and flipped it to see his family's crest clearly embroidered there. A low growl rose in his throat, and his shoulders lifted like the rising hackles of a fighting dog.
This is the scarf I gave to Will! If this man killed him to take it, then so help me God...

Archer completely ignored the annoyed glare he was receiving from the masked man, and concentrated on sipping his drink. The thought that he was supposed to be dead at that point was enough to make him want to finish it and get another pint.
Besides, he never asked for this man's approval. Archer was an outlaw, and this man was some sort of lawman. Outlaws didn't tell lawmen anything, and he'd already said enough. Too much.
"I should think, sir, that if anybody should know these reasons, it ought to be me. After all, I just risked my own credibility freeing you on an impulse, you know."
"Yeah, well." Archer growled defensively, gulping down a few mouthfuls of beer. "I didn't ask you to."
"Believe me, I get no special treatment from the Duke. He gives no quarter, and I ask none. Going against his decision is sure to prove an inconvenience for me, so I suggest you take this irksome secrecy of yours elsewhere."
Archer laughed into his mug, seemingly amused by the look of annoyance he had earned. Secrecy? Ha! Says the man who wouldn't even tell Archer his name!
Besides, he didn't 'do' feeling guilty for other people. If they got punished for helping him out, that was there problem. In times like this it was every man for himself. Archer travelled alone, and he carried his personal problems with him.
The mask man studied him for a moment, and Archer glared accusingly at him. What the Hell was he looking at?
Then a hand found one of his scarves - a thin, blue, well-sewn rag with a family crest embroidered on the end. He muttered something. Archer attempted to fight the touch, wriggling away as the hand wrapped around his one prosed possession, the one thing left he had of his best friend. The masked man found the embroidery - and he must have recognised the emblem as property of the duke's, because his face scrunched into a suddenly furious frown.
"Where did you get this?! Where is the man you stole it from?"
The man yanked at his scarf, thus momentarily strangling Archer in the process, and Archer grabbed the scarf and shoved him away, yanking the scarf protectively from his strong hand. Why was it this man's business, if he hated the duke so much?
"It was given to me!" He spat, tucking it back under his jacket. "A long time ago." He straightened up, eyeing the nearest exit before he could be dragged to the hanging post again.
"Anything else?" He snapped. "Do you want to take my whole life story, too?" He glared at the man with mirroring hatred. Damn him! Damn him with his posh clothes and educated language!
"What do you want with me, squire? Huh?" His eyes narrowed. "Why did you save me? If I'm so 'irksome' why didn't you leave me to hang?"

"It was given to me!" Archer spat, yanking the scarf back and tucking it safely under his jacket, "A long time ago." A snarl rose on Derek's lips, his eyes boiling with fury as concern for his old friend nibbled impishly at his chest. He knew that it was Will's scarf, there was no question about it... So how had this monster of a man come about the thing?
Shaking his thoughts aside, Derek turned his glare back to Archer and opened his mouth to speak, only to realize that the other man was still talking. Silently fuming, he shut his mouth, and forced himself to listen.
"What do you want with me, squire? Huh?" He demanded savagely, "Why did you save me? If I'm so 'irksome' why didn't you leave me to hang?"
"Because I thought you were an honest man!" Derek spat instantly, stepping threateningly closer to Archer, "I thought you were an honest man falsely accused of his crime, but I guess I must be wrong if you can stand here and lie to my face!"
The visible side of Derek's face contorted into a cruel snarl, and his fingers closed automatically around Archer's throat as he stepped closer.
"I recognize the Argyle crest when I see it, Archer." He stated with dangerous softness, "Now you will tell me what became of the man who owned that scarf, or I swear to God I'll pluck it from around your filthy liar's neck when you lie dead at my feet." He dropped his hands to Archer's collar, but his grip tightened considerably, and his voice rose an octave in urgency as he demanded harshly, "Tell me, God damn you!"

"Because I thought you were an honest man!" The man replied angrily, and Archer just laughed in his face. The naivety was ironic, really. It would have been thought that a man as clever as this one would have discovered something so obvious by now. Archer was an outlaw. Of course he wasn't an honest man! "I thought you were an honest man falsely accused of his crime, but I guess I must be wrong if you can stand here and lie to my face!"
Archer frowned. When had he lied to this man's face?
Before he could understand what was going on, the stranger stepped forward and wrapped a hand around Archer's throat, not quite tight enough to cut off his air ways, but certainly tight enough to hurt. He clenched his jaw, bracing himself for the moment the breath was taken from him.
He would not give in. This man had taken enough from him already. He deserved to keep this one thing to himself, didn't he?
"I recognize the Argyle crest when I see it, Archer." The man murmured calmly in his ear. Archer's nostrils flared as he felt his throat begin to swell. "Now you will tell me what became of the man who owned that scarf, or I swear to God I'll pluck it from around your filthy liar's neck when you lie dead at my feet." He released Archer's throat, leaving him only a brief moment to recover until his collar was grabbed, and a half-masked face was inches from his.
"Tell me, God damn you!"
"It..." He began, but his voice was strangled. He coughed his throat dry, then continued breathlessly. "I told you, it was given to me." He gasped. "As a boy. It's the last good thing I have left of my childhood." His gaze hardened, although beads of sweat were forming on his brow. "Is that good enough for you?"
With all his might he managed to shove the other man off his jacket, and he took a step back. His throat bore no long-lasting mark from the attack, but his throat was still burning. He coughed a few more times then straightened up, his eyes burning.
"If you don't believe me..." He opened his arms weakly and lifted his chin, in almost a christ-like fashion. "Then kill me now."
But I'm not letting you take it from me. Not this.

"It... I told you, it was given to me." Archer coughed disjointedly, "As a boy. It's the last good thing I have left of my childhood. Is that good enough for you?" These words stunned Derek momentarily, and he automatically released Archer when he pulled away. With a look of dawning comprehension, Derek just stood there, utterly shocked, and watched as Archer stepped back and spread his arms.
"If you don't believe me..." He gasped, "Then kill me now."
Eyes wide, Derek stared up at his old friend, finally registering all the familiar features in his now adult face. It had been so long, and Derek had so expected never to see Will again that this possibility had never so much as crossed his mind... Yet here stood the reality before him, clear as day.
Without a word, Derek drew his sword and pointed it directly at Archer's throat. Then, quietly, he murmured, "You know, it's funny... Usually if somebody steals my things and points a sword at me, I'll stab him clean through the chest." He slid his sword back into its scabbard, and looked back at Archer as he said, "I wondered, at first, why I didn't do that to you, and I realized that it was because you reminded me of somebody... Of a boy that I used to know; many, many years ago."
Derek's lips twitched, perhaps in that half-remembered impulse reminiscent of a smile, and he murmured quietly, just loud enough for Archer to hear, "Welcome home, William Danforth."
With that, Derek raised a hand to his old friend, and a weight the mass of the world was lifted from his shoulders.
So you're alive after all, William... This certainly is a surprise... Although whether or not it is to be a pleasant one, I'm afraid I can't yet say...

The look on the masked man's face was unreadable for a few painful moments, then - to Archer's alarm - drew his sword and pointed it right at Archer's throat. He cursed himself for leaving his weapon in the village, and jerked his chin further towards the sky.
The stranger was actually going to kill him, right after saving his life.
Archer bit back a delirious bark of laughter.
"You know, it's funny... Usually if somebody steals my things and points a sword at me, I'll stab him clean through the chest."
Only half listening Archer sucked in a deep breath, preparing for the deathly blow, when the frigid metal of the sword disappeared from his throat and he looked up, puzzled, as the man slid the sword back into it's holder.
"I wondered, at first, why I didn't do that to you, and I realized that it was because you reminded me of somebody... Of a boy that I used to know; many, many years ago."
Frown furrowing, Archer stared at the man, his mouth slightly ajar, and flicked his blue eyes over the man's white mask, only covering half his face, the other half slightly hidden by shadow.
It can't be... Archer thought, subconsciously shaking his head. No.. No, it can't be you.
A hand was raised in a polite offer of a handshake. Archer didn't take it. "Welcome home, William Danforth."
That name... THAT name!
Shaking his head desperately, Archer took a step back, as if struck by an invisible blow. He didn't accept the handshake, nor did he look at the man's face any longer. The thought that this man... This man, with the mask and the power to take his life, could be the same little boy who he'd been friends with all those years ago.
Twelve years. He'd spent twelve years thinking this man - Derek - was dead. He couldn't just let something like that go in a heartbeat.
So, looking far more shaken now than when he'd been prepared to throw his life away for one speck of truth, he turned away and braced each hand against the bar table, staring down at the rough mahogany with a bloodless face.
He stood there for a long time, panting with shock, and when words finally came to him, they weren't at all topic-related. In fact, the topic was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.
"Take me back to the village." He murmured, barely audible, still too afraid to look at Derek's mask, too afraid to find out what it was hiding. "I left my horse in the village. Get me a ride so I can pick him up."

When Archer - or William, he supposed - did not take his hand, Derek dropped it back to his side, hiding it in his pocket, and watched his old friend stumble backwards in shock, pale and panting. He waited in a dignified fashion for the man's shock to wear off, although inwardly he felt the same way. He had always believed - or perhaps just hoped - that William was still alive, but he had never expected to see the boy (or in this case, man) again. To be honest, it made for some rather complicated emotions... Though of course he was pleased to see his old friend alive and unscathed, Derek was painfully unsure of his feelings toward this man. After all, it had been for Will's sake that he had taken the punishment that had robbed him of so very much... The truth was, in the past twelve years, he had grown to resent the very man that he had so willingly suffered to save. The fact that Will had bolted and abandoned him - at least as far as he knew - certainly did nothing to alleviate the resentment, either.
Even so, there was a time when this man had been the boy that he had been fonder of than any other person in the world. It was a complicated situation to face. Evidently, Archer thought so too, because at that moment he murmured hoarsely, "Take me back to the village. I left my horse in the village. Get me a ride so I can pick him up."
"Are you telling me what to do?" Derek asked, narrowing his eyes coldly, "Because I feel I shouldn't have to remind you that in my town, if you want a favour, it wouldn't hurt to say 'please'." He drew himself up to his full height, grim-faced, and retained his authoritative attitude as he gave Archer a firm shove between the shoulders, urging him toward the door.
"Go on, then." He said, accompanying his old friend out of the tavern and out onto the cobbled street outside, "Tell me where exactly you left this horse, and I'll arrange a ride for you... For old time's sake."
But don't expect any more favours from me, Archer, if you're going to be a stranger. You should know by now that with me, it's all or nothing.

"Are you telling me what to do?"
Archer's nostrils flared at the coldness in Derek's voice, and it only turned his horror to fury. How dare this man challenge him after everything he'd been through! He clutched the corners of the table, so hard his knuckled burned white.
"Because I feel I shouldn't have to remind you that in my town, if you want a favour, it wouldn't hurt to say 'please'."
Archer finally looked up, his eyes blazing at the man before him, as if he wished for him to burn on the spot. So it was his town, was it?
At the feeling of a firm hand pushing him towards the door, however, Archer seemed to come back to his senses. He shrugged off the man's touch, shooting him a filthy look before hesitantly heading out the inn, pulling up his hood out of habit.
"Go on, then." Derek urged. "Tell me where exactly you left this horse, and I'll arrange a ride for you... For old time's sake."
"He's a free-roaming horse." Archer murmured, still refusing to look Derek in the eye. "He could be anywhere within a five-mile radius by now." But he inhaled a breath anyway and replied, more seriously, "He'll probably be down by the river. But I can summon him from close-by as long as it isn't too windy."
He was running away, he realised, and clenched his jaw. He'd always ran away from the problem, it was one of the many faults about him. Although it wasn't like he'd had much of a choice since he'd been thrown out of his home. And although he'd missed his best friend terribly, he'd only remembered him how he wanted to remember him, because he didn't want to remember the worst of a dead man.
In reality, Derek's actions had cursed him, banished his father, widowed his mother and thrown him out of his own home. Twelve years later, and he'd still have to live the rest of his life letting his mother believe he was dead.
"Besides which, there're a couple of people I need to see."

Derek nodded mutely at Archer's response. A 'free roaming' horse, huh? Well, that was interesting. No doubt a stolen animal. Sighing wearily, he shook his head, and walked over to a nearby carriage. The driver was resting, sitting cross-legged beside the street with a sandwich in his hands. "Good day, Frank." Derek greeted him, walking over. The driver coughed in surprise, nearly choking on his mouthful of sandwich, and thumped his chest in an attempt to swallow it. At last he managed it, and muttered breathlessly with streaming eyes, "G-Good day, Sir."
"May I borrow this?" Derek asked, laying a hand on the carriage, "I shall return it before the day is out." Frank seemed to consider this a moment, then nodded, grunting roughly, "Of course, sir. Right you are."
"Thank you."
With that, Derek swung himself elegantly into the driver's seat, and leaned over to open the door of the carriage for Archer.
"Climb in." He told the man, his tone rather sharper than he had intended. The truth was, this Archer's oblivious attitude was beginning to irritate him. It was as though their discussion a moment ago had never happened... As though that life-changing moment of realization had slipped by without so much as a blink of response from those involved.

The two drove in silence, and it was not a comfortable one. The only sounds were the clip-clopping of the horse's hooves, and the occasional swish of Derek's whip. At last they reached the outskirts of the village; a quiet, peaceful area with a river trickling by. Derek did not stop immediately, but instead drove the carriage across the little cobbled bridge, pulling up beside the path leading out of town, with the river on their left, flanked by a tall apple tree with boughs reaching up to the sky.
"Here we are, then." Derek said quietly, dropping the reins. He did not turn around. There was a long moment of tense silence, until finally he looked over his shoulder at his friend, peering at him through his mask.
"I'm glad you're alive, Will." He stated honestly, offering no further sentiments. After all, he could not honestly say that he was pleased to see the man, or that he had missed him. Honestly, Derek was still unsure of how he felt...
"I'll see you around then." Derek finished in a non-committal mutter, turning back to face the horse's ears as he waited for Archer to exit the carriage. The way he saw it, the man's silence had stated his choice. It was to be as though they had never met. And if, perchance, the pair were to meet again, then it would be as polite strangers, and nothing more.
Outwardly, Derek seemed unconcerned, but inwardly his heart was bereft with aching turmoil. To let go of his friendship with Will was never what he had wanted. After all, those days had been the happiest of his life... But at the same time, it was that very happiness that had caused all the suffering he had endured since.
To choose between the pleasure and pain was a cruel, cruel choice.

They approached the carriage and Archer let Derek do all the talking. He wasn't much in the mood for speaking to anyone, anyway. He was still in a state of shock, anyway, and he wasn't all that sure how he felt. He should have been hugging his friend by now, asking him how he'd been, reminiscing the 'good times', maybe. But all he could think about was that he'd been idolising a young boy he had mourned twelve years ago and suffered in more ways than one, and all this time, Derek had been alive. He'd come home so many times to drop off a few coins for his mother and the children, and all this time he'd been yards away from his best friend.
They climbed into the carriage, and Archer rested his muddy boots on the silk-lined seating, smearing filthy brown stains all over the expensive fabric.
After a long silence, Derek stopped the cart on the outskirts of Locksley and turned to him. The visible section of his face was frowning. Archer averted his eyes quickly, pretending to search for his horse. "I'm glad you're alive, Will."
"And I, you." He replied automatically, although he was unsure whether even that was true. Yes, he'd spent years wishing his friend hadn't died in his mind, and there were many questions that had been left unanswered. But through the years he'd had time to let it rest, to the point that he didn't even want answers. Better to live in denial than have to face the painful truth.
"I'll see you around then."
Archer nodded. He'd already got the point.
He turned his head towards the river, pinched two fingers in his mouth and whistled a brief, three-note phrase. He repeated once, twice, thrice, then sat back in the cart and waited. Knowing his Little Brother it'd take him hours to get there, especially if there was food around.
He sat there for a moment, looking uncomfortably troubled, still facing away from Derek, until he finally mumbled, "I could have been someone, you know."
He swallowed, his eyes flicking towards the hills in search for his blasted pony. He wasn't sure why he was rambling, but now he'd started he couldn't find it in him to stop. Problems he'd had to face on his own were now dribbling from his lips like water, and he found himself taking it out on the one person he wished he'd never lost.
"I didn't choose to live like this. Of course, I wouldn't expect you to understand, but-... Well, I guess you've never had to lift a finger to get your next meal, right?" He asked, smiling bitterly.

Derek sat tensely in his seat while Archer whistled for his horse, and a moment later, the silence returned. This time, however, it lasted only a few moments before Archer murmured quietly, "I could have been someone, you know."
"What?" Derek grunted, turning to the man with a questioning glance. What was that supposed to mean?
"I didn't choose to live like this. Of course, I wouldn't expect you to understand, but-... Well, I guess you've never had to lift a finger to get your next meal, right?" Derek's frown deepened at the sight of the bitter smile on Archer's lips, and after a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he asked quietly, "Are you blaming me, William?" His eyes held his friend's for a long moment, blazing with intensity, and then he turned away, staring ahead of him again.
"That's fine with me." He said at last, his voice as calm as the river running by beside them. He took a deep breath, and admitted softly, "I've blamed you too over the years. You may see my life as luxury, Will, but honestly, I'd give anything to trade with you. Money means nothing in this world... There are things worth so much more." He dropped his gaze to his gloved hands, clenching into fists in his lap.
I gave up everything to save your life, William. Derek thought silently to himself, although he did not dare say it. I lost it all to save you, and then I lost you, too. But I wouldn't expect you to understand that.
He snorted in bitter amusement at his sarcastic thoughts, and shook his head.
"It's been twelve years." He mused quietly, speaking out loud to William again, "If I ever expected this moment to come, I did not expect it to be like this."

There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and Archer half hoped it would be broken by the sound of hooves brushing through grass, but his Little Brother wasn't anywhere to be seen yet. He cursed silently to himself.
"Are you blaming me, William?"
They met eyes slowly, and Archer raised a questioning eyebrow, shooting Derek a smug look. I don't know, he thought. Am I? I mean, if you hadn't done what you did, maybe my father and mother might still together, and maybe I'd be able to walk through my home town without having to hide my identity out of blood-curdling shame. I don't know, Derek. It's up to you.
He looked away again, resting his arm loosely on his knee. He didn't know what to think, but he'd been living on his own for so long, left with so many negative emotions, he wasn't sure he wanted to control them anymore.
"That's fine with me. Silence, then "I've blamed you too over the years. You may see my life as luxury, Will, but honestly, I'd give anything to trade with you. Money means nothing in this world... There are things worth so much more."
Archer nearly laughed outloud.
"It's been twelve years. If I ever expected this moment to come, I did not expect it to be like this."
"Yeah, well, neither did I." Archer growled, just as his not-so-trusty steed trotted lazily over the hill with a long strand of grass poking out of it's mouth. "But let me tell you something, Derek," he finally turned round and looked the masked man in the eye, his lip curled into a snarl. "You wouldn't last five minutes living my life." He clenched his jaw. "But you're right, there are more important things than money. Like a family, a home, a name that isn't disgraced..." He looked away, feeling his own fist begin to tremble with anger. "All of which you - what you did - took from me."
He lifted his muddy boots off the seat and jumped skilfully off the cart, whistling Little Brother impatiently.
"I would give anything to be able to speak to my mother again." He muttered, only half-speaking to Derek now, and caught the reins of his horse before it tripped over them.
"I admit, Derek, that I idolised you when you were dead, and nothing but a memory to me." He pulled his eyes up to look at the man for one last time, then murmured, "I wish I could go back to that."

He was about to mount, when a little boy ran from the trees. carrying a small, wooden sword.
"Sir Archer! Sir Archer!" He opened his little arms and practically fell into a hug, his sword skimming the horse by inches. His face was red from puffing. "I thought you were dead. They said you'd been hung. I thought- I thought I'd never see you again."
Half winded and completely forgetting Derek was there, Archer wrapped his arms around little John, ruffling his brown hair gently.
"Easy there, Johnny." He assured the boy. "I'm alive, that's the main thing."
"I'm sorry, sir." The boy whimpered, wiping a tear from his large eye. Archer sank to one knee so that he was at the boy's level. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have spoken up. I should have stopped before we ran into the Duke's path. I shouldn't have let you-"
"You did nothing wrong." Archer smiled warmly, despite his simmering fury at the conversation with Derek. "I stood up to him and I knew what would happen. You did a brave thing by speaking up, you should be proud of yourself."
The boy nodded, tearfully.
"Will I be as brave as you, one day, sir?" John asked.
Archer watched him for a moment, his smile sinking from his face. "You're already braver than I am, little John." He said, earnestly. "Besides, the Duke looked pretty funny, didn't he?"
The boy wiped his tears and giggled, his red face lighting up. "His face went so red I thought he was going to explode!"
They both laughed.
Then, it seemed that John had finally noticed the duke's carriage beside them, and his eyes set on Derek, with his white mask and serious face. H probably looked terrifying to a little boy. The blood left his face again. Archer frowned at him.
"Oh, please don't tell the Duke, sir!" He begged, his voice shaking. "Mama said he'll chop off my head!"
Archer followed the boy's gaze to Derek, and his eyes grew hard again. Don't you dare make him fear for his life, he warned. He's an eight year old boy. He doesn't deserve that burden on his shoulders.

Derek sat there, staring straight ahead, and listened to Archer's scolding. There were points when he wanted to defend himself, but Archer never paused to give him the chance, and eventually he just didn't see the point in fighting back any more. He was sore and hungry from the day's travels, stressed about his upcoming engagement and still slightly shocked from the meeting with Will, but above all, he was tired. He was tired of the politics, of his responsibilities and burdens, and he was tired of fighting, but most of all, he was just tired. So damn tired that he half wished he could just lie down and go to sleep, and only wake up again when the good returned to the world. Because, somehow, his world seemed to have lost all that.
He was still thinking about this when Archer jumped down from the carriage, and Derek cast him a glance as he turned back and finished, "I admit, Derek, that I idolised you when you were dead, and nothing but a memory to me. I wish I could go back to that."
At these words, Derek clenched his jaw, and turned his gaze to the opposite horizon, unwilling to show the hurt in his eyes. That was just a roundabout way of saying 'I wish you were dead', and it was not something he had expected from his best friend. Or at least, from the man who had once been his best friend... Even now, he realized, William still had some strange power over him. Every thing he said somehow stuck in Derek's mind for life. He would never forget the way he had felt about Will as a child... He missed that feeling. He missed everything from back then.

As if on cue with his nostalgia, one of the village children arrived on the scene, charging straight into Archer. Derek watched the exchange between the pair from where he sat on the carriage, until at last the child turned to him.
"Oh, please don't tell the Duke, sir!" The little boy begged shakily, "Mama said he'll chop off my head!"
Derek saw the fear in the boy's face, and his jaw clenched bitterly. No matter how many times it happened - and it happened an awful lot - it always hurt when people looked at him like that. It was not in his nature to be hated by so many, and when Archer's accusing gaze joined johnny's fearful one, Derek felt a familiar sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. It was the feeling of despair. A thing so heavy now that he just couldn't fight it any longer.
"The Duke need not know." Derek murmured quietly, "But stay out of his way from now on. Run along." His voice was firm, almost scolding, but Derek's intentions, at least, were kind. Even so, when the child ran away, the fear in his step was obvious. He was fleeing.
Sighing, Derek shook his head, and turned back to William.
"Archer," He said seriously, using the man's new name, "You are a good man. I see now that I was right not to have you hanged."
He lifted the reins, and the grey mare in front of the carriage lifted her head up, ears pricked eagerly.
"If you want nothing to do with me now," He went on, speaking in his usual official, lifeless tone, "Then I understand, but before you blame me for everything that's gone wrong in your life, remember this: What happened that day," He paused, unwilling to put that forbidden kiss into words, "I was not the only one there, William. It took both of us." His eyes narrowed, "And you went with it, too." That much was certainly true. He remembered flawlessly the intensity with which William had returned his kiss that day, and even more so the delighted gleam in his eyes the moment after. Back then, at least, it had been no mistake. Not his, nor Will's. It was nothing but a wonderful coincidence that, unfortunately, came with disastrous consequences.
Derek sighed under his breath, and said firmly, "I took the full blame then, William. In doing so I saved your life, and I very nearly lost mine..." He unconsciously touched the mask on his face, and shuddered as he went on, "I paid with my life to buy you a full pardon. It would seem that my attempts were unsuccessful, but even so," Derek clenched his jaw, "Perhaps you ought to consider more carefully who you wish death upon."
Part of him wanted to say more, but a long-nursed sense of resentment stilled his tongue, and eventually Derek just shook his head, and urged the mare pulling the carriage back onto the road.
He wanted to look back, but instead, he held his head high and drove on. A sense of unease had gradually settled over him, and now that he was leaving, Derek found himself silently wondering; if it was no longer the abstract thought of William keeping him going, then just what was it that gave him the strength to keep on holding up his head?
He supposed it was his duty to his people, if nothing else. His hope, at last, had been extinguished. He supposed, then, that it was time to meet his bride. After all, that was his obligation as the Duke's son.

Archer's glare softened slightly when Derek assured little John that he would not grass to the Duke about his slip of the tongue, and they both watched the young boy flee back towards the village, but with different expressions. Archer was awed by the little boy's bravery at times, and it surprised him sometimes how similar John was to him when he was that young. That was a reason why he always kept an eye out for him, to make sure he was alright. He had to be a hero to someone, right?
At the mention of his name, Archer turned his head back to Derek, raising an eyebrow. So it was to be 'Archer' again, instead of 'William'?
"You are a good man. I see now that I was right not to have you hanged."
He snorted. Yeah. Right not to have me hanged today. Tomorrow is another matter...
"[i]If you want nothing to do with me now,Then I understand, but before you blame me for everything that's gone wrong in your life, remember this:" Archer's frown furrowed, but he no longer felt the anger in him from before. There was something different in Derek's tone. Hurt. Despair. He masked it well, but Archer still knew his friend. Even twelve years later, he knew when Derek was trying to hide his feelings. "What happened that day, I was not the only one there, William. It took both of us."
Archer looked away, scrunching his eyes closed to block the memory from returning. He'd spent twelve years repressing that moment on that grassy hill, bickering playfully with his best friend about nothing in particular, and what happened after that... The moment that had ruined his life. He didn't want to remember how right it felt...
"And you went with it, too."
"Stop it," he begged shakily, turning to face the saddle of his horse. "Please, Derek. Stop."
"I took the full blame then, William. In doing so I saved your life, and I very nearly lost mine..." Archer rested his brow on his small saddle bag. Memories of Derek's screams from across Locksley echoed through his ears. Whispers in his conscience telling him he was going to get it too, that he was an ungodly child, that he'd killed his best friend...
"I paid with my life to buy you a full pardon. It would seem that my attempts were unsuccessful, but even so... Perhaps you ought to consider more carefully who you wish death upon."
There was a final, horrible silence, until the sound of hooves trotting down the muddy road filled Archer's ears, and he turned to watch his friend disappear away from him, his face now pale with guilt.
He was a fool. A selfish fool. How could he have said such things to a man who had saved his life... Twice? The middle of his brow creased and lifted, and his eyes twinkled longingly after his friend. Was that it? Was that the last time he would speak to Derek, after everything that had been said?
"You... Saved my life..." He whispered, then turned away and mounted Little Brother, ((That sounds so wrong... >.<)) and booted him firmly in the sides. With an angry snort they galloped to the woods.

Derek drove on through the town, urging the mare on with a casual flick of his wrist every now and then. Even so, his actions were automatic, for his mind was elsewhere. He was glad that he had been the first to leave, because to see William ride away from him was certainly not a sight he wanted in his memory. Already, the child within him ached for the absence of his best and oldest friend.
With a heavy sigh, Derek pushed his thoughts aside, and slowed the mare with a quiet murmur. He couldn't even remember driving back to the tavern, but somehow he had arrived there, and the carriage driver was waiting for him.
"Thank you, my good sir." Derek said, plucking a coin from his pocket, and flipping it to the man, who caught it in his hand with a grin showing his rotting teeth.
"'Twas my pleasure, young Duke." The man replied, petting his mare's head while Derek stepped down from the carriage. His face had creased into a heavy frown at the man's careless words. 'Young Duke'? Was that all he was - just the Duke's son? He supposed, really, that it was true. He had become a servant to his father over the years, albeit in fighting the man's cruel rule, and he had all but lost his identity along the way. He was a servant of his people, a pawn to alter the path of the duke, and nothing more. He couldn't remember the last time anybody had called him by his first name... Save, of course, for William.
William... Why did it come to this?
Sighing, Derek hid his frown, and walked on back to the Argyle mansion with his held held high, and his usual authoritative dignity in place. When he arrived back at the mansion, he found his butler - a man by the name of Smith - waiting with the Argyle carriage to take him back to the next town, where he would board the ship that would take him to be married.
With grim acceptance, Derek heaved a sigh, and let himself into the carriage. He welcomed the isolation of the enclosed space, and as the carriage began to move, Derek let his eyes close for what felt like the first time in weeks, though in reality it had probably been no longer than a day.
He leaned back, and allowed himself to rest at last as the carriage trundled steadily down the road, bouncing on a rut here and there, and rattling over pebbles on the way.

When Archer reached the forest he kept riding, right until he reached the rocky hills, a good few miles off the main road. Little Brother was no thoroughbred, but when it came to climbing rocky paths he was an expert, and they were able to get high up onto a small cliff, out the way of any unwanted wildlife, and were able to camp on a small ledge half way from the top.
Archer tied up his mount's reins, leaving him to graze, and made himself a small fire. He was cold, yes, but that wasn't why he'd built it. He needed to think.
For about an hour he sat, hunched over the small flame, and watched it flicker in the wind as he thought back to all the words he'd exchanged with his friend through the day. It had gone from 'your money or your life' to practically wishing his childhood friend were dead. How had he managed that? More importantly, how could he be such a fool?

The sound of a nearby horse and cart caught his attention, and Archer craned his neck to peer through the trees. He recognised the emblem on the cart immediately.
Cursing, he blew out the fire and leapt to his feet, and scrabbled down the loose, rocky slope until he was on flat ground once more. The cart was heading west towards the sea line, exactly where Derek had been heading the first time. He said he needed to head home for moe money, but now he'd got it, and Archer didn't know how long he planned on being away.
He considered his options: make a scene and get killed or arrested, leave his friend to sail overseas and risk never seeing him again, or... Well, he wasn't sure. But what he did know was that he couldn't let Derek leave with the bad blood between them.
His legs took him to the main traveller's road, and he jogged up to the cart, silent as a mouse, and glanced around to make sure there were no escorts but the man driving. Letting out a sigh of relief, he jogged right up to the cart, grabbed the ledge and hauled himself up onto the top, where the driver sat. Pulling a knife from inside his boot, Archer pressed it against the driver's throat, pulling his hood up to protect his face.
"Whatever you hear in this carriage you keep driving." He growled threateningly. "You got that, squire?"
Nervously, the man nodded.
"Good man." Archer replied, patting the butler roughly on the back, and climbed down the carriage until he was able to swing his legs through the gap above the door and land coolly in a sitting position opposite his best friend.
"I'm glad it was you." He murmured, resting his muddy boots over the clean, silk seating to the side of Derek. Mud was smeared into a foot-print shape on the floral material. "It would have been rather humiliating doing all that for a stranger." He smiled slightly, carefully. He wasn't yet allowed to make jokes, but somehow, he couldn't help himself. He'd missed his friend, and even thought he hadn't shown it in the most pleasant of ways, he was prepared to try again.

Derek was in a semi-conscious state between sleep and wakefulness, when suddenly the carriage lurched, and a nearby sound caught his attention. "Wha-" He grunted groggily, eyes widening as he saw a figure swing into the carriage beside him.
In a heartbeat, Derek had drawn his sword, but before he could swing it, the figure had landed on the seat beside him, and he recognized William's face in an instant. From somewhere within him, deep below the surprise of his friend's sudden arrival, and even below the lingering bitterness from his abrupt departure earlier, Derek felt a faint flicked of relief.
I didn't want to lose you again... He thought secretly, freezing for a moment, before slowly replacing his sword in its scabbard.
"You shouldn't jump out and scare people like that." Derek scolded irritably, scowling at his friend. It seemed that scolding was all he knew, nowadays. Luckily, William paid him no heed.
"I'm glad it was you." His friend said, smiling cheekily as he rested his feet on the now-muddy seat of the carriage, "It would have been rather humiliating doing all that for a stranger."
"Oh, so it was intentional?" Derek asked with cool sarcasm, "And here I was thinking you were trying to rob me again." His expression did not change, and it was difficult to tell whether or not Derek was joking. He offered no hint, but just sighed heavily, sweeping his loose hair away from his temples. It had escaped the confining clutches of its usual gelled-back style, and the way it brushed his face seemed to irritate Derek somewhat. He was always irked by little sensations of the skin, and this was no exception.
"Why are you here?" Derek demanded, his authoritative tone refusing to show the secret pleasure he felt in seeing William again. "Do you know how dangerous it was for you to burst in here?" He frowned, then glanced at his watch, "As it is I'll be arriving soon. If you're caught in here, it will cause trouble, you know."
He looked back at Will, eyes silently searching his friend's gaze.
What are you doing here? Why did you come back?

"Oh, so it was intentional? And here I was thinking you were trying to rob me again." Derek didn't look impressed, but Archer couldn't help but smile at him. He knew he was a scoundrel and he wasn't always proud of it, but this one time he couldn't help himself. Derek hadn't killed him, which meant he didn't hate him. That was a start.
He watched the man sweep a few strands of hair away from his face, and his mind flashed back to before the mask, before the kiss, when they'd been nothing but two innocent boys hiding from the Duke in order to be together. Back then prejudice didn't matter. Nor did the law, nor Heaven or Hell. They were happy. What had been so wrong with that?
Well, everything. But Archer wished he could turn back time and relive those moments again.
"Why are you here?" Derek demanded firmly, swiping the smile off Archer's face. He was about to reply, when Derek spoke again. "Do you know how dangerous it was for you to burst in here?"
I'm an outlaw, Derek, he wanted to say. Of course how knew how dangerous this is.
"As it is I'll be arriving soon. If you're caught in here, it will cause trouble, you know."
Archer raised an eyebrow. "Trouble for you, or me?" He asked, but didn't bother leaving the man to answer. He was still recovering from beating himself up earlier due to his disrespectful words, the last thing he needed was a clever comment from the man himself.
"I... I have missed you, you know." He mumbled seriously, bringing his muddy boots back onto the carriage floor, and leant his arms on his knees. "I haven't really been fair with you, and I know I acted like a coward earlier, but-" Sighing frustratedly he shook his head and rested it in his hands. "I've spent half my life running, Derek. I've had too much time to myself, too much time to think... I've not had anyone to talk to about these things, I don't know how to deal with-" He gestured to the masked man before him, relating back to their conversation before. It had been a stressful day, and he was struggling to digest it all.
"Listen, I understand that we don't have a lot of time today, but-... May I ask you for one last favour? I know I don't have much of a right anymore..." He ran his hand through his spiky hair, then over his thick, ruby brown stubble. "Wherever you're headed, can you postpone it? Just for one night? I need to talk to you..." He glanced upwards, gesturing to the driver. "In private." He dragged his blue eyes up to the masked man, and lifted his brow in a hopeful fashion.
"I... I just- Need to see you."

"Trouble for you, or me?" William retorted, and Derek raised an eyebrow. For both of us, of course. He thought silently, That's how it always works, isn't it? He might have given voice to his thoughts, but William left him no time, for the next moment he was murmuring, "I... I have missed you, you know." Derek looked at him questioningly, "I haven't really been fair with you, and I know I acted like a coward earlier, but-" Will broke off with a sigh, and when he saw his friend rest his head in his hands, Derek's expression softened slightly. He couldn't help but take pity on his old friend, even despite the resentment... "I've spent half my life running, Derek." Will went on quietly, "I've had too much time to myself, too much time to think... I've not had anyone to talk to about these things, I don't know how to deal with-" He broke off, gesturing vaguely to Derek, who grunted and looked away. "You and everybody else..." He muttered under his breath.
"Listen, I understand that we don't have a lot of time today, but-... May I ask you for one last favour? I know I don't have much of a right anymore... Wherever you're headed, can you postpone it? Just for one night? I need to talk to you... In private." Looking back at Will, Derek sighed, and automatically began replying, "Well, I'm on a tight schedule, so-" His friend's bright blue eyes met his, and Derek's objection died on his lips as he felt a long-forgotten stirring of fondness for his old friend. Resentful or not, he had missed William Danforth.
"I... I just-" Will muttered, "Need to see you..."
Derek took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair in a stressed fashion, and said at last, "I... Suppose I could make a plan." The he frowned, shaking his head, and added determinedly, "No, I will. I've not been fair to you either, Will. I owe you this much."
Plucking his pocketwatch from his pocket, Derek cast it a glance, then nodded briefly as he looked back at his friend.
"Meet me at the Bannered Mare inn, I'll be in room five. Try to lay low, if you can..." Derek's brow creased, his frown deepening further still, "In the public eye as I am, it would be better not to attract unwanted attention. Already my interference with your hanging is likely to cause all sorts of issues." Derek rubbed the right side of his face, looking incredibly weary. Usually he did not let it show, but with just the pair of them in the back of that carriage, it was obvious how Derek's responsibilities were draining him and bleeding him dry.
He was silent a moment, then cast Will a slightly softer glance, and amended, "Not that I regret that, of course. I'd do it again." His gaze fell to his watch, and he nodded briefly before saying, "You should go. We'll be arriving soon, and it won't do for you to be seen in here with me. Come to the inn any time after six, and I'll be there. Go now." He nodded to the door, ushering Will out of the carriage, "Go, before somebody sees."

When Derek seemed to consider his proposal, Archer exhaled a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure Derek would accept, since Archer had ruined his plans enough already, but it seemed their friendship was too great. Despite everything.
"No, I will. I've not been fair to you either, Will. I owe you this much."
"You owe me nothing, Derek." Archer replied, frowning slightly. If anything, he owed Derek his life. Twice. What else could overpower that debt?
"Meet me at the Bannered Mare inn, I'll be in room five. Try to lay low, if you can..." Archer hid the temptation to roll his eyes. Did he not already do that?
He thought back to the incident with the blonde and her father, and the backflip he'd made publicly into the town square. Okay, maybe he'd have to work on being discreet.
"In the public eye as I am, it would be better not to attract unwanted attention. Already my interference with your hanging is likely to cause all sorts of issues." Derek murmured, looking incredibly stressed, and Archer's brow creased in concern for his friend. Derek must have had a number of problems and pressures to deal with, but it didn't keep Archer's heart from sinking at his words. Was his friend really saying that he regret saving Archer's life? Well... It was only fair, in theory, but still... "Not that I regret that, of course. I'd do it again"
Sighing in evident relief, Archer allowed a cheeky smile. "Nice save," He teased quietly.
"You should go. We'll be arriving soon, and it won't do for you to be seen in here with me. Come to the inn any time after six, and I'll be there. Go now. Go, before somebody sees."
Archer took his time to stand, despite Derek's anxiety for him to leave. He whistled loudly out the window, although it wouldn't have surprised him if his Little Brother had been following them from a distance. "Don't sound too insistent," he scolded, sitting coolly back against the door and grabbing the roof of the carriage. "Or I may start to thing you're actually concerned about me." He winked, despite himself.
"I will see you there, Derek," he told the man, his smile sobering up as he lifted his legs out of the carriage. "You have my word."
Then, with a heavy thud, he flipped out of the carriage and landed awkwardly on his rump, skimming a tree by inches, and grunted at the dull pain. Riding would be painful for the rest of the day, if he wasn't careful.
With that he watched the cart disappear down the road, feeling a fraction of the weight lift off his shoulders now he knew he was one step closer to forgiveness; if not by the Lord, at least by his best friend.

Derek watched as Will stood, obviously planning to jump from the carriage, and he rolled his eyes at his friend as he teased, "Don't sound too insistent, or I may start to thing you're actually concerned about me."
"Oh, God forbid." Derek muttered sarcastically, shaking his head.
"I will see you there, Derek," Will promised solemnly, "You have my word."
"Very well." Derek agreed, inclining his head gently, "Then I shall hold you to it. Farewell." His eyes followed the flap of his friend's shirt as William leaped from the carriage, and then Derek turned his attention back to the road ahead, beginning to feel slightly more relaxed at last. After all that had happened - both recently and in the past - Derek was glad that William was attempting to make amends. For although he loathed William deeply, he could never forsake the brotherly love that he nurtured for his childhood friend. That, he knew, would live on in his heart forever.

With a sigh, Derek leaned back on his seat, and for the rest of the journey, he rested. When he arrived in the next town, however, it was to find a surprise awaiting him. As he climbed out of the carriage, he was met by a guard of three knights, the foremost of which stepped forward to meet him. "Good day, gentlemen." Derek greeted, "How may I-"
"Derek Argyle," The nearest knight interrupted sharply, voice sharp and gruff, and eyes nervously avoiding Derek's masked gaze as he unrolled a scroll of parchment, and began to read, "Under the orders of Duke Isaac Argyle, I hereby place you under arrest for aiding and assisting a prisoner on death row. To repent for your crime, you will hang by the neck until dead." With that, he rolled up the scroll, clearing his throat awkwardly, and nodded to his accomplices.
"What hogwash is this?" Derek demanded harshly, brow creasing into a heavy frown, "Am I to be punished for doing my job? For upholding my responsibility as a ruler on death row?"
"I don't make the rules, sir." The knight murmured apologetically, "I only enforce them. Now I recommend that you come quietly, or we'll have to resort to force." He slipped his sword threateningly from its scabbard, and Derek raised his head in a dignified fashion.
"I did not say I intended to resist." He pointed out coolly, "I merely feel that it is my right to speak out against this injustice. Just who does the duke think he is?" Derek's eyes narrowed furiously, but the knight just shrugged and shook his head, then stepped behind Derek and began binding his hands.
With a quiet dignity shrouded in smouldering fury, Derek stood with his head high, and allowed himself to be lead through the streets toward the gallows.
Very clever, father... Send your men to dispose of me outside of town, so the people have no chance to rise up against you. Derek's jaw clenched furiously, I knew you always loathed me standing up to your cruel plans, but to put your own son to death... You truly have fallen.
They soon reached the gallows, and Derek swallowed anxiously. It was after six. William would be waiting at the Bannered Mare for him, but he would never show, and his friend would be left thinking that he had broken his word. Then again, that could not be helped.
He felt his heartbeat quicken as the hanging post came into sight, and his footsteps slowed automatically.
"This is wrong!" Derek snapped, planting his feet suddenly as a wave of dread crashed over him. His eyes flashed as he glared at the knights, challenging them with his gaze, "I order you to release me now!"
The nearest knight smiled sympathetically, and replied, "Unfortunately, young Master Argyle, the Duke's authority overrules your own."
"To hell with the Duke's authority!" Derek snapped, surprising the men with his sudden ferocity. Few ever saw Derek lose his temper, but when he did, it was certainly intense. "Will you follow him blindly?" Derek demanded, "Until he has sapped all that is good from the world? If you loathe the oppression, then fight it! Rise up against him! And if you don't have the backbone for such a task, then release me, and by God, I'll do it myself!"
Derek strained at the binding on his wrists, and tried to pull away from the knights, but his behaviour only earned him a dizzying blow to the head.
"I apologize, young Master." The leading knight murmured, "But my loyalty is to the Duke, and his orders are absolute."
Derek's expression twisted into something ferociously bitter, and he snarled in revulsion, "His orders are naught but murder!"

Archer was cautious to keep out of the carriage's way after that, just in order to keep any more suspicion arising about he and Derek keeping in touch. Besides which, it would be no good if he got to Derek's in before he himself had arrived there.
It didn't take as long to reach the next town as it probably took the carriage, as Little Brother could climb the rough terrain and take short cuts off-road as well as trot for long distances without tiring easily.
Within a couple of hours he had arrived at the busy town, and it didn't take him long to find the inn Derek had been talking about. It was an impressive lodge, he had to admit, although he felt somewhat out of place in his filthy gear - not to mention the muddy stain on his rump - and although he had his hood up, he would struggle to blend in large groups of people. He managed to steal a hat and shoulder bag from a rather polite gentleman who was surprisingly easy-going at the end of a sword, and Archer entered the inn without being stopped.
Unfortunately, his good mood was not to last long.
Room five was locked.

Frowning, Archer ran down the stairs of the inn to the man at the bar, his eyes flashing, and demanded, "Did the Duke's son arrive here in the last hour?"
"No, sir."
That couldn't be right. "Did something happen to him?"
"I don't know, sir."
Growling in frustration, Archer turned away and allowed the hat to fall from his head as he ran his hand through his messy hair. Something was wrong. Derek could be many things, but he would never break a promise.
"There was a bit of an incident on the border, I 'eard." The barman told him thoughtfully. "Yeah, someone got arrested. There was quite a crowd. Must 'ave been someone important."
Archer wheeled round. Arrested? But that couldn't be right. He'd done nothing-
But he had, he'd saved Archer's life, when the Duke had already wanted Archer dead. Which meant it was only going to go downhill. He had to get back to Locksley, sooner rather than later.
"Where did they go?" He demanded. At the Barman's silence, Archer grabbed his collar and yanked him towards the edge of the table. "Tell me!"
"I don't-... I don't know. They walked somewhere. It was by the woods, I recall..."
The hanging post... Of course, that place was in the middle of nowhere. No one would see him there.
Without so much as thanking the barman, Archer left the inn, dumped his rubbish disguise by the door and vaulted onto his mount, yelling at him to gallop on, and ran on back to the woods.

He did not have to travel far, as the hanging post was quite a well-displayed attraction, at least with public executions. There wasn't anyone there to witness this act of murder, though.
Archer watched through the bushes as his beloved friend was marched up to the hanging post, his hands bound behind him. The post towered over him by several feet, and may have looked like another tree if the noose didn't dangle so evidently, swaying in the breeze. Archer had been in this position before, and he knew the knot you felt when you stood on that platform with that noose around your neck. It strangled you even before the deadly drop. Just the fear was enough to strangle you.
Silently, Archer tied the Highland Pony's reins and patted him on the rump, and the pony wandered off in search for food, as he always did when left to fend for himself.
Archer, however, had another plan.
I owe you my life, twice.
He found a tree, plastered his back to it, and pulled out a throwing dagger from his boot.
I'm not losing you for a second time, Derek.
Inhaling a long breath he pulled up his hood and pulled one of his scarves over his face. Then, as one of the knights who had escorted Derek out to the began to adjust the noose to put it around Derek's neck, Archer threw the knife. It whistled through the air and landed on the hanging post, skimming the knight's hand by millimetres.
He had their attention now.
"It seems I missed your hand!" He called from behind the tree. "Let him go before my aim improves!"
Around them, a stocky little Highland pony wandered around the greenery, nibbling at every edible tree and bush, and yanking on any branches that would not give way when he pulled the leaves. It created the perfect setting.
"I understand you do not create the law, only enforce it. So my men and I," another tree rustled from another direction, "suggest that you free this man, and let him return to his home town."
I've got you surrounded now. At least that's what you'll think. You have no chance now, gentleman!