A/N: Hi all! This is my first Robin Hood fic-I've finally finished all the seasons (SADNESS of Season 3 ending-cried so much!) and am writing a chapter fic that I've had in mind for a while. A few little explanations...

1) I love Robin, Marian, and Guy, so this fic pairs RxM and Guy with an OC. Kate is in the story (not sure about Isabella yet) but she'll be paired with...well, we'll have to see. Not with Robin!

2) Season 2x13 did NOT end with Marian dying. Rather, she was wounded, she and Robin were married, and they ALL (as in, Djaq and Will too (they're not married yet)!) returned from the Holy Land, where Marian has joined them in Sherwood Forest...along with Tuck. And Kate, as aforementioned.

3) I've got an idea for this as a long fic, but I can't promise constant updates. I hope to keep it going pretty quickly, though! And reviews, favorites, PMs, anything-all really motivate me. :)

4) I know that I really ought to be writing my Sherlock fics (and I will!) but I like to have a few things going at once. Please bear with me! I might start doing RH one-shots if I'm being too slow with my longer fics.

5) This fic is rated T, because there are more mature themes in it. Robin and Marian are married (nothing inappropriate will be shown, obviously, but just some affection) and Guy can be a womanizer (again, I'll try to keep it mild). As my profile promises, of course, I'll keep it clean, but this isn't a K fic. There will also be some violence.

That's all for now! Hope you enjoy! Please let me know anything that you would like included in this fic OR that you see as in need of improvement.

We are Robin Hood!

5/4/2013: This story is dedicated to ThefadingdaysofMay

~TolkienGirl

Chapter One-Rose

The cart's wheels creaked as they rumbled across the old bridge. It had been many miles—maybe ten, but Rose couldn't be sure—, and since they had left Derbyshire the sun had risen into the sky and was now showering unwelcome heat upon her head and shoulders. She shifted on the rough bench of the cart. Discomfort. Hours of discomfort, and yet she didn't want the journey to be over.

"Are we nearly there, Father?" her tone sounded worried—she wondered if he'd detect the irony. Probably not. Why ought it to occur to him that she was less than delighted with her lot?

Beneath the rough weave of his cloak, she saw her father's broad shoulders shift into an indecisive shrug. "I don't know. It's been a few years since—but ho! Look!" Dropping the reins with one hand, he pointed, and she followed the line of his finger to the imposing outline of stone battlements that had just appeared over the treetops.

"Nottingham Castle," he said, with pride—though she knew not why he was proud of it. "Your new home."

Rose ran her fingers—strangely cold, despite the sun's warmth—over the brown woolen skirt that was spread over her knees. "Not home, I hope." Her voice was halting. "I'll—I can visit you for Holy Days, can I not?"

Why hadn't she thought to ask about such things before?

Her father's gaze shied away from her, skittish as a nervous horse. "Well…not exactly. It's—it's the nature of the bargain, you see. You're apprenticed, if that's the right way to say it…not ladylike, I know, but as a maid of sorts. It's—it's only seven years, Rose. Your little brothers won't be half-grown when you come home again."

"I don't understand!" she cried. An old woman plucking weeds from rows of corn that edged the roadside looked startled, doubtless disapproving of the tone in which a maid had just addressed her father. But Rose paid no heed to her. "You said that it was a term of service, but not—not….I mean, I thought…"

"I've got to pay off my debts." Again, he looked shamefaced. "You'll be well taken care of."

Anger filled her veins, but she was not surprised. In fact, she felt only as though the death knell she'd been expecting had finally tolled…but she had been expecting it. "I'm your daughter," she whispered thickly. "I…"

"And I'll always care for you, lass!" He placed an arm about her shoulder. "By all the saints, I swear you'll be looked after."

"By whom?"

"Well…well, by the cooks and other maids. And I'm sure the Sheriff—"

"The Sheriff? Father, you can't be serious." As soon as the words had left her mouth, she knew that he was. Or to be exact, he had merely not thought it through at all before now. The battlements, majestic as they had been before, looked crueler now.

She tightened her fists and her jaw—that jaw whose strong lines had deterred many eligible young men. Perhaps she ought to curse that jaw—had she married one of the amiable but vacant sops who had hung around like hungry cats, she wouldn't be sent off to a strange place at the embarrassing age of nineteen. "Father," she said slowly, deliberately. She had to say something, but it was no good to try and think, of poor dear mother—or of the twins—or of little Jack. "Please make sure that Aylmer is looked after."

Her father's brow furrowed. "Lass, it's nearly our parting words…you're asking after your cat?"

Did he really think she felt this less than he did? Did he really think that his guilty recompense for gambling debts—an offense against his family and God—was unsurpassed by the pain of the daughter he was using to pay for them? Didn't he know that she spoke of the cat because she couldn't bear the thought of the other, dearer ones she was leaving behind?

Rose knew the answers to the questions almost before she'd asked them. Through gritted teeth, she repeated, "Yes, the cat."

"Alright, then." Her father's tone had turned absentminded as they approached the ancient portcullis; he had other things to worry about. The guards pacing within had a grim look about them.

"Halt! Who goes there?" The question was a command.

"Thomas Acre, of Derbyshire. I've my daughter, Rose." Rose averted her gaze from the guard's curious one as her father laid out the details. She was being ogled, and it was unpleasant.

I can't help being pretty, she thought bitterly, pulling her light cloak around her shoulders to conceal any suggestions of a figure from the guard's coarse view. Let him look at her face.

Satisfied—by what, Rose didn't exactly wish to know—the guard let them pass. As they rode into the city, jostling over the cobblestones, her father mentioned how stringent the security was.

"Twasn't like this when I was young," he remarked mournfully.

"Likely it's because of the outlaws, Father," Rose reminded him patiently.

"Now there's a pretty thought to fill your head," he admonished, a trifle gruffly. "All this talk of outlaws—of this Robin Hood. A lot of fanciful nonsense, that!"

"It's true, Father." Rose's tone was only slightly defiant. She didn't feel like arguing. Feigning disinterest, she kept a sharp eye on the dim corners of shop-keepers stalls, patches of shadow that were a striking contrast to the sun-washed town square. If the rumors were true, perhaps she could catch sight of the elusive—

But no, there were too many. Too many tradesmen, too many guards, too many old women haggling over the price of turnips. Above all loomed the castle, a beacon of protection—or at least that was what it ought to be. To Rose's eyes, it was more sinister. A prison rather than a refuge.

My new—my new place of dwelling. She couldn't bring herself to say home.

Not yet. Not until she had to.