The water was up to her shoulders, and there was no one there to pull her out. She noticed someone in a boat, rowing past her.
"Nice day," Guy noted, pausing and looking around his small rowboat.
"Guy, can you help me?" Morgan asked, reaching a hand out. Guy shook his head.
"Sorry, Morgan. Eventually, you'll have to learn to swim," he apologized sincerely. The water rose above her head, filling her lungs as she coughed and sputtered. Guy stared at her and shook his head.
"You'll have to learn to swim," he repeated.
Morgan sat up far too quickly, banging her head against the low ceiling of the loft. Clutching her forehead in pain, she endeavored to roll to the side and curl up, only to roll out of the loft, tumbling to the ground with a thud. Will sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes, stifling a yawn.
"That dream again?" he asked sleepily, trying to discern what time it was. Morgan nodded, noting that it was still dark outside. She stood, brushing the leaves from her clothes.
"You alright?" Will asked, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes.
"Fine," Morgan replied. She was lying, but Will was already falling back into sleep, and he tended to miss things when he was so tired. The fire had only just died out, some of the kindling still glowing from the heat. Morgan thought longingly of starting the fire back up and perhaps forging some weapons. She couldn't, of course, unless she wanted to wake the whole camp up. She glanced over at Will, who hadn't hesitated to go back to sleep. He was lucky; carpentry was a much quieter field of profession than blacksmithing.
Morgan crawled out of the window, sneaking out into the crisp night air, staring up at the sky. The moon was but a tiny crescent, having yet to bloom to the fully lit orb that she had spent so many hours staring into. She walked along a path, not exactly knowing where she was going, but she supposed that it would make it more of an adventure if she didn't think about it. Part of her said that she should at least go back and get her sword, just in case she ran into a wild animal, but the rest of her told her that the knife at her belt was enough.
She wished that the moon were fuller, the distinct lack of light making it very hard to see. She wandered all the way to the North Road before she even realized it. The tree branches overhead knitted into a tight canopy, blocking out what little moonlight there had been. Morgan sighed. She could keep walking, running the risk of getting hopelessly lost in the woods (again.), or she could turn around and go back to camp. In the silence of her internal debate, she could hear the sound of the river, constantly flowing and constantly changing.
She thought of her dream and promptly sat on a fallen tree trunk, picking at the bark. She'd been having the dream for a long time. Since she first joined the gang, and that was months ago now. It was generally the same dream; she was always running through a field. She always stopped by a tree. There was always a flood. Only the people in her dream changed. Sometimes, she would meet Djaq at the tree, and sometimes it was her mother. Sometimes it was Will or Much or Little John, and once it had been the Sheriff, which honestly unnerved her.
When the flood waters began to rise, someone would come along in a boat, and that was the only part that really changed. There were only three people that would come along in the boat. It used to be her brother, Michael, who would hoist her out of the water, making sure that she was safe. After Michael had passed away, the man in the boat began to toggle between two people.
Sometimes, it was Robin in the boat. He would pull Morgan out of the water, only to let out a childish laugh just as she had gotten steady, pushing her back in. Other times, it was Guy, who would simply stare at her, watching her struggle against the flood. Struggle and fail.
Morgan didn't understand what it all meant. She rested her elbows on her knees, cupping her face in her hands. She didn't know that the dream was trying to tell her, but she knew that it was something important. A person doesn't have the same dream, every night, for months on end for no reason. She stared across the North Road, sitting and thinking. It was a combination that she didn't perform very often. Many made the mistake of assuming that she didn't stop to think at all. She supposed that was partially true. She never stopped to think. She thought while she went along.
Outside of the gang, it had earned her the reputation of being the serendipitous one. Walking dumb luck, with the emphasis on the "dumb" part. She was the loud, bubbly, silly little girl that had gotten lucky enough to be swept away by Robin Hood's gang on his grand adventure. Of course, the gang knew that it wasn't true, so Morgan didn't really care. Ignoring the villagers' whispers had never been a problem for her.
Still, a part of her bristled at the unkind characterization. A part of her wanted to stand up in front of everyone and yell at the top of her lungs that she, Morgan Elizabeth Weaver, was a girl of passable intelligence and occasionally good plans and dreams. She sighed. Dreams. She had a lot of dreams. She dreamed of when King Richard would return. She dreamed of when the Black Knights would get what was coming to them. She shook her head. This whole "Black Knights" affair worried her.
On the one hand, it meant that the Sheriff would be removed and probably hung for treason. On the other, it meant that Guy would be in trouble, too. Morgan frowned. Guy of Gisborne, the man who so often let her drown in her dreams, was the source of a great deal of worry for Morgan. When she had first become an outlaw, the matter was black and white. Guy had lost his grip on his humanity, and Morgan had decided to fight against the tyranny of which he was a part. Now, as things had had time to settle, she wasn't so sure.
Growing up, Guy had always watched her back. He had treated her like a sister. She had to admit that when they were growing up, she was always impressed with Guy's noble countenance. Even after his parents died, and his lands were officially lost, he'd remained a close friend of the Weavers.
Things didn't really change until he and Michael, for the first time since forging their friendship, went separate ways. Morgan recalled the day that Michael had come home from the market, practically beaming as he explained that he was going to the Holy Lands, to fight against the Turk in the name of King Richard. At that point, Morgan's mother was still well, and when Morgan had stared at her brother, travel-lust in her eyes, Elene had encouraged her only daughter to go ahead.
Morgan shifted slightly on the tree trunk, stretching her legs out and heaving a sigh. She couldn't quite wrap her head around the fact that this had only happened in the past five years. In five years, she had gone from a blacksmith apprentice to an outlaw. In five years, she had gone from completely trusting Guy to fighting on the opposite side. Even though there was an obvious schism in their friendship, and things could never truly go back to the way they had once been, Morgan couldn't help but think that she had gotten Guy all wrong.
Without warning, an arrow flew past her head. She was on her feet in an instant, trying to find its origin. And there he was, sitting on his horse, notching another arrow.
"Don't move, outlaw! Next time, I will not miss!" he barked, his voice echoing through the night. Morgan wondered if that ever actually worked, because it definitely didn't work with her. She took off immediately, picking a path the wound through the trees. If he wanted to catch her, he was going to have to get off of his horse and follow her on foot.
The crunching of dead leaves behind her said that he had indeed decided to pursue her, and she grumbled under her breath. Despite her initial restlessness, she was actually growing quite tired. She took a sharp left, heading towards a system of caves. The gang didn't use them because they were unstable, but Morgan saw little choice. She could tell that he was gaining on her, partially from the way that she could hear his breathing, and partially from the arrow that he had just planted in her shoulder.
She bit back a cry of pain, ignoring the wound as she ducked into the caves, taking refuge in the shadows. Guy followed her inside, listening intently. She clamped a hand over her mouth, knowing that her panting would undoubtedly be heard in the high-ceilinged cavern.
"Come out, outlaw!" Guy shouted. "Come out and face me, and maybe we can work out a deal!" His voice bounced off of the stone walls of the cave. Morgan could've sworn that she heard the shifting of rock, but Guy was shouting so loud that she couldn't be sure. She heard him fumbling with something in the dark, and she nearly jumped as a fire roared to life, the torch light casting eerie shadows across Guy's features. Morgan slid behind a stalagmite, wincing as the arrow protruding from her shoulder pushed against the rock.
"I know you're in here, and I know you're wounded. I can wait until you bleed to death," Guy hollered again. Morgan looked up at the ceiling. She had definitely heard the rocks shifting. She ran out from her hiding place, pulling Guy backwards as the rocks tumbled to the ground where he had just stood. The noise was thunderous, and the force of the impact threw them both to the ground. The torch snuffed out immediately, and Morgan could only curl up, throwing her arms over her head, praying furiously for their safety.
Just as soon as it had started, it was all over. Morgan picked herself off of the ground, coughing as the dust seeped into her lungs.
"Guy?" she asked, "are you alright?" The outlaw in her screamed that the question was stupid, and that she shouldn't have given away her position like that. She ignored the outlaw in her, calling again.
"Guy, answer me!" she said through her coughs. She heard someone move and tried to trace the sound back, cursing the echoing quality of the cave and the pitch blackness that seemed to press against her skin. Suddenly, the torch flickered back to life, and Guy held it aloft as he drew his sword.
"In the name of the Sheriff of Nottingham, I am hereby placing you under arrest," he said calmly. Morgan rolled her eyes. She guessed that it was some kind of silly man-thing, trying to carry on with duty in a situation like this.
"Put that thing away, Guy," she muttered, brushing her clothes off, craning her neck to get a better look at the arrow protruding from her shoulder. Guy didn't listen, and Morgan couldn't say that she found it surprising.
"Morgan, you're an outlaw. You tried to kill me. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slit your throat," he growled, pointing his sword.
"Be strategic, Guy. We're trapped in a cave, in the deepest part of Sherwood. Who do you think is more likely to find us here?" Morgan snapped, hands on her hips. Guy's dogmatic resolve faltered, and he lowered his sword.
"Robin Hood," he answered.
"Right. Now, if I'm dead, do you think that they're going to try and rescue you?" she answered, using that annoying tone that she had used when they were little, the one she used when she knew she was right. "Now, put that sword away. Anyway, it hardly seems appropriate that you should kill me with something that I made." This time, much to her relief, he sheathed his weapon and stepped closer.
"You're hurt," he stated, reaching to her shoulder. Morgan turned, pulling away.
"Yes, that would be from when you shot me," she snapped.
"Well, I told you I wouldn't miss," he retorted. "Now, let me see it. I have some medical supplies."
"So, you shoot me, then threaten me, then offer to fix me?" Morgan asked, the venom in her voice the result of years of practice. Guy took a deep breath. What was it with him and women? Why could he never get the ones he cared about to listen to a single word he said? He stopped that particular line of thought. He didn't care about Morgan anymore; he wasn't allowed to. Sheriff's orders.
"Will you just let me see the wound?" he asked, clearly exasperated. He knew that Morgan was willful, but he also knew that she wasn't stupid. Slowly, she took a step closer, turning so he could see the arrow. He wedged the torch in a niche in the wall, stepping closer to inspect the wound. He had had very little medical training, but he knew what had to be done. Without asking Morgan, or telling her what he planned to do, he roughly took hold of the arrow and gave it a sharp tug, pulling it from her back. She yelled in protest and started to turn around to let him have a piece of her mind. Sensing her anger, Guy held the arrow in front of her.
"I can put it back, if that suits you better," he muttered dryly. Morgan crossed her arms across her chest, going into the familiar pout that Guy so fondly remembered. He stared at her shirt, which was quickly staining with blood.
"You need to bare your shoulder, so I can clean the wound," he explained. Muttering under her breath, she pulled the sleeve from her shoulder, cringing as she heard the fabric rip from the arrow hole. She sighed, lamenting the loss of what had been her favorite shirt. Guy began to clean the wound out, his bedside manner almost as lacking as his gentleness.
"Ow," Morgan hissed pointedly as he dug the dirt out. He eased up a bit.
"Morgan, can you do this yourself?" he asked.
"No," she answered.
"Then shut up and let me focus," he replied curtly. So, Morgan shut up as he slowly stitched the injury. He stepped back, inspecting his work by the light of the torch. It wasn't the best stitching in the world, but it would suffice.
"Thank you," Morgan muttered, turning around to face him, holding her sleeve in place. "Now, how do you propose that we try to escape?" Guy looked around at the wall of stone that now separated them from the outside world. There was no way that they could move all of the rocks by themselves. He looked to the back of the cave, noting the lack of any cracks in the rock or tunnels that could possibly lead to freedom.
"I don't have any ideas," he admitted. Morgan chewed on her bottom lip, the gesturing telling Guy that she was just as clueless as he was. Threads of moonlight slipped between the cracks of the makeshift wall, taunting them.
"Well, I suppose we're just stuck with each other, aren't we?" she sighed, sitting down on the floor of the cave. Guy slowly did the same. For a moment, they sat there, staring at each other, saying nothing.
"This is awkward," Guy muttered flatly, barely finishing before Morgan nodded with agreement.
Yes, yes. This story will finally work out just what the heck is up between Guy and Morgan! This story will explain Morgan's insane flood dream. This story will have drama and suspense!
Well, perhaps not so much of the last one, but the first two, definitely.
Hope you all enjoy! Please review!