Disclaimer: Robin Hood POT is not mine. Shocker right?

A/N: Okay so, I've decided to try to write a fic for every category that I read and I LOVE this film. It is mainly going to be a brother fic between Will & Robin (sort of) but with parts from other points of view i.e. John etc. I think it's a lot wordier than I normally do and yet the word count is lower….huh. Anyway, please review because although I'm sure I'LL enjoy reading/writing it, it would be good to know that other people are reading too. It's going to from sort of pre-film (here) to maybe just after it but probably only if I get some reviews because otherwise I'll maybe just start a different fic in another fandom. Err…oh yeah, I absolutely adore Will Scarlett in this (Christian Slater crying? – Hell, yes!) So I'm sorry if he seems the main character despite parts being from other POVs. Anyway, yeah, please review and I've taken certain liberties with his past; although according to the legends, Will Scarlett really WAS a locksmith (see I've actually researched this one!)

So yeah… da da!

He couldn't recall exactly when it started. This burning hatred of the man whom he should call 'brother'. It would be simple to say it started the day his father had abandoned his mother, labelled her a whore and cast her out of his bed. Simple, but not true. He had been but a few months old, had no memory of it and therefore no feeling from the time. It must have started somewhere between his fifth and tenth year he supposed, when he was old enough to understand what it was that Locksley and his other son had done to them exactly. He couldn't be certain, after all his memory of the years was fuzzy – it was a lifetime ago and many many drunken brawls and nights of too much mead had passed between the boy he was then and the embittered man he was now.

But, at some point in his life, Will Scarlett had learned to despise Locksley, his precious son and every other greedy, self-righteous nobleman in existence. There were, he conceded a few select families whom he could recognise as the exception to the rule – for instance the Du Bois family, whose daughter had given alms every Sunday at church and sent bread to his mother when she had taken ill. He also knew that bigotry and cruelty were not exclusively reserved for those with titles and lands – it had not been one of them who had torn off his mother's clothing in front of him and made her beg for death before he was done with her. Nor was it a nobleman who refused to buy or sell anything to her, not even to save her young son's life. He had grown up in that world, with those people and he could not hate them; not while he knew how they suffered at the hands of their Lords. One by one, the people he had called 'friend' or at least 'neighbour' were being driven out by the Sheriff's men for want of a few pennies whilst their Squires sat in castles, surrounded by gold and treasures that were unimaginable to him. It wasn't however, until Fanny Little's husband, John, had finally succumbed to the threat of imprisonment or worse and had fled to the sanctuary of Sherwood Forest that Will knew he had never felt a hatred more true or passionate than that which he felt for the Squires who sat by and did nothing.

His hatred for his father and the House of Locksley had, in truth, paled in comparison with the murderous anger he now felt towards the nobles. Day by day, he watched Fanny and others like her struggle to get by, relying on what little they could earn and the alms given on Sundays. His trade, while not being perhaps the most useful of trades, had at least taught him the importance of two things: how much gold his 'betters' had; and how far they would go to keep it. Being a locksmith, he knew every padlock but more importantly: how to break it. And neither he, nor anyone else in his home village could deny that this had proven to be a vital skill. It didn't happen often, but on the occasion when someone would enter the town in a carriage, it was all too easy that one box should 'fall' from the back of it as it left and if the box should be assisted in its fall by someone then who would tell? After that it was only a case of Will spending but a few moments to break its lock with his knife and every household would be safe from eviction or prosecution for another few months.

But of course, money could only do so much. After all, if there was no food (the past few years' harvests had been very bad indeed) and there were only so many cattle that could be spared for meat then what use was having the money to pay for it? And of course he had realised when they had started that it was only a matter of time before he and Bull (and occasionally Wulf Little who was barely ten years old at the time) were caught. Poaching was not looked upon kindly by the Sheriff and it was not long before Fanny had started threatening bodily harm on him if he continued to let Wulf tag along on such dangerous outings. She had said very often that she wished he would not go either but of course she had no control of his actions no matter how many times she patched him up after a run-in with the Sherriff's men.

And so, when he finally stood staring in horror as the group of horses leapt the low stone wall to Gisbourne's furious cries of "GET HIM!" Will Scarlett, who had never fled a fight in his life did the only thing he could do, the thing that he knew he would always have to do.

He ran.

John Little was not a betting man (with so little to lose and little to gain from those around you, what would be the point?) but when he first heard his men yelling the all clear after a 'stranger' had been spotted in the forest, he would have placed good money on it being Much. Of all the men, young and old, that he had expected to see stumble exhausted and heartbroken into their camp next, he had not expected the stalwart Bull and even less so, young Will Scarlett. So it was with a heavy heart that he welcomed the two of them into their new home – if Will Scarlett, who could run faster and lie better than any boy he had ever known could not escape the wrath of the Sheriff or his rat-faced cousin then he could see little hope for those that remained in their hometown.

It was unfortunate, he supposed, that while Bull was well-liked for his crude jokes and easy manner, Will's bitterness made him quick to anger and he had never run from a fight meaning that while he would be useful in combat, his chances of fitting in with the ragtag bunch of jovial men would be slim at best.

After the initial interrogation about why they had fled was over, the other men began asking after their wives and children and John could scarcely admit himself less eager. He had mixed feelings on hearing Wulf's ventures; to know his son was trying to look after his mother and siblings filled him with pride; to know that without Will and Bull he would be doing it alone terrified him.

John knew now that it wouldn't be long before every family in their village had lost someone to the Sheriff, whether because they had fled to the woods or because they had been caught, their numbers were dwindling and there was no end in sight. Even when King Richard returned, John could not feel optimistic that things would change after all, the taxes were to pay for his war, not theirs yet still they were expected to pay. There was nothing to be done; the time for waiting in the woods for things to get better was over. Back in the towns, their families were starving with no money. It was time that the 'ghosts' of Sherwood Forest started claiming their own taxes – the sort of money that noblemen carried on their person would be enough to feed their village for a week at least. It was going to be…dangerous – it would mean revealing themselves to passers through – but it was the only choice they had.