Chapter Text
Come one, come all, and gather round
And listen to my tale
Of how Saeki nearly found
His own good self in jail
But in jail he ended not
For he was Saeki "Hood"
And so away from justice fled
To live in that green wood
It was on a day much like this one -- a green and balmy morning in the merry month of May. In those times, brave Saeki Hood was a mere lad of 15 years, but he was by nature good, and warm like the sun that did dapple through the trees, and refreshing as the wind that bore him on his way to Nottingham in search of glory. These were the days of the petulant Prince-King, Mizuki, to whom every ounce of villainy and treachery in the being of that much-dreaded Kite, then Sheriff, was woefully devoted. Some have said that if Prince-King Mizuki were the velvet glove, then Sheriff Kite was the iron fist, but I would contend that they both, indeed, knew well their own exteriors and interiors, and moreover when and how to strike, and upon whom to strike it. Upon one of these days, when Sheriff Kite found it right and humorous to lure the most able men from the whole countryside around to the great city, there to test themselves at the sport of shooting, and in the process recruit himself an ally or two; upon one such day as this, it was bold Saeki Hood who heard, in his distant village, of the challenge and the prize to be won.
Saeki leant against the stone gatepost, one foot braced back against the bricks, and supporting his weight on the left side with his arm propped up on the head of his longbow. He looked down the slope to the pastures, letting the breeze of the hilltop tug on his hair, so that he had to alternate between shielding his eyes from the bright midday sun and scraping his fringe out of them as he watched the figure on the green below. The shepherd took great fistfuls of feed from the bag under his arm, and stepping back from the flock as they followed him, he scattered the feed around and bleated happily at the sheep in reply. "Baaa! You're welcome!" the sound of his chuckles lifted their way up to Saeki at the gate. Finally, the shepherd dusted his hands, and began to climb the hill with broad strides, folding the empty bag over his arms as he came. And the wind lifted his hair, and caused him to look up, and notice Saeki at the gate. "Sae!" He said, with that pleasant huff of air he was known to give when he encountered a friend. This was, of course, the one remembered in legend as Maid Marehiko, but he was always known to our hero as simply--
"Icchan! I heard something incredible in the village!" Saeki pushed himself off the post with a little hop, and reached down a hand to help Icchan over the steepest part of the hill. Icchan shot him a weary glance, and took Saeki's hand with a groan, but Saeki went on, "They're holding a contest to find the best archer in all the land! The prize is one hundred pounds and the finest shot money can buy in Nottingham or anywhere! One hundred pounds! And it's as good as mine, Icchan!"
Icchan managed to bite his cheek, close the pasture gate behind them, and dust the scraps of feed and muck from his tunic, before turning his tired look onto Saeki once more. Icchan sighed through his nose, "Not this again, Sae… You know those contests are a scam, right? Collecting the prize--"
"It's not a scam! Not this one, Icchan, I'd know--"
"To collect the prize you've gotta… sign this thing, this army thing--"
"I wouldn't sign any weird thing, I'd just," Saeki frowned and glanced to the side. He moved his hands like he was carrying an invisible box towards his chest, "I'd just… take the prize… and go home." The glint of adventure in his eyes showed that, to him, this was a foolproof counter-argument. An unbeatable plan.
Icchan chewed his lip, but his objections forced their way up through him like a bolt of static, "No, Sae… That Sheriff? He's been forcing men from their homes to join his… secret militia, or something. He holds these contests to, to… he's trying to lure you out! It's not worth it, Sae, that city is a bad place, okay?" He pointed the tip of his incredible nose most earnestly at Saeki, brow furrowed, and waited for his answer.
"Okay," Saeki said, carefully, "Okay, yeah. I mean, maybe you're right." Saeki's shoulders dropped. He kicked the grass where he stood and looked down at his shoe so that his hair fell over his face, "I mean. I probably wouldn't've won, anyway…"
"Don't be silly, Sae! Of course you'd win! I don't know anyone who can beat you at archery! I bet you could even take out that nasty Sheriff if you got a good shot at him!"
"Exactly, I never miss my mark!" Saeki said, that glint of adventure suddenly back in his eye. Icchan swallowed hard.
"So… not like you need a silly contest to… prove that, right," Icchan laughed nervously. Saeki's eyes were shimmering, and he looked at his bunched up fists. "Sae? You know I was just… trying to--"
And history well knows how Saeki Hood heeded the wise words of his dear friend, because before the dawn had reached that self-same sleepy village, Saeki's feet were crunching through the forest-bed on the trail to Nottingham town, with his finest quiver and trusty bow strapped to his back. While he walked, he spread his fingers out so the wind could twine through them, and he whistled to himself a tune of victory, and in his mind he thought of how fair Maid Marehiko would be moved to see him home again, and boasting the great prize to boot. Well, perhaps, it is, that good Saeki never reached wicked Nottingham, for they have said that many a worthy archer was spirited away from that place, on that very day, beguiled into the service of Sheriff Kite. No, it was to a different destiny that bold Saeki Hood was summoned, when upon a clearing of the wood he met with foresters three -- blue-clad and merrymaking under the shade of a great tree.
The shadows that fell after the trees began to slant in the direction of the afternoon, and Saeki drew his sleeve across his forehead to dry it. He took his water from where it was hooked on his belt and tilted it up into his mouth… and with a frown, turned his face up under it and shook only a few drops onto his tongue. Saeki sighed. He attached the bottle to his belt again, and slowly turned his head about, cupping a hand to his ear, to listen for signs of water. A low murmur of something started to break upon the twittering of birds and the gentle rush of the wind through the trees, and Saeki steeled himself against the heat of the day and set off in the direction of the noise.
The trees started to thin in front of Saeki, and with a sudden blast of volume he discovered the source of the murmur. Before him lay a great clearing, with a large, old tree at the centre. Three men, each in his own royal-blue coat, lay sprawled about in the shade, laughing and drinking great flagons of some rather suspicious liquid. Their juice -- for lack of a better word -- was every colour found in the spectrum of the forest, and the head frothed as by some supernatural power. Nevertheless, Saeki, who was a braver man than many to be found in that wood, thought it still at least a liquid, and therefore sufficient to quench his thirst. He adjusted his grip on his bow and his quiver, and strode towards the tree.
"Hello, um, pardon me!" Saeki said, with a soft laugh, "I've just come from the village down there," he pointed down the path he had taken, "and I'm heading to Nottingham for the Sheriff's contest, have you heard about it?"
The blue-coated men stopped laughing. One of them, lying with his head supported by a huge tree root, swung his arms and sat forward, inhaling through his nose with a sharp snort. "Heard about the contest? Of course," he spat and narrowly missed Saeki's shoe. Saeki frowned at the offended piece of grass in sympathy. "I don't live under a rock!" He stressed the word, I, and Saeki bit his lip to stop himself from… well, from telling this man he wasn't being very nice.
"Hey, Arai, what a joke. Look at this guy!" A second of the men had sat forward now and waved the back of his hand in Saeki's direction, sneering back at the first, "Seriously, this weedy dude thinks he can pull back a bowstring??" The three men howled with laughter, and Saeki felt the heat of his pride flush up in him with his blood.
"Im-imagine…!" The third man could barely get his words out through his laughter, "If… if… he pulls the string, he goes--" his arm pointed out in a fast straight line away from him, and he made a little whooshing noise, and positively wheezed at his own joke.
"Ikeda, that's hilarious," Arai said, in choice moments between laughs, "I really think we ought to see a dude fly today, am I right, Hayashi?" The three men were bent double, and bent close in to one another, each with their arms hugging their sides, and Saeki realised they were stone drunk off whatever they had in their keg and flagons. Not that he felt any less insulted.
"Sorry, was that you three challenging me? Questioning my ability to shoot, is that right?" Saeki hoisted his bow off his back and leant against it, his other hand on his hip. Arai snorted again and gave a muffled, huh? "So if you're doubting me, how about we make a little game out of this?" And Saeki turned on his heel to look around the clearing for a good target. On the far horizon he could pick out quite easily, a herd of deer grazing under the trees. "How about 30 pounds says I can't hit the finest hart out of that herd, from the spot where I'm standing?"
And of course, the three, dizzy from their drinking, and with eyes that were not as clear as Saeki's, murmured to one another, what deer? What hart? But Arai spoke up, "Alright, then! I'm not one to turn down free money! 30 pounds says you can't hit the finest hart -- or better yet, any hart out of your supposed herd!" He chuckled and nudged Hayashi, who then added,
"But we haven't got all day! Once we're finished here we have to make our own way to Nottingham. So how's about we add a penalty to every arrow -- say 10 pounds per shot!" and Arai cut in to say, ooh, nice one!, "Don't you waste your precious arrows now, trying to hit any fantastical deer!"
They laughed, but Saeki let them. He turned stiff on his heel, so quick that he was noiseless. First he stretched his arms, and then his shoulders; then, he pulled a delicate arrow from his quiver and strung it tight against the bow. He inhaled, and holding his breath within him watched the arrow's sight until he had his mark, and then, with a sharp pluck that rippled the air by his ear, he let the arrow fly, and saw it cut down its target like a lightning bolt from above. The three men sat forward from their tree, jaws gaping, and Arai stumbled to his feet. Saeki watched him shade his eyes with his hand and take a few unsteady steps towards where the herd had been.
"Holy Lady of all that is good…!" Arai said, in a stunned whisper. He wheeled on Saeki and gaped at him in horror and awe.
Saeki chuckled, and lowered his bow, and shrugged with a kind of fake modesty. "So. What was that? 30 pounds I couldn't hit the deer? 30 pounds from the three of you," he pointed his finger at each of them in turn, "plus 10, the fee for the arrow, means I'm owed 100 pounds! Excellent, cough up, gents!" He smiled with the best of humour, but his smile was not returned.
"You little punk! No way you're getting anything, don't even kid yourself!" Arai spat, and this time, he hit Saeki.
"Arai…" Ikeda said, getting to his feet, now, too, "He just shot the King's deer? He could hang for this," it was as they said this, as the three of them stepped out of the tree's shade, that Saeki could see plainly the insignia of the royal foresters on their coats. Foresters whose pay was made in catching the poachers of the King's deer. Saeki gulped and began to walk backwards. Slowly.
"Catch him!!" Arai yelled, and the swing of his arm missed Saeki's hood by inches. Saeki sprinted off for the trees, but behind him he heard Arai's voice, "Let go of me!!"
And then Hayashi's, "Let him go! He's as good as dead if he sets foot near the city, on our word! Get it? He'll owe his life to us, he's worth mor--"
An arrow split the air just millimetres from Saeki's face, and his ear rang with it. Arai had missed. Saeki turned and bent his bow back at the men, "And you say I'M the one who can't shoot!" For the last time in that clearing, an arrow was loosed.
And that is how, the legends say, brave Saeki once of a humble village came to be He of great renown, for noble acts of unlawful deeds, the merry warden of the forest deep. No longer could he dwell with other men inside town or city, for the writ was heavy upon his head, and the bounty great. But how he came to be beloved by all persons downtrod in all the great land, we shall hear exactly, by and by.