A/N: Yonder Comes a Courteous Knight is a collection of one-shots and drabbles based on the BBC Robin Hood. Some will be very silly, like the first one, others will be more serious (most of them Guy/Marian, but not all). I write them as they come to me, and bear in mind I just started watching the second series for the first time. I haven't taken a survey of the field, so to speak, so if themes have been done before, I apologize. This is my first time writing for this fandom, which frankly I didn't think I'd ever write for, but here I am . . . hope it amuses you . . .

"Yonder Comes a Courteous Knight" is also a folk song in the Child Ballad collection (112A, with many variants). I like the song (as performed by the Baltimore Consort) and think it makes a good overarching title for the series. Sources for the entire series will be published under the most recent chapter.

This first one is a cross over with Doctor Who, season 3 (Ten/Martha). Enjoy.

i. How Sir Guy Got His Coat

SHERWOOD FOREST

Winter, 1192

Sir Guy of Gisborne found the forest midwinter to be peaceful. Some of the Sheriff's men were unnerved by the comparative silence, the lack of bird song connoting a sense of unease or mischief. He had said it before that criminals were a cowardly and superstitious lot, so the foot soldiers' lack of shrewdness in this matter did not surprise him. Taking the horse at a brisk walk offset the cold as a light snow began to fall, leaving drifts of white glitter in his hair and eyelashes. He pulled his thin cloak closer as he tugged at the reins; for obvious reasons he couldn't be seen in his crusader's cloak so a measly replacement had to serve.

But the forest hadn't stayed silent for long. A sound, unlike any Guy had ever heard, split the dull grey sky, startling the winter ravens into frenetic flight out of the snow-laden trees. It was loud enough to be thunder, yet not at all like thunder. A scraping of something metal against—Guy gave up trying to process the strange sound, which was just as well considering his horse had already decided to throw him.

Guy was a good horseman, but he could tell the horse was so terrified, it was best to roll out from under it rather than risk being smashed by its hooves. Which is what he did, albeit with a muttered curse. As the strange sound began to fade away, Guy noticed for the first time that a blue shack was standing in the snow where none had been before. He rubbed his eyes on his black gloves, wondering if the fall from the horse had knocked him senseless. He was about to rush forward and knock on the blue shack to determine whether it was corporeal, when a door opened and a man in brown stepped out.

He didn't step out as much as leap out with a cry. It wasn't a battle cry as such, thought Guy, hiding behind the thicket of oak trees as he watched in bafflement. It wasn't a cry of distress either. The man in brown removed the long coat he'd been wearing and shouted into the blue shack, "Martha!"

A moment later, a girl in strange clothes came hurtling out of the shack, too, carrying a large black coat. "Doctor!" she snapped, as something small and quick jumped out of the coat and ran across the snow-covered ground. Guy squinted; was it a chicken? It was the size of a chicken, but with brightly-colored plumage—or scales like a snake—a shade of vibrant rose. Guy gawked. The doctor followed the chicken across the snow and leapt on it, wildly scooping it up in the brown coat. "Got 'er!" he said.

Guy knew chickens were stupid and docile, so the fact he could clearly see the bird-thing wriggling in the coat convinced him it was not a chicken after all. "Where did you get that coat, then?" the doctor asked the girl.

"TARDIS wardrobe," she replied, though what a TARDIS was, Guy wasn't sure. It was some foreign language, no doubt, and since the girl looked like a Moor, he felt that was reason enough to bring them in for questioning. He unsheathed his sword and stalked out into the clearing.

"You're under arrest," he said. Normally people were intimidated when he said they were under arrest. The doctor and the girl—Martha—looked vaguely surprised. The doctor stared at him as the bundle in the brown coat continued to wriggle. "You're trespassing in the King's forest," said Guy, a little uncertainly.

"Oh, we're not trespassing!" effused the doctor.

"We have a gift," said Martha.

"A gift? For the Sheriff?"

Martha and the doctor looked at each other. They seemed to communicate something only they could decipher. Then Martha took several large steps toward Guy, her boots crunching the snow. "No, this is for you." She held the black coat she'd been carrying at arm's length.

Guy moved cautiously toward her, still holding out the sword. She was smiling at him. He grabbed the coat away from her and inspected it.

"Oh, that's brilliant," said the doctor, grinning. "Try it on!"

Not entirely sure why he did so, Guy sheathed his sword and put on the coat. It was warm.

"It fits like a glove! That's got to mean something," said Martha, still grinning. "Although it's pleather, is that going to—?"

"I doubt Sir Guy is too worried about the material, are you?" asked the doctor loudly.

"Pleather?" repeated Sir Guy. He'd never heard the word. Then he looked suspiciously at the doctor and Martha as they edged back toward their blue shack. "How did you know me?"

"Oh, well," the doctor demurred. "Good guess?"

"He means, your reputation precedes you," said Martha, backed up against the wood of the shack.

Guy smiled wryly. He had tribute from the peasants of Locksley Manor, and usually he just took what he wanted. But it had been a very long time since anyone had given him a gift.

But they weren't going to get away that easy. "Stop! You're not poachers, I can see that. What are you doing in the forest?"

Martha and the doctor looked at each other. They both rushed for the door of the shack. "Must dash!" the doctor shouted. He pulled shut the blue shack's door and disappeared inside. Curiosity piqued, Guy banged on the door with a fist. "It's no use hiding," he bellowed. "Come out now, and the Sheriff may be lenient."

His only answer was that strange noise that ripped through the slowly darkening night, and he watched in amazement as the blue shack disappeared. He walked around and around the perimeter, noting with confusion the impression the object had made in the snow—so he couldn't have just imagined it. He shook himself and found he drew the "pleather" coat closer, almost automatically. Was it a vision? What other explanation could there possibly be? But the coat remained, entirely corporeal.

Eventually he found his horse and rode back to Nottingham, not a little dazed.

At the Sheriff's table he said little. "Gisborne," said the Sheriff, picking at his teeth, "is that new coat?"

"Yes."

"Hmm. Wherever did you get it?"

Guy cleared his throat and looked down. "I found it, my lord."

"Speaking of finding, what happened to finding the Night Watchman, or whatever he calls himself?"

"I followed him as far as the forest."

"And then?"

"And then my horse threw me. That is all." Guy knew the Sheriff was not really listening, so he probably could have mentioned the blue shack, the chicken-thing, the doctor and the Moor Martha without a word of wonder. Then again, he thought, standing next to the fire, the Sheriff would probably think him insane if he actually told the truth about what happened. Better to keep the coat and stay silent. Besides, it was a nice coat—pleather or not.