This has the potential to make no sense at all; and will probably be more comprehensible if you have seen the BBC series Robin Hood from a few years back, particularly the episode The Treasure of the Nation. Vague general knowledge of the story of Robin Hood should be enough to suffice though, if you know Downton. This crazy idea arose from the genius of Fourteen Hundred Hours thinking that Penelope Wilton had been in that episode (sadly, she wasn't really). Please give it a go.

The Merry Men of Downton

"Hello, Cousin Isobel."

Standing waiting in the entrance hall in her hat and coat- Carson, strangely, had not been there to take them, but she was glad, the man deserved a night off once in a while- Isobel turned to see Sybil similarly dressed, descending the stairs hurriedly and carrying a brown paper bag.

"Hello, my dear. I take it you're ready to go?" she asked.

"Yes, yes," Sybil replied happily, and the two of them made their way back across the hall and out into the darkening evening, "I'm so glad you said you would come with me. Mama said she was too tired and Mary and Edith have started to take a pretty dim view of this sort of thing. They think we're too grown up and it's always a dreadful bore for them if I ask them to go with me."

"Nonsense, my dear. I'd hate to miss this."

They set off down the drive towards the gate. Every year, the children at the village school would put on a play at the end of the second last half term of the school calender. This year, they were putting on Robin Hood and Isobel- having been offered the excuse to go by Sybil- had said she was only too keen. She loved to go to plays of any sort and, living in Downton as opposed to Manchester, such chances were noticeably thin on the ground without spending hours in the motorcar.

"Most of the servants like to go," Sybil informed her, " We usually let them have the evening off. That's where Carson is this evening. Most of the village normally turns up and we all have a wonderful time, or at least I think we do."

"Then, no doubt I shall as well," Isobel replied, "Sybil?" she enquired a second later, looking across curiously, "What's in the bag?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. Mrs Patmore sent us some sandwiches. Will you have the ham or the cheese?"

"The cheese, I think."

"Are you sure about that?" Sybil asked her, her tone light but seeming to speak in perfect earnest, "Cheese gives you dreadful nightmares, you know."

"Oh, what nonsense!" Isobel exclaimed, "That's just foolish superstition! I'll have you know that there's not a shred of medical evidence to support that hypothesis. Indigestion, perhaps, but I'm not particularly vulnerable to it, thank heavens. Anyway," she continued, "You do realise that almost every night your family serves cheese after dinner?"

"Yes, but I never eat it," Sybil assured her, "Because I don't want to have nightmares."

"Remarkable girl!" Isobel declared, her eyebrows raised, then exclaimed again, "This is absolutely idiotic! Who told you such a thing, and how old were you at the time?"

"Granny," Sybil admitted, "And I can't really remember when exactly."

"So I'd suppose you were pretty small?" Isobel concluded, "There you are, then. You ask Dr. Clarkson the next time you see him, and I'm sure he'll tell you."

"Fine," Sybil replied levelly, "I'll ask him when we get there."

Isobel looked puzzled for a second.

"He's always there!" Sybil told her.

"Why? Do these plays usually prove hazardous, and require a doctor's presence?"

"No! Dr. Clarkson is a governor of the school. If you go to the prize giving ceremony in September you'll see him sitting up there with the platform party in his university robes. Though, I dare say he won't have told you about it. Granny thinks he considers himself to be a bit above such menial work. He certainly despises committees."

"Well, why is he a school governor, then?" Isobel asked incredulously.

"Because he's good at it," Sybil told her, " And I don't think Granny's right," her tone was particularly pointed here, "He likes to feel as if he's doing some good. And I've heard Papa say that he's the only reason the governors get anything done at all. He just despises the bureaucratic elements, or so he says."

"Oh, him and his peculiar tastes and opinions! He can't ever entirely like anything. That man drives me to distraction, sometimes!" Isobel declared, with particular vehemence this time, "I don't mind telling you, Sybil, that I on occasions, and only on occasions, mind you, I find him absolutely maddening."

There was a short pause.

"Why?" asked Sybil.

"I don't know!" Isobel admitted rather reluctantly, "It's the way he always has an immediate answer to things, though not always the right one, I could care to add. But he's always so self-assured!"

"I thought you two got on well?" Sybil asked, "You always seem to. Granny says that you're thick as thieves most of the time."

"Well, your grandmother says that cheese gives you nightmares, so I wouldn't listen to her if I were you," Isobel told her, "I don't know. I can barely explain it. Most of the time I get along with him quite well, more than well on occasions. Oh, but at others he drives me absolutely mad!"

Sybil looked very much as if she had decided that it would be best not to press the subject. Isobel sighed. She did admit that she had quite a tendency to get carried away with this matter in particular, and she hadn't yet discovered why. They had been walking for a little while now and was getting darker, but the streetlights of the village were drawing ever closer; so close now that they could distinguish the glow of individual lights on the stone walls of the houses and the way they lit up the colourful strings of bunting strung across the streets as if the fair was here. As they entered the village properly they came across other little groups of people, all walking in the same direction as them.

"Look, Cousin Isobel, there's Mr Carson," Sybil pointed along the street, "I told you he was going to be here. He used to bring me every year, and Mary and Edith, until they got sick of it and I was big enough to come down on my own."

Isobel strained her eyes to look along the street. Either it was a trick of the dim light or the butler, despite not having his young entourage with him, was not alone.

"Isn't that Mrs Hughes walking with him?" she asked Sybil in a low voice.

Sybil squinted as well. Eventually, she turned back to her cousin.

"Well, that's never happened before!" she remarked gleefully, "There must be love about in the air this evening."

"Oh, good heavens!" Isobel remarked dryly, "You haven't ordered the motorcar to take us back, have you?"

"I'll ignore the implications of that remark," Sybil replied smartly, "And yes, I have. Well," she continued defensively, "It will be properly dark by then, and I'd hate for you to have to make your way home in the dark and cold, at your time of life," she added pointedly at the end.

"I live in the village!" Isobel reminded her even more smartly, "And I will ignore the implications made about my age!"

"Good evening ladies."

They both turned as they heard a familiar voice behind them. Dr. Clarkson had apparently just stepped out of the door of his house at a time that coincided with them passing by. Isobel, now in something of a bad mood and- the implications about her age not having helped at all and having been just reminded about how cross he could make her at times- was not best pleased to see him at the moment. Especially not looking so sure of himself like that. Or so oddly, irritatingly handsome.

"Good evening, Dr. Clarkson," she replied rather sharply, "I suppose you'll want to want to walk us down to the school house?"

To give him his due, he did seem to look rather less sure of himself once he heard her tone of voice.

"If that would be acceptable to you, Mrs Crawley," he replied, with an audible degree of uncertainty.

Fortunately, Sybil chose that moment to step in and save them, or so Isobel thought.

"That would be very good of you, Dr. Clarkson," she told him graciously, "I'm sure Cousin Isobel especially would be very glad of it."

Isobel opened her mouth to protest, but it then occurred to her that Dr. Clarkson would also hear whatever she said to Sybil. So she tried to make it look as if her sudden movement had been her smiling at him. He did not look altogether convinced.

"Come along then, Mrs Crawley," he offered her his arm almost tentatively.

She took it begrudgingly, not minding if she accepted it a little clumsily. Or, indeed, if she accidentally knocked his arm out of its socket. She turned her head, and when she caught Sybil smiling at her rather mischievously she knew what she'd very much like to say to her: no, love most certainly wasn't in the air this evening.

…...

"I do admit that they're usually better than that," Sybil conceded, "Not much, but usually all of the actors manage to stay on two feet."

"Well, it wasn't too bad," Isobel remarked, rather clutching at straws as they waited by the school wall for Branson to come with the motorcar, "It could have gone a lot worse; they could have all fallen over as they climbed onto the stage, poor things, instead of just Little John and Friar Tuck."

"Yes, that's true," Sybil agreed, "I think I saw Little John after it was over having his head bandaged by Dr. Clarkson."

There was a pause.

"Well, don't look at me like that!" Isobel told her, "That's his job, for heaven's sake! He's supposed to bandage people up, you can't expect me to be impressed by that, and it won't make him rise any in my good graces, that's for sure."

"Still," Sybil reminded her, "It is good of him to do it; he doesn't have to, he's not supposed to be on duty in the evenings."

"Doctors are never off duty," Isobel informed her shortly, "They must be vigilant at all times. Even in, on might say especially in, the evenings!"

Sybil did not quite know what to make of that remark, and decided it was best not to ask.

"You seemed to find him enough of an agreeable companion," she pointed out instead.

"He sat down beside me, what could I do?" Isobel protested.

"Still, you didn't seem to have any complaints."

"Well, he behaved himself."

Sybil couldn't help but snort a little. The way that her cousin said it very much inferred that such a thing was something of a rarity.

"Oh, I'm starving," Isobel announced before Sybil could say anything else, "I'm not waiting for Branson to get here, let's eat our sandwiches."

"What, on the street?"

"Oh, Sybil, live a little, to something that your grandmother would call "middle-class". Besides, there's no one here."

"You're not worried about the nightmares?" Sybil asked jokingly, as Isobel perched herself with dignity on the edge of the wall and took out her cheese sandwiches, "Even after the fiasco of an entertainment you've just witnessed?"

"I've had my share of nightmares this evening," Isobel pointed out, "I shan't have room for any more."

"I'm not sure it works like that," Sybil told her.

"And, as I said before, I'm not convinced that your theory works at all."

…...

"Hello, mother, did you have a pleasant evening? I'm just on my way up to bed."

Isobel smiled to meet her son in the hallway as she took off her hat and coat.

"Oh, it was dreadful," she told him, "Well, no, it wasn't that bad. But I've had Sybil pestering me over all kinds of ridiculous things- my goodness me that girl can talk nonsense sometimes! The play was something of a shambles, but the poor dears tried ever so hard."

"Did Dr. Clarkson make an appearance?" Matthew asked.

"Not on stage, no."

"No, I meant in a spectating capacity."

"Oh, yes he did. Was I the only one who didn't know he was going to be there?" she asked, "Do you know, Matthew, I've had just about enough of that man for one evening, and that was before I even met him face to face."

"What has he done?"

"Oh, nothing spectacularly out of the ordinary," she sighed, "Just being his usual merry self, I supposed you could call it. I think I had best call it a night too. Goodnight, my dear."

"Goodnight, mother."

…......

Everything was very dark, and very hazy. Isobel was not quite sure where she was, she didn't recognise anything. She felt extraordinarily disorientated, her head felt very heavy and her neck and collarbone were very cold. She wondered if she hadn't eaten enough, but those sandwiches had been quite substantial, and she had had some tea during the interval.

Thankfully, things came back into focus suddenly, and she realised why she was so disorientated- she was lying flat out on her front on a stone floor; that certainly wasn't the floor of her own room.

It was daylight. She must have spent the night here. Quickly, she scrambled up, thinking that if this was Sybil's idea of an amusing practical joke she might just have to kill her. Suddenly, she felt a pair of arms from behind her encircling her tightly, lifting her off her feet and pulling her rapid backwards. Unable to help herself, she yelped aloud in surprise, but that was not all. In the exact place where she had been standing only moments before, and arrow flew threw the air, embedding itself in a tapestry on the wall. Instead of struggling against the arms that still held her, she was now profoundly grateful and ceased trying to elbow the man- she was sure it was a man- in the ribs: he had just saved her life, intentionally or otherwise.

In her surprise, she hadn't realised that there were other figure in the room, but in fact it was quite full.

"Keep them covered, Will. You can put her down now, John. Are you alright, your Majesty?"

"Matthew!" Barely noticing that the arms loosened their grip on her, she didn't know if she was relieved to see a familiar face or to be worried that her son was with her in what was apparently a very dangerous place, "What on earth are you doing here? In fact, more to the point, what am I doing here? What has happened?"

"You fainted, your Majesty. Then the sheriff's men arrived."

"Sheriff? Do talk sense, my dear boy! What is going on?"

"We were told to find you, ma'am," Matthew told her, "We think you can help us."

"But, Matthew, you know you can-..."

"Forgive me, your Majesty, but why do you keep calling me Matthew?"

That was another point she needed to address.

"And why do you keep calling me "your Majesty"?" she asked, incredulously, "And why are you bowing before me like that. Get up, lad, for heaven's sakes!"

He looked very confused indeed, as he rose to stand. He was still the same height at least.

"Because you're the queen, ma'am."

"I'm-... ? Wha-..." she but her hand to her inordinately heavy head. It contacted with something metal. By this point, Isobel's mind was reeling. She drew herself up to her full height, trying to appear at least a fraction dignified, "Which queen am I?" she asked, trying to sound imperious enough to not appear ridiculous.

"Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, ma'am."

"Wha-...?"

"Robin Hood!" a loud, and strangely familiar voice bellowed, "You can't stay in there forever! Bring out the Queen and no one need get hurt."

"Robin? What-...!"

But Matthew had gone, crossing the room to the spyhole in the door, apparently answering to the call. He was dressed differently too. Bewildered, she followed him.

"Stay back, your Majesty!" he warned her, but it was too late, she had moved to quickly to heed him.

She could see through the spyhole herself; and to her astonishment she saw Cousin Robert. But he was different, somehow. He looked much more rugged, rougher round the edges, and somehow more vicious. There was something of a ruthless glint that she had never seen before in her life.

He had seen her too.

"Queen Eleanor," he murmured, with something like relish.

Isobel thought it best not to show that she was frightened. She reminded herself that she was the Queen., or at least these lunatics thought she was.

"Who is this man?" she asked Matthew.

Cousin Robert barked with savage laughter.

"Don't you recognise the Sheriff of Nottingham when you see him?" he asked, "Been hiding in France for too long, my Lady."

Isobel was about to protest that she hadn't been to France for years, when Matthew spoke instead.

"The Queen is staying with us," he told 'the sheriff', "Don't worry, ma'am, you'll go with them over all of our dead bodies."

"Well, thank you. I think."

"As you will, Robin Hood. On your head be it when Locksley Village burns to the ground!"

There were several crashes, like the falling of something very loud outside the door, then silence.

"What a vile man he's become," Isobel remarked to no one in particular, "And I hardly noticed at all. I must warn Cora when next I see her, or else console her."

Suddenly, a panicked voice issued from beside the door.

"They've blocked the way out! We're trapped!"

"Sybil! What's happened to you?"

There stood her young cousin wearing trousers and an odd short tunic- much similar to Matthew- her hair all cut short. What was more, she carried a long bow on her shoulders and held a fistful of arrows. She too looked confused to be addressed by her name, but she bowed as well, approaching Isobel cautiously.

"My name is Djac, your Majesty. And what happened to me is the same as what happened to the rest of us. We came here to find you, but we were followed by the Sheriff's men because they want to capture you; and now they've trapped us all," she looked towards Matthew, "They've blocked the door, Robin, I think it's a boulder. What are you going to do? We have to get out, if they're heading straight for Locksley."

Matthew looked grave.

"Can you see to it, John?" he asked, looking just behind Isobel's shoulder.

Isobel turned, curious to see the face of the man who had saved her life, and who had had such a strong grip. She nearly fell over again. Standing there, towering over her and dressed in a similar fashion to the rest of them, was Dr. Clarkson. Like Cousin Robert, he too was looking rather more rugged around the edges, but not unpleasantly so.

She was so surprised that, even when he had nodded gruffly and headed for the door, she stood stock still and bewildered.

I firmly congratulate you if you made it to the end, and even more so if you are not confused! Please review if you have the time, although I may live to regret this!