The Storyteller

Chapter 1: By the Well

**This is a post-S2 fanfic that was written well before S3 aired. I'm publishing it for the first time here on Wattpad. :) So, I hope you all enjoy it, or if you've read this fic before on another site, then I hope you have fun re-reading! While fic may only be a hobby, I do take my writing rather seriously. Even though this story was written years ago and I think my writing has improved vastly since then, if you have any critiques at all feel free to comment. I can be quite the infamous Typo Queen, so even if you only want to point out a misused comma or semi-colon that will be appreciated too! I had no beta-reader while writing this story and there are only so many errors I'm sure one pair of eyes can catch, so any typos you spy I'll gladly fix. :)**

Disclaimer: I do not own Robin Hood BBC that pleasure belongs to the show's creators respectfully.

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          There was no better story teller in Nottingham, some said, then Lynna Priddy. Priddy her name, not her face. Plain, small, sickly Lynna Priddy, yet never was there a stronger voice or more beautiful words spoken then out of her thin pale lips. Her mother had told such stories as she had learned from her mother and her mother before her. The stories she gave to the children, and to anyone who would listen. She spoke as she swept, or dusted, or cleaned, or washed. The Priddys were weavers, responsible for the mending and creating of clothes and other material goods for the villagers. A skill, one might say, necessary in order to weave such stories. The Priddy women had never married as far back as memory served, always there was some lover and promises made and promises broken and then the lover would go away. Perhaps this was why the Priddy women told such fantastic stories, without one of their own they borrowed others.

 Lynna would stand upon her wooden bucket outside in the village square and tell and retell the old stories and even make up her own tales. She stood up tall and proud, but when the listeners went away and she got down from her bucket she limped small and quietly back to her work. Priddy her name but not Lynna. That's what they said.

She walked in her odd and quiet way. Shuffle thump, shuffle thump; down the muddy path. It had just stopped raining, fine time to be going to fetch water from the well. Shuffle thump, shuffle thump. She tied the rope around the bucket and lowered it down. She watched as the bucket disappeared from sight for a while, but she waited for the coming splash of water. Brave, wooden bucket! She thought; the most ordinary bucket, but always he would fetch the water from the well! That would make a nice story for the little ones. She would work on elaborating it and have it ready for the coming market day.

She pulled upon the rope. Up! Come up brave, wooden bucket! Lynna thought with a sly smile. She gave a startled gasp as she lost her grip on the rope and felt the bucket falling back down into the wall. A hand reached out from above her and caught the rope. “Lost your bucket, miss?” a voice remarked.

“Nearly.” She turned about. “Luckily it shall live to gather water another day thanks to you, sir.” She took the bucket as it reappeared over the rim of the well. She squinted her gray-green eyes up at the hooded man who had aided her. “I know you, sir?”

“I do not think so.” The man turned to walk away.

“I do so!” Lynna shuffled away from the well, bucket clutched in both of her hands, “The people call you the living legend. You are Robin Hood.”

“Legend I may be, living I am not. Take care on your way home, miss.” The man moved towards the forest.

Lynna stared off after the man, curious as to his statement. She had heard the stories of Robin Hood and knew him for a joyful and roguish young man. Yet this man who had aided her had been the image of somberness. Curious, perhaps the rain had something to do with his current mood. Lynna held the bucket tight in both her hands and shuffled down the path. She tried to blow a few strands of her mousy brown hair out of her eyes, but only succeeded in aggravating its condition further. She hobbled over to her home and shoved the door open with her body. She set the sloshing water bucket down in the corner. It was freezing inside, but she did not have enough money to buy firewood, nor did she have the utensils or strength to gather her own.