Rachel woke, gasping, clutching her chest. It took her a moment to realize she wasn't falling to her doom or in Nottingham. Reassured, she swung her legs out of bed, feeling the cold marble on her bare feet. She pondered what she had seen in the dream.

The problem was, as Morpheus, Rachel no longer dreamed her own dreams. She absorbed the dreams of others in The Story, mostly in Athens but occasionally extending to others she had met; Will, Guy, Red, and many more.

It was the first time since Rachel had been written into The Story that she had dreamed her own dream. She touched her bedside table, unconsciously seeking the letter from the Editor she had kept there before remembering she had burned it about a month ago, tired of it lurking over her head like some sort of terrible omen.

Rachel rubbed her forehead, her curly blonde hair sticking to her face from the sweat. Whatever that had been, it was certainly frightening. It had felt so real...Get ahold of yourself, Rachel. You're no coward; the Editor can't frighten you this way! She knew where she needed to go, what she had to do.

Rachel dressed quickly, deciding against the black cloak after recalling she had put that on in her dream. Coward or not, she was not following that dream. She didn't eat breakfast; she wasn't hungry. Rachel did grab her sword off the dining room table as she went out the door into the temple beyond.

Several people slept in the temple. She had them to thank for a lot of their nightly dreams. She prevented their nightmares by dreaming them for the people, which was not exactly fun. Some people had extremely vivid imaginations.

Despite that, Rachel honestly didn't mind being a part of The Story, especially since having been written in had saved her life. It was a little odd playing the part of a god—not a goddess—but her friend, Will Scarlet, had been rushed and bleeding to death as he wrote her in. She couldn't really complain about that.

Rachel emerged from the temple onto the streets of Athens as the sun rose in the distance. An overly cheerful voice greeted her with a "Hello, Rachel!"

The first week in Athens, Hermes had scared Rachel out of her wits every morning he greeted her like that. Four months later, she was completely used to it. Rachel turned and looked up at Hermes. He was average height, but compared to Rachel he may as well have been a giant. "Good morning, Hermes," Rachel answered.

"It's the big day today, isn't it?" Hermes asked, his umber eyes dancing in excitement. The wings on his sandals fluttered frantically. Rachel wondered if he was going to take flight.

"Big day?"

"Your wedding, silly!" Hermes said, grinning. His curly cherry-blond hair bounced up and down. "I am invited, right?"

"Of course." Hermes really wasn't Rachel's ideal friend, but the god of messengers had been best friends with her brother Ewan. Somehow, that had made Hermes her official assistant in all things Athens; that was something she really could have done without but had little choice in. "If you'll excuse me..."

Hermes had the uncanny ability to know when something was amiss. "Is everything alright, Rachel? You seem nervous."

"I'm fine," Rachel said, crossing her arms.

"Are you sure? You don't normally carry your sword to Nottingham," Hermes pointed out, indicating the sword at Rachel's hip.

Rachel's hand instinctively fell to her sword before she realized what she was doing. She scowled. "I had a bad dream, that's all. It made me nervous. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to see my husband-to-be before getting ready for tonight."

Hermes finally got her point and moved out of her way, though his expressive face was crestfallen. "If you ever want to talk," he offered.

"Thanks," Rachel said quickly, opening a Story door behind Hermes. "I'll see you tonight." She ducked through the door before Hermes could start talking again.

. . . . . .

There was no one on the streets of Nottingham. That made Rachel nervous. After Will and Rachel's rewrite of The Story, the Sheriff of Nottingham had ended his life and Guy of Gisborne had taken over. He turned out to be a popular leader of Nottingham, even—mostly—ending his feuds with the Merry Men. The fact that he was getting married served only to excite his people.

Or, it had excited his people. Where is everyone? Rachel touched her sword, taking comfort in the familiar touch. It was too similar to her dream, too much of a reminder. "Hello?" she shouted. Please don't let the Editor answer me!

For a moment, there was silence. Then a window near her opened. "Yes?" Rachel turned and faced the woman in the window. She was unfamiliar to her.

"I'm looking for Guy of Gisborne," Rachel answered. "Is he here?"

The woman responded by slamming the window shut and closing the curtains. Umm...okay. That's weird. "Ma'am?" Rachel called, but the woman continued to ignore her.

Rachel shrugged and moved on. Obviously there were still some people who held a grudge against Guy. She continued to what had formerly been the Sheriff's home, a massive stone house dwarfing all houses around it. Sitting on the steps outside of the house was a forlorn-looking redhead with dark brown eyes. A lute sat on the steps beside him. "Alan?" Rachel said. A strange sense of fear clutched at her.

Alan-a-Dale looked up at her, standing up quickly. He nearly dropped the lute in the process. "Lady Rachel!" he exclaimed. Rachel saw evidence of tears still on his face. "You—thank God you're here!"

"What is it? What's wrong?" Rachel demanded. She knew when Alan was emotional he tended to be difficult to bring to the point. She didn't have the time or desire to bandy words with him.

Thankfully, he didn't either. "It's Will," he explained, his voice coming in quick gasps. "He's, he's, well...we really don't know."

"Let's go," Rachel decided. The two hurried into the house and into the study. Will Scarlet, red-haired, dark eyed, and extremely skinny, was in a bed there, his eyes closed and his normally-pale face china-doll white.

Friar Tuck, the Merry Men's healer, was kneeling beside Will, toweling off the teenager's forehead. "Friar, I've brought Lady Rachel," Alan said quietly, motioning Rachel forward.

Friar Tuck looked up at her, his gray eyes sad. "Do something for him, please," he begged.

Final Death. A sudden piece from the Editor's threatening letter came back to Rachel. The Editor had warned Rachel that Will would undergo Final Death for helping Rachel. The Editor wanted to rewrite everything Rachel had done...It couldn't be.

Rachel went to Will and moved the blankets aside. "He was bleeding," Friar Tuck explained. "But nobody touched him! I cleaned the blood away, and he seemed alright. Then he took a turn for the worse an hour ago..."

Rachel moved Will's shirt out of the way. It stuck to his skin, sticky with red blood. "Oh gosh," Rachel gasped, reeling back. Her fingertips were doused in the blood. She felt ill. With some effort she concealed her bloodied fingers behind her and explained what she had found out to the two Merry Men. "That knife wound, the one he was inflicted with when we were trying to rewrite The Story, it's back. Tend to it, and he should be alright." I hope.

Friar Tuck did as she was told, and Alan and Rachel left him. "He'll be alright, won't he?" Alan asked worriedly. Will was the little brother of the Merry Men; they were all extremely protective of him. Unfortunately, Will had a bad habit of getting hurt almost constantly.

"He'll be fine," Rachel assured him.

"Rachel!" Robin Hood, Will's uncle, ran up to them. His bushy beard was unkempt and messy. He ran a hand through his disheveled brown hair. "It's Will! He's..."

"He'll be fine," Rachel said. She had a bigger worry on her mind at the moment. "Robin, I've seen you, Alan, Will, Friar Tuck, and I'm pretty sure I saw Little John lurking the hall at some point. But I haven't seen Guy. Where is he?"

Robin stared at Alan, dumbstruck. "You haven't told her?"

"Told her?" Alan licked his lips nervously. "I, umm...I forgot."

"If one of you doesn't tell me what the heck is going on, I'm going to give you both a worse wound than Will!" Rachel exclaimed, exasperated. "Where is Guy?"

"Well, to be honest," Robin admitted, staring at his feet, "we, well, we really don't know."

"You don't know?" Rachel's voice was deathly calm, belying the storm of emotions raging inside of her. "What do you mean by that, Robin?"

"Rachel..." Robin bit his lip before taking the plunge. "Rachel, Guy of Gisborne went missing last night."