Fic: Weather Without (Robin Hood: Much, Robin, PG)
Title: Weather Without
Author: Jen (jazzfic)
Rating: PG
Characters: Much, Robin
Words: 1,500
Disclaimer: Pity, but they don't belong to me.
Spoilers: For 1.13 'A Clue: No'.
Summary: Much had learnt to deal with his master's very peculiar type of friendship, but it was never easy.
Notes: For the rh_ficchallenge: 'You don't love me'.
The rain had not let up for five whole days. It fell in great sheets, unrelenting in its damp ferocity; the canopy, thin from a dry, harsh winter, providing no more protection from the elements than the plain clothes on their backs. Soaked inches deep with water, the ground quickly churned into mud, making passage laboured and dangerous. The few roads leading through the forest soon became too drenched to use, and many a cart had to be abandoned, the owners forced to free their horses and leave behind possessions of value and no hope of rescue. Lightening frequently set the dark sky ablaze, hitting branches with such ferocity that had the rain been scarce, they would have very quickly disappeared into flame. This was weather that changed the landscape, weather that felled trees and forced all living things into hiding.
In short, it was weather that made life in the forest quite unbearable.
Much, sitting at the mouth of the cave, stared morosely at the rain as it hit the ground and formed little rivulets in the sand and fallen leaves. He prodded experimentally with the toe of his boot, watching as the mud clung stubbornly to the scratched leather. It was times like these that he wished he were a humble manservant again--instead of one turned unwillingly into an outlaw of this altogether sodden forest. But what else were they to do? The state of the roads made any sort of movement from the castle to the villages quite impossible, and so there was no one and nothing to supply the sort of fodder that an outlaw needed to be an outlaw. To...do outlawsy things. Stealing and giving back to the villagers.
Except the villagers were safe and warm under their cottage roofs. The sheriff was behind his castle walls...and they were here. Stuck like rabbits, in a cave.
His stomach growled. Much wiped a hand over his face and swallowed back a sigh. Rabbits. These days, everything seemed to turn his thoughts in the direction of food. Food on plates. On a table, by a fire. Inside a home.
Like an incessant drummer, the rain kept falling. He closed his eyes and covered his ears, but his hands were so cold he quickly removed them. That was another problem: he'd had gloves, once. Thick, lambskin gloves, which he'd taken with him all the way to the Holy Land, and kept nearby for five long years. But now, back in the forest, they had mysteriously gone missing. Along with his sanity, Much liked to think; and if he didn't keep an eye on that...well, that situation didn't bear thinking about.
"Much? What are you doing moping out here?"
Much peered back over his shoulder and gazed blankly up at Robin. "Moping," he replied shortly.
"You'll get wet."
"Oh, really. Unlike the 'wet' I've been on a continuous basis for the last week, I suppose. What new sort of 'wet' did you have in mind?"
"Wet that gets you under all manner of ills, my friend." Robin knelt on his haunches and smiled. "Now, come inside, and have something to eat."
"No thank you. I'm quite happy where I am."
He tried to appear indifferent, but his stomach grumbled again; he could sense Robin looking at him, and for a moment thought his master would persevere a little more, press his point just as Much was still pressing his boot into the muddy ground. But Robin stood up, the smile too stubborn to even fade a little. It was that look on his face, that sheer expression of knowing, which made Much rest his chin on his knees and stare pointedly back outside.
"Okay." And now there was Robin's hand on his shoulder, telling Much that he wasn't about to win any arguments today. He felt a pang of guilt and whipped his head back quickly, the apology already forming on his lips.
"Master..."
But Robin had disappeared back into the depths of the cave, and Much, his resolve to be indifferent waning as fast as his hunger deepened, lost sight of the younger man as he followed the flickering candlelight, away from the rain, and away from Much.
He frowned. How often did this seem to happen nowadays? Much, sick and tired of being taken for granted and trying to make a point about it--however insipidly it came across--and Robin making what should have appeared as a gesture aiming somewhere toward sympathy, but somehow, inevitably, always falling just short if the mark. Pity he didn't strike with plain empathy as well as he did an arrow to a target.
There was a low rumble in the distance, faint through the downpour. But there was the problem: Robin didn't lack empathy. If anything he wore his rampant heart like a quill on his sleeve--unrelenting in his quest to support the world outside the forest; men and women who hadn't the means, or could afford to take the risk of fighting back--when their livelihoods were plundered by a small minority who just happened to have all the power...and little scruples in the manner by which they chose to wield it.
It was all very much a tangle of feelings, brought about by things and situations beyond his control. Above everything else, it was simply confusing. And Much wasn't a man who shrugged off confusion easily. It gnawed at him, incessantly, as if there were voices speaking over his shoulder, judging him when his back was turned. It was a feeling he'd gotten used to, had accepted as a matter of course. But he'd never once asked for it. He'd learnt to deal with his master's very peculiar type of friendship, the way he loved without prejudice, or denial; at times he felt it so badly that it was all Much could do not to grasp Robin about the shoulders and never let go; at times he wanted to yell to the others how much they owed to this man, and were they to continue joking their way through the forest, playing as boys while the real war was still going on somewhere all too far away, then they did not deserve his leadership. They did not deserve him.
And that, Much knew, was jealousy, plain and true. It was greed for Robin Hood, for having his love in such an unflinching way that to share it would shatter it instead, rob it of its worth so that it became transparent; love that was fickle, tarnished. It was why he so easily forgave. It was why he so readily forgot harsh words such as pox, simple man, be lost--because, one way or another, it all came back to love, to what he couldn't afford to lose. Or imagine life without.
So Much forgave, and life went about as it had always done, with Robin the leader saying nothing, acknowledging only with a smile that teased, but no more. He felt this as something unmovable, something very heavy and hard to shift. He supposed it was his lot, which was why he accepted the bad with the good. Why he would sit out here and gaze into the rain, ignoring his growling stomach, but tomorrow would suffer it all again. Tomorrow his master would have his friend to do whatever bidding a friend should do--because Much, ally, soldier, outlaw, was above all things a man who loved without question, without complaint. And Robin knew that. Robin always knew.
Much drew back his legs, wriggling his calves a little so that they wouldn't cramp when, and if, he stood. The smell of something burnt wafted through from the cave. He ought to go back. He ought to do a lot of things. But, somehow, he never did.
"Much..." Djaq's voice now. She sounded so far away, and he wondered for a moment if Robin had asked her to call. "Much, come inside, do you not want to eat?"
He looked at the trees; he felt the rain on his fingers, stretched out to touch them. "I do," he murmured.
A sheet of lightening brightened the sky, turning light for dark and dark for light. So brief, one moment there and the next gone, all in complete silence. Much counted with a thumb on his knee, tapping the beats until the thunder came. Distance now. He could feel the separation of wind and water, the whirl of air disappearing into the sky. The stillness was getting longer, the rain was getting lighter; it was all going away. He narrowed his eyes and tried not to blink as the trees, leaves wet and glistening, lit up again, but now so faint that if he closed them there would be not much difference in sight. Nature's forgiveness, gaining momentum as the sun rose through the darkened woodland. Much waited and watched, forgetting his hunger and the cold. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps the storm had finally done its worst.
Author: Jen (jazzfic)
Rating: PG
Characters: Much, Robin
Words: 1,500
Disclaimer: Pity, but they don't belong to me.
Spoilers: For 1.13 'A Clue: No'.
Summary: Much had learnt to deal with his master's very peculiar type of friendship, but it was never easy.
Notes: For the rh_ficchallenge: 'You don't love me'.
The rain had not let up for five whole days. It fell in great sheets, unrelenting in its damp ferocity; the canopy, thin from a dry, harsh winter, providing no more protection from the elements than the plain clothes on their backs. Soaked inches deep with water, the ground quickly churned into mud, making passage laboured and dangerous. The few roads leading through the forest soon became too drenched to use, and many a cart had to be abandoned, the owners forced to free their horses and leave behind possessions of value and no hope of rescue. Lightening frequently set the dark sky ablaze, hitting branches with such ferocity that had the rain been scarce, they would have very quickly disappeared into flame. This was weather that changed the landscape, weather that felled trees and forced all living things into hiding.
In short, it was weather that made life in the forest quite unbearable.
Much, sitting at the mouth of the cave, stared morosely at the rain as it hit the ground and formed little rivulets in the sand and fallen leaves. He prodded experimentally with the toe of his boot, watching as the mud clung stubbornly to the scratched leather. It was times like these that he wished he were a humble manservant again--instead of one turned unwillingly into an outlaw of this altogether sodden forest. But what else were they to do? The state of the roads made any sort of movement from the castle to the villages quite impossible, and so there was no one and nothing to supply the sort of fodder that an outlaw needed to be an outlaw. To...do outlawsy things. Stealing and giving back to the villagers.
Except the villagers were safe and warm under their cottage roofs. The sheriff was behind his castle walls...and they were here. Stuck like rabbits, in a cave.
His stomach growled. Much wiped a hand over his face and swallowed back a sigh. Rabbits. These days, everything seemed to turn his thoughts in the direction of food. Food on plates. On a table, by a fire. Inside a home.
Like an incessant drummer, the rain kept falling. He closed his eyes and covered his ears, but his hands were so cold he quickly removed them. That was another problem: he'd had gloves, once. Thick, lambskin gloves, which he'd taken with him all the way to the Holy Land, and kept nearby for five long years. But now, back in the forest, they had mysteriously gone missing. Along with his sanity, Much liked to think; and if he didn't keep an eye on that...well, that situation didn't bear thinking about.
"Much? What are you doing moping out here?"
Much peered back over his shoulder and gazed blankly up at Robin. "Moping," he replied shortly.
"You'll get wet."
"Oh, really. Unlike the 'wet' I've been on a continuous basis for the last week, I suppose. What new sort of 'wet' did you have in mind?"
"Wet that gets you under all manner of ills, my friend." Robin knelt on his haunches and smiled. "Now, come inside, and have something to eat."
"No thank you. I'm quite happy where I am."
He tried to appear indifferent, but his stomach grumbled again; he could sense Robin looking at him, and for a moment thought his master would persevere a little more, press his point just as Much was still pressing his boot into the muddy ground. But Robin stood up, the smile too stubborn to even fade a little. It was that look on his face, that sheer expression of knowing, which made Much rest his chin on his knees and stare pointedly back outside.
"Okay." And now there was Robin's hand on his shoulder, telling Much that he wasn't about to win any arguments today. He felt a pang of guilt and whipped his head back quickly, the apology already forming on his lips.
"Master..."
But Robin had disappeared back into the depths of the cave, and Much, his resolve to be indifferent waning as fast as his hunger deepened, lost sight of the younger man as he followed the flickering candlelight, away from the rain, and away from Much.
He frowned. How often did this seem to happen nowadays? Much, sick and tired of being taken for granted and trying to make a point about it--however insipidly it came across--and Robin making what should have appeared as a gesture aiming somewhere toward sympathy, but somehow, inevitably, always falling just short if the mark. Pity he didn't strike with plain empathy as well as he did an arrow to a target.
There was a low rumble in the distance, faint through the downpour. But there was the problem: Robin didn't lack empathy. If anything he wore his rampant heart like a quill on his sleeve--unrelenting in his quest to support the world outside the forest; men and women who hadn't the means, or could afford to take the risk of fighting back--when their livelihoods were plundered by a small minority who just happened to have all the power...and little scruples in the manner by which they chose to wield it.
It was all very much a tangle of feelings, brought about by things and situations beyond his control. Above everything else, it was simply confusing. And Much wasn't a man who shrugged off confusion easily. It gnawed at him, incessantly, as if there were voices speaking over his shoulder, judging him when his back was turned. It was a feeling he'd gotten used to, had accepted as a matter of course. But he'd never once asked for it. He'd learnt to deal with his master's very peculiar type of friendship, the way he loved without prejudice, or denial; at times he felt it so badly that it was all Much could do not to grasp Robin about the shoulders and never let go; at times he wanted to yell to the others how much they owed to this man, and were they to continue joking their way through the forest, playing as boys while the real war was still going on somewhere all too far away, then they did not deserve his leadership. They did not deserve him.
And that, Much knew, was jealousy, plain and true. It was greed for Robin Hood, for having his love in such an unflinching way that to share it would shatter it instead, rob it of its worth so that it became transparent; love that was fickle, tarnished. It was why he so easily forgave. It was why he so readily forgot harsh words such as pox, simple man, be lost--because, one way or another, it all came back to love, to what he couldn't afford to lose. Or imagine life without.
So Much forgave, and life went about as it had always done, with Robin the leader saying nothing, acknowledging only with a smile that teased, but no more. He felt this as something unmovable, something very heavy and hard to shift. He supposed it was his lot, which was why he accepted the bad with the good. Why he would sit out here and gaze into the rain, ignoring his growling stomach, but tomorrow would suffer it all again. Tomorrow his master would have his friend to do whatever bidding a friend should do--because Much, ally, soldier, outlaw, was above all things a man who loved without question, without complaint. And Robin knew that. Robin always knew.
Much drew back his legs, wriggling his calves a little so that they wouldn't cramp when, and if, he stood. The smell of something burnt wafted through from the cave. He ought to go back. He ought to do a lot of things. But, somehow, he never did.
"Much..." Djaq's voice now. She sounded so far away, and he wondered for a moment if Robin had asked her to call. "Much, come inside, do you not want to eat?"
He looked at the trees; he felt the rain on his fingers, stretched out to touch them. "I do," he murmured.
A sheet of lightening brightened the sky, turning light for dark and dark for light. So brief, one moment there and the next gone, all in complete silence. Much counted with a thumb on his knee, tapping the beats until the thunder came. Distance now. He could feel the separation of wind and water, the whirl of air disappearing into the sky. The stillness was getting longer, the rain was getting lighter; it was all going away. He narrowed his eyes and tried not to blink as the trees, leaves wet and glistening, lit up again, but now so faint that if he closed them there would be not much difference in sight. Nature's forgiveness, gaining momentum as the sun rose through the darkened woodland. Much waited and watched, forgetting his hunger and the cold. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps the storm had finally done its worst.