Fic: A Thing of Simple Feeling (Robin Hood: Will/Marian, Will/Djaq, Much/Djaq, PG)
Title: A Thing of Simple Feeling
Author: Jen (jazzfic)
Rating: PG
Pairings: Will/Marian, Will/Djaq, Much/Djaq
Words: 2,167
Spoilers: For 2x10 'Walkabout'
Disclaimer: Property of the BBC, and all those who make awesome television out of British legends. And not a scrap of it belongs to me.
Summary: Will Scarlett contemplates the women in his life.
Notes: secretsheriff gift for velvet_midnight. I admit that at first I didn't know how I was going to handle Will's POV, as he's not a character I've ever written before. But I think it all worked itself out in the end. Fingers crossed, anyway. I do hope you like it.
He isn't entirely sure how they have managed to come here, except that the evening is unusually clear, they have eaten well and there is no more work in the day to be done at their leader's request. Robin, in fact, has ordered them out of camp and here to this place, to the highest hill overlooking Nottingham, to sit beneath the broad sky, and sight the last cool shadows and dying sunlight beyond the trees. The castle is before them, imposing and dark, and Will looks at it silently as the others talk.
"Something bothering you?" It is Much's voice that makes Will turn. For a moment he thinks the question has been directed at him, until John, who has been sitting on a nearby log, swats at something in the air and grumbles a reply.
"Insects. Biting," he says shortly, by way of explanation. "Going back to camp."
Reason given, he does just that. Robin is on his heels with a smile, and a not-so-subtle reminder that they watch out for the trap when they return. "I don't want a repeat of last night's incident," he says in a pointed tone, eyeing John's departing figure.
There are innocent nods all round; Robin waves a goodnight, disappearing like a ghost into the trees, and Will, still silent, turns back to the castle.
High in the north tower, there is a window. Its shutters are still partly open to the night air, and behind them the faint light of a candle can be seen. Will doesn't know if it is hers, but he likes to imagine it might be, that she might be looking out to the forest just as her outlaws sneak a furtive glance in return. His thoughts turn about with the flickering shadows; he thinks back to the way her eyes sought out his while soldiers flew about them, and how she had taken Robin's ring without a word, the surprise drawing the blush from her face, drawing it away in shock.
Had she taken Gisborne's hand and accepted his proposal, Will knows he'd have done nothing to stop her, or cared in the slightest as to what Robin's reaction might have been. Seeing her there, it was all he could do not to push her into action, if it fulfilled his task, and had her live.
Of course, it is all speculation now. He is not sure what is worse, really.
"Would you have done it, Will?"
He twists around in the grass. With Robin and John's departure, Much and Djaq are the only ones remaining, and they sit side by side, watching him now in equal measures of curiosity. He can see that they have been busy threading wildflowers together in vaguely identifiable shapes--a bracelet, a crown, a necklace. There are spots of colour scattered here and there in the buttonholes of Much's waistcoat, strangely suiting him in a way that makes Will want to smile.
"What do you mean?" he asks, instead.
"Would you have stayed," Much asks, his eyes round and bright, "to defend Nottingham. With Gisborne and Allan, I mean."
He thinks of Marian. He can't explain what that question makes him feel, so he just nods once, and replies, "Yes."
Djaq peers at Will, perhaps understanding his hesitation. She takes the remaining flowers gently from Much's hands, rescuing them from certain enthusiastic destruction, and brings her knees up to rest beneath her chin. "I do not think it was simply following orders," she says, glancing away from Will and over to Much. "When we are given a job so grave it is not wise to question it. Besides, Much...I do not think Will had a lot of choice."
"We would not be here, if it weren't for Robin," Will adds, quietly. At which a look of resignation passes briefly over Much's face, and he nods.
"I know that."
"And Marian has done her job, too. She does it every day, and she's in as much danger as the rest of us. She--"
"Will." Much's interruption is a little forceful, and he frowns. "I know. We just...wondered. That's all."
A tiny bubble of frustration makes its way into Will's throat, but he swallows it back quickly. They don't know, he thinks. Much is so wrapped up in Robin's fortunes, happy or otherwise, that too often he simply sees nothing beyond them. They weren't there, they didn't see Allan handing out weapons to the villagers, or Marian murmuring words of reassurance to the women. They couldn't know how Gisborne came back.
They don't know what Will himself felt, what he still feels. They don't know.
He realises that these oblique thoughts have taken him away from the others again, but when Will sneaks a glance back Much and Djaq have returned to their previous activity, and are now quite comfortably absorbed in one another, alone in the grass, existing as if war and outlaws are a foreign thing, far away from this sheltered place. He watches Djaq in particular; she has a look of contentment on her face that he is certain has not been there so openly before. As two halves of a bitter conflict, they make an oddly complete pair, complimenting each other in a way that, to an outsider, is not immediately noticeable. Djaq seems to be able to take Much's often fraught and tender ruminations about the world, and have him work them out bit by bit, until they are less of a burden. He does not worry so much these days, unless it is about food; although Will is quite certain that the day Much finds nothing to worry about is surely a long way off. The stuff of daydreams, perhaps. He would not put that past either of them, though they seem quite happy stripping a small patch of meadow free of flowers just at the moment, and for the sake of the peace, he lets them be.
It calms him, just watching her. There is a reason why men fight wars, Will thinks, but from what he sees, it is women who fall just as hard--if not harder, in fact, and he is not just picturing Marian here. The daughter of Edward is as unlike this Saracen girl living with her brother's name as two people can possibly be; however, if he were to pick any two women that are stronger, or more capable than Marian or Djaq, he is not at all sure he could do it.
When Marian smiles, her face is lit with something indescribable. It is an energy that stretches far beyond compassion. To Will, it is dynamic, a thing of simple feeling, beauty so clear that it almost hurts him to think of it as being separated between the duties, and cares, of two very different worlds.
But he knows it cannot be any different. And it is the same with Djaq. Once he might have felt a twinge of jealously, but Will has known, for some time now, that whatever feelings he might have had are long gone--changed, he believes, by circumstances he has little control over, but does not resent. He can't--he loves her as he loves Luke. As he loves Robin. There is no comparison; Will might be young, but he has maturity beyond his years, and he has seen the bigger stakes. He has held them in his hands. When Robin pressed the ring against his palm, clasping the two together like he might clasp a great seal onto parchment, Will remembers thinking--knowing--that love has taken him to this place, has asked him to defend not only the name of Scarlett, but of Marian's too.
Even now, even here, he feels the responsibility as a crusader outside of war. Still a boy when they left, he could not have ridden to the Holy Lands; instead, in this moment, he feels her presence as vividly as if she was lying in the grass by his side.
He lets his breath out slowly. Discomfort and reason are making his mind wander. To counter this, Will stretches back, so he can no longer see the castle and there is nothing above him but sky. The light is fading, the air now with just the slightest bite of chill to signal the approaching night. He closes his eyes; he can still hear Much's voice, soft in the background, but he can't make out the words any more. It doesn't matter anyway, it is just sound. Just the musings of young dreamers; here, in the forest, and the poor-man's lands; there, upon the battlements where the Nottingham pennant flies.
"I think we'd best leave," he says at last, standing up from the grass, wondering somewhat if he needs approval for this because he hasn't the will to do it himself, to properly leave her sight.
"Good idea," Much declares, his voice strident enough as to drag Will back to the scene at hand with a palpable thud, "for I am being attacked by every insect in Nottinghamshire here." He smacks a hand against his neck as if to make this point fact, and stands up as well, his movement sprightly but not quite matching Will's languid grace. It is more of an ungainly flourish; a chain of flowers falls from his lap, and as Djaq patiently examines the bite marks Much offers to her trained eye, Will bends down to pick it out of the grass. Petals of white and gold--they smell of honey.
Much glances up and sees the look on the younger man's face. "Oh, you can keep that one," he says airily, waving a hand in Will's direction. "I think we've got enough anyway..."
"Are you planning on redecorating the camp?" Will asks, as they make their way from the hillside and into the forest. He tucks the chain carefully in his pocket, knowing he is probably going to be fishing out bits of petal and stem later on, but decides that he doesn't really care either way.
"Well..." Much, enjoying his temporary position as artistic counsel, takes a moment to ponder this question. "I've always said that a little colour about the place wouldn't hurt anyone."
Will shakes his head. "I have never heard you say that, Much."
This is quite true, and forces Much into a brief silence. Eventually, and a little stubbornly, he says, "Yes, but it's a good idea."
"Perhaps it is," Djaq offers carefully, as usual the voice of reason where Much and Much's ideas are concerned, "but I'm not entirely sure if Robin will appreciate a floral trail laid out for the Sheriff's men to follow."
"Now, that is not going to happen," Much scoffs.
She puts one hand on his arm, gently turning him back in the direction they have come. Like points made out on a map, loose petals and snapped-off flower heads are scattered at intervals along the path. "That doesn't look like a trail to you?"
There is a pause. Much blinks. "Oh."
Smiling to himself, Will continues forward at a slow pace, leaving Much to hastily erase the unintentional evidence of their passage. By now the forest is darkening quickly, but he knows the paths so well that he could easily lead them home blindfolded. He walks steadily, tuning out the conversation that is still going on behind him, though by now it has dropped thankfully to a murmur. Djaq's means of convincing Much out of foolish action is a practiced routine by now, although Will has a feeling that is it not really complaining on Much's part, as simply having someone who will listen to him. In any case, he soon forgets they are there, and the only sound that remains is the quiet thud of three pairs of boots in the leaves. His ears pick out the distant hoot of an owl, and through the encroaching gloom he begins to see trees arranged in familiar patterns, visible to Will like a welcoming hearth is to a home, signalling their approach to camp.
He remembers Robin's warning--the words Much and accident flash briefly in his mind, forever a painful reminder--and disarms the trap.
"Goodnight, Will."
Djaq glances over as she and Much pass by. It is not too dark to still see her eyes, but Will only nods, watching in silence as they disappear below the ridge.
Alone now, he fiddles with the mechanism and quietly re-arms the trap. Then he thinks for a moment and puts a hand in his pocket. The flowers, as he'd expected, are a crushed mess; he lets them fall from his fingers to the ground. In the light that remains Will holds out his palm, looking at it, wondering.
Trust in the clasp of a hand, he thinks. She is safe up there, and alive. He cannot ask for anything more. The fragrance lingers, for a single brief moment, before it is taken and lost to the air.
Author: Jen (jazzfic)
Rating: PG
Pairings: Will/Marian, Will/Djaq, Much/Djaq
Words: 2,167
Spoilers: For 2x10 'Walkabout'
Disclaimer: Property of the BBC, and all those who make awesome television out of British legends. And not a scrap of it belongs to me.
Summary: Will Scarlett contemplates the women in his life.
Notes: secretsheriff gift for velvet_midnight. I admit that at first I didn't know how I was going to handle Will's POV, as he's not a character I've ever written before. But I think it all worked itself out in the end. Fingers crossed, anyway. I do hope you like it.
He isn't entirely sure how they have managed to come here, except that the evening is unusually clear, they have eaten well and there is no more work in the day to be done at their leader's request. Robin, in fact, has ordered them out of camp and here to this place, to the highest hill overlooking Nottingham, to sit beneath the broad sky, and sight the last cool shadows and dying sunlight beyond the trees. The castle is before them, imposing and dark, and Will looks at it silently as the others talk.
"Something bothering you?" It is Much's voice that makes Will turn. For a moment he thinks the question has been directed at him, until John, who has been sitting on a nearby log, swats at something in the air and grumbles a reply.
"Insects. Biting," he says shortly, by way of explanation. "Going back to camp."
Reason given, he does just that. Robin is on his heels with a smile, and a not-so-subtle reminder that they watch out for the trap when they return. "I don't want a repeat of last night's incident," he says in a pointed tone, eyeing John's departing figure.
There are innocent nods all round; Robin waves a goodnight, disappearing like a ghost into the trees, and Will, still silent, turns back to the castle.
High in the north tower, there is a window. Its shutters are still partly open to the night air, and behind them the faint light of a candle can be seen. Will doesn't know if it is hers, but he likes to imagine it might be, that she might be looking out to the forest just as her outlaws sneak a furtive glance in return. His thoughts turn about with the flickering shadows; he thinks back to the way her eyes sought out his while soldiers flew about them, and how she had taken Robin's ring without a word, the surprise drawing the blush from her face, drawing it away in shock.
Had she taken Gisborne's hand and accepted his proposal, Will knows he'd have done nothing to stop her, or cared in the slightest as to what Robin's reaction might have been. Seeing her there, it was all he could do not to push her into action, if it fulfilled his task, and had her live.
Of course, it is all speculation now. He is not sure what is worse, really.
"Would you have done it, Will?"
He twists around in the grass. With Robin and John's departure, Much and Djaq are the only ones remaining, and they sit side by side, watching him now in equal measures of curiosity. He can see that they have been busy threading wildflowers together in vaguely identifiable shapes--a bracelet, a crown, a necklace. There are spots of colour scattered here and there in the buttonholes of Much's waistcoat, strangely suiting him in a way that makes Will want to smile.
"What do you mean?" he asks, instead.
"Would you have stayed," Much asks, his eyes round and bright, "to defend Nottingham. With Gisborne and Allan, I mean."
He thinks of Marian. He can't explain what that question makes him feel, so he just nods once, and replies, "Yes."
Djaq peers at Will, perhaps understanding his hesitation. She takes the remaining flowers gently from Much's hands, rescuing them from certain enthusiastic destruction, and brings her knees up to rest beneath her chin. "I do not think it was simply following orders," she says, glancing away from Will and over to Much. "When we are given a job so grave it is not wise to question it. Besides, Much...I do not think Will had a lot of choice."
"We would not be here, if it weren't for Robin," Will adds, quietly. At which a look of resignation passes briefly over Much's face, and he nods.
"I know that."
"And Marian has done her job, too. She does it every day, and she's in as much danger as the rest of us. She--"
"Will." Much's interruption is a little forceful, and he frowns. "I know. We just...wondered. That's all."
A tiny bubble of frustration makes its way into Will's throat, but he swallows it back quickly. They don't know, he thinks. Much is so wrapped up in Robin's fortunes, happy or otherwise, that too often he simply sees nothing beyond them. They weren't there, they didn't see Allan handing out weapons to the villagers, or Marian murmuring words of reassurance to the women. They couldn't know how Gisborne came back.
They don't know what Will himself felt, what he still feels. They don't know.
He realises that these oblique thoughts have taken him away from the others again, but when Will sneaks a glance back Much and Djaq have returned to their previous activity, and are now quite comfortably absorbed in one another, alone in the grass, existing as if war and outlaws are a foreign thing, far away from this sheltered place. He watches Djaq in particular; she has a look of contentment on her face that he is certain has not been there so openly before. As two halves of a bitter conflict, they make an oddly complete pair, complimenting each other in a way that, to an outsider, is not immediately noticeable. Djaq seems to be able to take Much's often fraught and tender ruminations about the world, and have him work them out bit by bit, until they are less of a burden. He does not worry so much these days, unless it is about food; although Will is quite certain that the day Much finds nothing to worry about is surely a long way off. The stuff of daydreams, perhaps. He would not put that past either of them, though they seem quite happy stripping a small patch of meadow free of flowers just at the moment, and for the sake of the peace, he lets them be.
It calms him, just watching her. There is a reason why men fight wars, Will thinks, but from what he sees, it is women who fall just as hard--if not harder, in fact, and he is not just picturing Marian here. The daughter of Edward is as unlike this Saracen girl living with her brother's name as two people can possibly be; however, if he were to pick any two women that are stronger, or more capable than Marian or Djaq, he is not at all sure he could do it.
When Marian smiles, her face is lit with something indescribable. It is an energy that stretches far beyond compassion. To Will, it is dynamic, a thing of simple feeling, beauty so clear that it almost hurts him to think of it as being separated between the duties, and cares, of two very different worlds.
But he knows it cannot be any different. And it is the same with Djaq. Once he might have felt a twinge of jealously, but Will has known, for some time now, that whatever feelings he might have had are long gone--changed, he believes, by circumstances he has little control over, but does not resent. He can't--he loves her as he loves Luke. As he loves Robin. There is no comparison; Will might be young, but he has maturity beyond his years, and he has seen the bigger stakes. He has held them in his hands. When Robin pressed the ring against his palm, clasping the two together like he might clasp a great seal onto parchment, Will remembers thinking--knowing--that love has taken him to this place, has asked him to defend not only the name of Scarlett, but of Marian's too.
Even now, even here, he feels the responsibility as a crusader outside of war. Still a boy when they left, he could not have ridden to the Holy Lands; instead, in this moment, he feels her presence as vividly as if she was lying in the grass by his side.
He lets his breath out slowly. Discomfort and reason are making his mind wander. To counter this, Will stretches back, so he can no longer see the castle and there is nothing above him but sky. The light is fading, the air now with just the slightest bite of chill to signal the approaching night. He closes his eyes; he can still hear Much's voice, soft in the background, but he can't make out the words any more. It doesn't matter anyway, it is just sound. Just the musings of young dreamers; here, in the forest, and the poor-man's lands; there, upon the battlements where the Nottingham pennant flies.
"I think we'd best leave," he says at last, standing up from the grass, wondering somewhat if he needs approval for this because he hasn't the will to do it himself, to properly leave her sight.
"Good idea," Much declares, his voice strident enough as to drag Will back to the scene at hand with a palpable thud, "for I am being attacked by every insect in Nottinghamshire here." He smacks a hand against his neck as if to make this point fact, and stands up as well, his movement sprightly but not quite matching Will's languid grace. It is more of an ungainly flourish; a chain of flowers falls from his lap, and as Djaq patiently examines the bite marks Much offers to her trained eye, Will bends down to pick it out of the grass. Petals of white and gold--they smell of honey.
Much glances up and sees the look on the younger man's face. "Oh, you can keep that one," he says airily, waving a hand in Will's direction. "I think we've got enough anyway..."
"Are you planning on redecorating the camp?" Will asks, as they make their way from the hillside and into the forest. He tucks the chain carefully in his pocket, knowing he is probably going to be fishing out bits of petal and stem later on, but decides that he doesn't really care either way.
"Well..." Much, enjoying his temporary position as artistic counsel, takes a moment to ponder this question. "I've always said that a little colour about the place wouldn't hurt anyone."
Will shakes his head. "I have never heard you say that, Much."
This is quite true, and forces Much into a brief silence. Eventually, and a little stubbornly, he says, "Yes, but it's a good idea."
"Perhaps it is," Djaq offers carefully, as usual the voice of reason where Much and Much's ideas are concerned, "but I'm not entirely sure if Robin will appreciate a floral trail laid out for the Sheriff's men to follow."
"Now, that is not going to happen," Much scoffs.
She puts one hand on his arm, gently turning him back in the direction they have come. Like points made out on a map, loose petals and snapped-off flower heads are scattered at intervals along the path. "That doesn't look like a trail to you?"
There is a pause. Much blinks. "Oh."
Smiling to himself, Will continues forward at a slow pace, leaving Much to hastily erase the unintentional evidence of their passage. By now the forest is darkening quickly, but he knows the paths so well that he could easily lead them home blindfolded. He walks steadily, tuning out the conversation that is still going on behind him, though by now it has dropped thankfully to a murmur. Djaq's means of convincing Much out of foolish action is a practiced routine by now, although Will has a feeling that is it not really complaining on Much's part, as simply having someone who will listen to him. In any case, he soon forgets they are there, and the only sound that remains is the quiet thud of three pairs of boots in the leaves. His ears pick out the distant hoot of an owl, and through the encroaching gloom he begins to see trees arranged in familiar patterns, visible to Will like a welcoming hearth is to a home, signalling their approach to camp.
He remembers Robin's warning--the words Much and accident flash briefly in his mind, forever a painful reminder--and disarms the trap.
"Goodnight, Will."
Djaq glances over as she and Much pass by. It is not too dark to still see her eyes, but Will only nods, watching in silence as they disappear below the ridge.
Alone now, he fiddles with the mechanism and quietly re-arms the trap. Then he thinks for a moment and puts a hand in his pocket. The flowers, as he'd expected, are a crushed mess; he lets them fall from his fingers to the ground. In the light that remains Will holds out his palm, looking at it, wondering.
Trust in the clasp of a hand, he thinks. She is safe up there, and alive. He cannot ask for anything more. The fragrance lingers, for a single brief moment, before it is taken and lost to the air.