Original: "Insecurities"
Feb. 23rd, 2010 12:48 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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inthewildwoodTitle: Insecurities
Characters: Will, Shaima
Summary: "Will thinks sometimes that he isn't really good for much."
Will thinks sometimes that he isn't really good for much. Of course, he's always known that he's terrible at swordfighting, and only passable at archery; but at least when he was the ward of an earl, his skills at writing and keeping the household accounts were of value. Then, he was useful. But outlaws living in the woods have very little use for letters and numbers, and in his more melancholy moments, Will thinks that he's here only due to chance. He doesn't mind that so much; chance gave him Shaima after all. But if he's no use as an outlaw, what good is he to her? It's when he follows that line of thought that he comes to the conclusion that he just isn't very good at anything. He can't make her laugh like Much can, or bring tears to her eyes with a song like Allan. If she were injured, he couldn't heal her like John could, and he can't make plans that would prevent her from being injured like Robin can. Really, he isn't good for anything- and if he isn't worth that much, why does she care for him?
It's a stupid question, and he knows it. But it nags at him, and he can't get it out of his mind. So one night, as they lie together under one of the oaks, he blurts it out. "Why do you care about me?"
She blinks at him in confusion, and he mentally kicks himself for saying it out loud. "What?"
He takes a deep breath. "I- well, I'm not worth all that much, am I? I can't fight or lead or tell stories or sing. I can't even cook that well. I'm of no use when we go out to rob people- there was even that one time when I almost got us caught. I mean, the only reason I'm allowed to stay with you at all is because I was Robin's ward. Why am I- Why did you-" Why did you choose me? he wants to ask, but he can't make his mouth form the words, can't manage to vocalise his lack of worth like that.
Shaima listens quietly as he speaks. When he's done, she props herself up on one elbow, and leans over, resting her other arm next to his head so that she's directly above him and looking down into his eyes. Her hair hangs down over her bare shoulder and tickles his face; it smells of woodsmoke. He thinks the memory of that smell will be small comfort when she realizes the truth of what he's saying and leaves.
"Why do I love you, you mean?" He hadn't used the word "love," hadn't even dared think of it. But it is what he meant, and she seems to know it. She smiles.
"You're you." she says, and leans down to kiss him. And it doesn't really have anything to do with what he was saying- "you" is still Will, and Will still can't fight or sing or joke or heal. So it's something of a miracle, he thinks, that she can make him feel as though being "you" is the most important thing in the world.
Characters: Will, Shaima
Summary: "Will thinks sometimes that he isn't really good for much."
Will thinks sometimes that he isn't really good for much. Of course, he's always known that he's terrible at swordfighting, and only passable at archery; but at least when he was the ward of an earl, his skills at writing and keeping the household accounts were of value. Then, he was useful. But outlaws living in the woods have very little use for letters and numbers, and in his more melancholy moments, Will thinks that he's here only due to chance. He doesn't mind that so much; chance gave him Shaima after all. But if he's no use as an outlaw, what good is he to her? It's when he follows that line of thought that he comes to the conclusion that he just isn't very good at anything. He can't make her laugh like Much can, or bring tears to her eyes with a song like Allan. If she were injured, he couldn't heal her like John could, and he can't make plans that would prevent her from being injured like Robin can. Really, he isn't good for anything- and if he isn't worth that much, why does she care for him?
It's a stupid question, and he knows it. But it nags at him, and he can't get it out of his mind. So one night, as they lie together under one of the oaks, he blurts it out. "Why do you care about me?"
She blinks at him in confusion, and he mentally kicks himself for saying it out loud. "What?"
He takes a deep breath. "I- well, I'm not worth all that much, am I? I can't fight or lead or tell stories or sing. I can't even cook that well. I'm of no use when we go out to rob people- there was even that one time when I almost got us caught. I mean, the only reason I'm allowed to stay with you at all is because I was Robin's ward. Why am I- Why did you-" Why did you choose me? he wants to ask, but he can't make his mouth form the words, can't manage to vocalise his lack of worth like that.
Shaima listens quietly as he speaks. When he's done, she props herself up on one elbow, and leans over, resting her other arm next to his head so that she's directly above him and looking down into his eyes. Her hair hangs down over her bare shoulder and tickles his face; it smells of woodsmoke. He thinks the memory of that smell will be small comfort when she realizes the truth of what he's saying and leaves.
"Why do I love you, you mean?" He hadn't used the word "love," hadn't even dared think of it. But it is what he meant, and she seems to know it. She smiles.
"You're you." she says, and leans down to kiss him. And it doesn't really have anything to do with what he was saying- "you" is still Will, and Will still can't fight or sing or joke or heal. So it's something of a miracle, he thinks, that she can make him feel as though being "you" is the most important thing in the world.
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