A/N: My obsession with the new Robin Hood is starting to scare me. It must be fought!
Or, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. By writing copious amounts of fanfic. Which is much more fun.
But anyway. First up is a little one-off fic about Luke's thoughts towards Will in the days leading up to the hanging. I think I love the Scarlett brothers a bit too much. But can you blame me?
This fic worries me. I think I need to get back into the writing game. Read at your own peril.
Just once, Luke wishes that his brother would be proud of him.
It's nothing much, really. Will's always been the stronger of the two. The braver, the wiser, the smarter, the faster. He doesn't resent him for that. It's just the way things work. Will's always been the one with the bright ideas, the plans, the plots and schemes. Luke was always the one to follow.
He doesn't really mind.
It's just that, for one time in his life, Luke would like Will to be proud of him for something.
------
Maybe that was why he agreed to go poaching.
Well, maybe not the only reason. Wanting to stick it to the Sheriff, yeah, that was the main reason. Running after the hunt and feeling free for the first time in God knows how long also factored into the equation. Actually having something to eat was part of it all as well.
But when Will marched in, eyes blazing about some injustice or other that Gisborne had wrecked, grabbed his bow from where it stood and marched out again, food and freedom didn't come into Luke's head. He knew exactly what Will was up to. And instead of waiting at home, waiting for his big brother to come back with the game, he grabbed his own bow, regardless of the fact that he could barely shoot straight, and ran after him.
It was worth it to see Will grin down at him. Truth be told, Will didn't smile that much anymore, but it was a treat to Luke whenever he did. His brother's face softened, and he ruffled his hair.
"You fancy getting something to eat?"
The grin said a lot more though. Will never spoke that much, but Luke knew him well enough to know how glad Will was that he'd come with him.
But then it all went wrong.
------
If he'd been braver, it would have worked. Or faster. Maybe if he'd ran faster – he remembers running through the trees, branches catching him in the face, cold, blind panic in his gut and always the loud, possessive yells of the soldiers and Will's panicked shout just in front of him, always just in front – maybe it would have worked better.
Like Master Robin. His dad told him about Master Robin, recounting the mysterious figure who used to run their village. Luke had only been ten when Master Robin had left for the Holy Land, but he vaguely remembers someone talking to his dad, always grinning, always happy to see them.
Late at night, when their dad had fallen asleep out of exhaustion, Will would tell his own stories about Master Robin. He was a brilliant fighter, Will told him, he was the best archer in the whole Shire. When Master Robin got back from the Holy Land, things would be right, things would be better.
Luke believed Will. That was how things worked. He believed Will because there was nothing else to do.
------
Will had never been frightened of anything. He repeated that to himself sometimes, like a prayer, after Will had finally fallen asleep and his dad's breathing had slowed down until he could barely hear it. Will's never been frightened, Will's never been scared, he never lets anything scare him…
His dad's been scared before. He knows that. When Mum was dying, the faded rosy bloom on her cheeks gradually diminishing and her breathing getting more laboured, day by day, Dad was so frightened for her, he could barely stand. Just sat still, almost shaking, watching his wife waste away. His dad's been scared, he knows that. And that's alright, because out of the three of them, his dad's the most vulnerable.
But Will's never been frightened. Never.
He never notices that sometimes his brother's breaths become more choked, his still form shaking slightly. If he does, he pretends not to.
Will would never cry. He couldn't. It just wouldn't work like that.
------
It was all that Benedict Giddons's fault. Stupid idiot, trying to steal the flour from the stores. Benedict had always been meek, prone to panicking, never able to keep a secret for more than a few minutes. He was a few years older than Luke, but he'd always looked down on the older boy.
But once Will heard of Benedict's plan to steal some flour from the stores, how could he resist? In a way, Benedict had unconsciously challenged him, although the poor fool hadn't realised it, almost laid down a gauntlet and said; There, bet you don't have the guts to do that.
This time, Luke had hesitated. Watched, anxiously, as Will had conferred with Benedict about when the stores wouldn't be watched, how much time they'd had. And then he shook his head, looking frightened.
A flash of disappointment had shown through Will's eyes.
"Fine. You stay here."
Luke had felt sick to his stomach, and ran after him. The disappointment in his brother's eyes had been too hard to bear.
Besides, Will was with him. Nothing would go wrong with Will there.
------
Apart from Will, the only person Luke would consider infallible is Master Robin. He's heard so many stories about him, from Will, from Dad, from Thornton and his love-struck daughters, he'd been built into some kind of idol. A brave, fierce warrior, who cared so much about his people he'd do anything, anything to save them.
He kept that thought with him. He kept thinking that, all through Gisborne's demands for the sacks of flour to be returned. Fighting against the ever-growing pit of terror in his stomach, Luke just kept on thinking; Robin is here, Robin will protect us, Robin won't let us get hurt. All through the arrest, all through the ride to the castle, all through the imprisonment in the dungeons, Luke just kept repeating those six words. Robin won't let us get hurt.
And then Much, the cheerful manservant who'd spent days with their father trying (and failing) to get to grips with carpentry, blurted out the word Hanging, and the idol crumbled before his very eyes.
"My dad told me you'd save us!" Luke yelled, even as they were bundled away, and Will grabbed him around the shoulders, trying to shield him from the guards, "My dad told me you'd save us!"
------
Late that night, Luke tossed and turned on the floor of the cell, nestling under Will's cloak, too restless to sleep. Dead man walking, that's what the jailer had muttered before shoving him into the cell. It kept running around in his mind, repeating itself over and over, until he was driven half mad by the sound.
Dead man walking.
Staring up at the ceiling, Luke expected to feel anger, anger at Robin, at the Sheriff, at Gisborne, even at Will. Or desperation, or regret, or even fear, some last final emotion to make him realise what was going to happen. He expected to feel something, but instead nothing. Just a deep, quiet sense of disappointment. They'd failed him, both Will and Robin.
Turning on his side, Luke looked across at his brother's form. Still at first, a sort of blind panic swept across him as he saw Will shake, knees pulled to his chest. Two, three, four choked, dry, wracking sobs were all that he could hear from his brother, his unusually pale face streaked with tears.
Will was crying. Will was frightened, and crying.
That scared him more than anything else in the world.
Luke screwed his eyes up tightly, trying to look as though he'd fallen asleep. It frightened him to realise that his brother was only human.
------
Luke awoke to find Will pacing around the cell, his brother's face set in a grim, determined expression, the traces of tears all but gone from his face. It was if the events of last night had never taken place.
Watching the guards gather near to their cell, Luke shot a look over at Will. There wasn't any need for words. Both brothers knew exactly what the other was thinking.
And then, just before one guard detached himself from the rest, Will clapped his brother on the back, letting his arms rest around Luke's small form for a moment.
"I'm proud of you, Luke."
Grinning proudly at his brother as they pulled away, Luke turned to guard and prepared himself to face the morning.
A/N: Virtual cookies if you manage to get through that mess.