Disclaimer: This version of Robin Hood belongs to the BBC. The song ("The Minstrel's Prayer") belongs to Cartel. Author's Note: Yay for my first-ever fanfic! This idea basically hit me in the face while I was home sick the other day. I guess whoever gave me the flu lent me some creativity as well) P Now, on with the fic!
Will Scarlett sat in silence. This wasn't unusual for him, but there was a new tension now, a new jerky quality to his usually smooth movements. He looked up to see Djaq staring at him curiously. Was he being that obvious? Frustrated, he grabbed a piece of wood from the ground and began whittling furiously. But the action, one that usually calmed him, only made his angry mood more apparent.
All these stupid, silly songs
Keep trying to catch your ear.
Why did Allan have to be such a pain? Ever since their unintentional joint-confession a few days before, he had started acting differently around Djaq. She must have noticed the change, as his normally casual flirting grew more intense, and her every reaction was carefully analyzed and met with either obvious glee or barely-concealed dejection. Of course, she had no idea what had caused this change, but the rest of the gang knew all too well. It was disgusting, Will thought.
I'm trying desperately
It's just so hard to persevere.
And even if you'd listen
I never had much to say.
It's just the same old song
I've written for today.
After Allan's betrayal, Will had tried several times to tell Djaq how he felt. But he never knew what to say. He had no experience, even with ordinary girls (and Djaq was no ordinary girl)—that was Allan and Robin's territory. Will was just a simple carpenter who spoke only when he had something important to say. But this time, when what he had to say was more important than anything he had ever said before, he couldn't get the words to come out. So he stayed silent, saving the words for another time. Maybe someday he would be able to use them.
Shelter me, oh genius words
Just give me strength
To pen these things
And give me peace to will her wings
And oh, carry on all you minstrels of the world
We will catch our lady's ear
We will win for us the girl
He could take no refuge in words. He couldn't hide behind them, using them as a shield the way Much did. He could never wield them like Robin did, either, sending them spinning towards an enemy like a sharp-edged weapon. And he couldn't mold them like Allan, arranging them into jokes or twisting them to get what he wanted. Will knew what he wanted, but he couldn't figure out how to get it. Not with words.
So he turned to the only thing he knew how to use. Words were utterly useless to him, but wood? He was good with wood.
All these minstrels of the ages
That is really all we are
Simply singing for the girl
That makes us try so very hard
The idea came to him one day as he was gathering wood for the fire, whistling as he worked. At first he believed it to be just a simple, almost tuneless melody. But soon he heard words in his memory—lyrics, drawn forth from his mind by the tune—and he remembered a time before exile, before taxes, before the sheriff. Six or seven years earlier, his parents had taken him and his little brother Lukey to a party in Nottingham. Will hadn't much enjoyed it; there were too many people around, but he had been intrigued by the minstrels and their instruments. He had never imagined that something made of wood could make such beautiful sounds.
As the minstrels' song filled his memory, an idea began to form itself in his mind. He hurried back to the camp, carefully chose a log from the pile he had gathered, and began to carve.
To craft the perfect limerick
To wield unending woe
To write such silly songs
And the difference never know
Will carefully inspected his work, whittling off a sharp edge every so often. He had to admit, his idea had been more appropriate than he had realized. Though the object seemed harmless at first glance--beautiful and gentle--he knew it was lethal as well. Just like her. As he turned it over in his hands, he was glad he had finished this one before the others. And he couldn't wait to show it to Djaq, to see the delight he knew would shine from her eyes when he gave it to her. He set the flute down beside him, smiling as he pictured her face. He couldn't tell her how he felt, but he could certainly show her. He wouldn't be overlooked any longer.
I'll hold onto the dream
This beggar's plea, an optimistic fantasy
Two years had passed since the gang dressed up as minstrels to sneak into the castle. In the meantime, Richard had returned, the Black Knights had been executed, and Allan had rejoined the gang. Everything was finally right in England.
But as the people celebrated around him, Will felt that something was missing. He and Djaq had long since admitted their feelings for each other, but he wanted something more. As she approached him, holding out a cup of wine for him, he made a split-second decision. He took the cup from her hand and gave it to a passing peasant. But before the confusion could show itself on her face, he grabbed her hand and sunk to one knee.
Just hold the hand
And drop the knee
You're facing love
You're embracing melody
"Djaq, will you marry me?"
Sorry if this was sort of confusing. It was hard trying to make a song about words fit with Will (for obvious reasons) but I think I did ok. "Wood" is only one letter away from "word" anyway. It's a metaphor! ;)
I don't really like that last bit, but it's in the song, so I had to put it somehow. I always imagined that when it finally happened, it would be uncharacteristically spontaneous. Like he would get tired of thinking about it, go, "Oh, the hell with it!" and just blurt it out in an uncomfortably public situation. So I'm a bad person...