He always considered himself a simple man. A simple man who wanted a simple life; who strived for peace and calm and, most of all, for his daughter's happiness.
That was also simple, he guessed. It's only normal when parents want their child to be happy, right? When they put their child's happiness and even their lives above their own. It's especially normal when there's only one parent left. There was only him for his daughter, and he should always support her, both for her and her mother. They were the most important things in his life. And with his wife gone, he had to find a way to make things work out, to make things better for his daughter.
And that is what he tried to do. He tried to give her the life she deserved, a honest life, that while not grand, was comfortable. He worked extra hard to provide her that, because that was the right thing to do. That was how a parent should take care of his only daughter.
But he failed. In the end, this simple man couldn't even grant his child the most basic thing a parent should grant: safety.
He was not at home when the Beast got his daughter. And when he got there, it was too late. He got the lamp, and he accepted the Beast's offer, but none of that made him feel any better.
And the Beast knew it.
Sometimes, the Beast would appear at his side, watching him chopping those trees and making the oil. It was almost as if he were inspecting him; making sure he was doing it right.
Sometimes, the Woodsman wondered why, exactly, he cared so much about what happened to that lamp. After all, there was only his daughter's soul inside it... right?
He didn't want a answer to that. Thinking any other possibility frightened him more han he would like to admit, even to himself.
The Beast would be silent almost every time he appeared, only watching. But one night, one particular night in which the Woodsman was feeling especially irritable and hopeless, the Beast asked him:
"Do you remember why you do this?"
The Woodsman didn't know exactly what he meant by that. The Beast knew why he did this, certainly. And so he stated the obvious: "To save my daughter, of course. Why are you even asking?"
The Beast gazed at him, with those unnatural eyes that still intimidate the man. "Because you seem to forget it."
Now that made the Woodsman lost his temper. "Forget it?! This is the only thing that fills my mind for God knows how long!" How dare he say that? After all the misery he's been put through!
"But you do. There is doubt in your mind; I can feel that. You make this oil, but you don't even know if it's worth it. You are selfish, Woodsman. You want to leave yout daughter now, just as you used to do before."
The Woodsman was suddenly quiet. The Beast had spoken the truth; sometimes, he doubts. And sometimes, he wants to abandon everything and go away.
But he can't. He simply can't, and he doesn't know if it's because he loves his daughter so much, or if he's just afraid of facing himself. Afraid of the guilt he'll carry for the rest of his life, of going back to an empty home and realizing that he no longer has a purpose, no one to look after, no one to love, nothing to do. Just him and his own memories, his guilt, his failure.
The Woodsman can't bear the thought of it, and he can't bear his own selfish thoughts. This is not what a good parent is supposed to be thinking.
He's a failure.
He looks at the Beast again, and for a second, he's sure he saw a light of satisfaction in his eyes. The Woodsman knew the Beast had him right where he wanted. He always did, in the end.
But there was nothing left for him. Selflessly or not, he would have to go own with it: this faint hope was the only thing keeping him alive.
Wordlessly, the Woodsman turned his eyes back to the trees he was chopping.
A/N: This was the answer to a prompt i was given.The actual 'talk' here is less than i expected; this turned out more of a Woodsman-centric fanfic (mostly because i find him a fascinating character, i guess).
Anyway, i'm always open to corrections and criticism, please point out if you wish!