A Raven’s Tale

Chapter III: A Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet

By Emaniahilel and Kysra

Raven had never fainted in her life, never been aware that some sort of blackness would encroach upon her vision like a living darkness destroying all the light in her life by increments, or that her head would feel dizzy and it would be hard to focus and she certainly hadn’t imagined that the strength not only in her legs, but the control of her entire body would cease, cut off, as if someone had pulled a switch.

What was more, she didn’t like it. Not one bit.

The second time she awoke from an unconscious state, Raven was perfectly aware of what had transpired prior to her ungraceful collapse at the introduction (as it were) of her seeming savior.

She was seamlessly aware and cognizant of what had transpired, she even remembered her questions and the man’s answers – for some strange reason, she could even remember most acutely the lilt of his speech and the twist of his lips.

She remembered, she just didn’t think it was real.

On the contrary, she was quite certain she had been dreaming after having watched entirely too much of the BBC channel and still in that sluggish state of half-asleep, half-awake, she made a stern decision to keep away from her books on western medieval mythology for a good month –

Her eyes still closed, she inhaled and stretched and when she could have sworn it felt like she was sleeping on a very lumpy mattress and she could smell the woodsmoke in the air, she amended her previous thought: ‘A month and a half…at least,’ she decided.

“Doth she rise?”

Raven started bolt upright at the strange, yet eerily familiar voice and would have been crouching in a ready position to defend herself from the intruders into her bedroom were it not for the long skirts which hindered her and made her lose her balance.

‘What the--?’ she started to think as her legs got tangled in the yards of linen and homespun and, and thought to hold out her arms to steady herself only secondarily.

She fell back against a broad chest and her hands were grasped and steadied by a strong, but gentle hold. “Easy, love,” that smooth voice whispered intimately in her ear, his hands rough and calloused.

She reacted without thinking, refusing to allow herself the possibility that she hadn’t been dreaming just in that moment. After all, had she simply woken up at some point in medieval England, she wouldn’t have doubted it overmuch – travel through time and space was not unheard of (especially to the Titans) but it was beyond all comprehension that she had somehow made it into a fairytale.

“Stop, Marion, stop!” the voice said as he fought to keep a hold of her once she planted her foot firmly and sharply into his instep, elbowing him in the ribs and fighting to get away from him.

His reflexes were almost as good as the real Robin and he caught her quicker than she could move her legs under all the yards of material, but that didn’t mean she was going to give up fighting him. In her struggling, she failed to realize that the room currently holding them looked nothing like her room in the Tower and more like a thatch and wood hut with a heap of burlap covered straw she deduced must be this century's version of a bed.

“Let go of me!” she demanded.

But he didn’t, and so in jerking away from him and trying to land a blow where she knew it would hurt, she hit a wooden post and together, they fell onto the dirt floor in a heap of arms and legs…and skirts. Seriously, as soon as she found a knife, a razor, or scissors . . .

The sudden fall unexpectedly winded her, and she lay on the floor, an arm strewn over something warm, part of her shoulder inclined to cover the distance, in still silence.

He was the first one to recover, and laughed. Loud and free. The sound caught her by surprise and she shifted to look at him. “Do not look at me so,” he said, laughter still in his voice and twinkling in his blue eyes, “I did my level best to warn—“

Raven glared, her newly released anger taking her past accepting the fact that this was not a dream. “What are you doing grabbing me like that, anyway?” Raven interrupted.

“A courtly bow would hardly have kept your sweetness from falling, now would it?” he countered, still oh-so-obviously amused. Even his eyes were laughing which - truly - only added insult to very palpable injury.

Raven struggled to find her footing, taking her hands out of his reach when he would have reached for her. “Yes, and your way was obviously much better,” she snapped, pushing yards of skirt aside so that her feet would touch ground and not more fabric.

Suddenly, Cyborg (or, the Cyborg look-a-like) was in her line of view, extending a hand. “My lady,” he said, his accent thick and very British - almost Cockney but tinged with a subtle flatness about the edges.

Raven knew this wasn’t the Cybrog she knew, but she couldn’t help but trust him – so she put her small hand in his and allowed him to help her up. “Thank you,” she said, unsure of how she should treat him.

He smiled at her, releasing her when he was certain she was stable on her feet. “Is Robin muckin’ about again?” he asked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Want me to thump him for you?”

Behind her, Robin laughed. “Have you forgotten the last time we sparred so soon, John?” he asked.

She looked at him, frowning at the languid, graceful manner with which he rose from the ground and thought uncharitably that if she didn’t have yards of material to contend with, she could have stood gracefully too.

“’Twas not I that ended in the river,” John was saying, much to Robin’s amusement.

Raven turned to inspect him, then found herself inspecting her surroundings instead. She swept the area with a glance first, her eyes trailing from mucked over walls to a shoddy thatched roof, approaching the primitive mat she had woken from, her fingers grazing over the wood of a nearby -- a loom? There was a raw wooden stand near one wall and a stool with what appeared to be some sort of cured animal skin stretched between it, which she assumed was meant to be used as a seat.

Did all of this come from my imagination?

She had a passing knowledge of medieval civilization from information she had picked up while researching some theory or other, but the medieval household and medieval society had never been of any particular interest.

And then she remembered who she was supposed to be. She remembered her conversation before she fainted, she remembered this man in the room with her that looked so much like an older Robin from her life was supposed to be Robin the Hood, the bane of Prince John and friend to the people.

How could I possibly be in a fairy tale?

“’Tis not the mortar and stone my lady is accustomed to,” Robin’s voice spoke, once again so close behind her she could practically feel him. She turned quickly to look at him, and she couldn’t keep the suspicion from her eyes. “But it fares us well,” he finished, as if he hadn’t been aware of the effect he had on her.

Raven took a step away from him. “Do you always invade everyone’s space, or am I just special?” she asked, her tone heavy with sarcasm.

Robin’s eyes twinkled with mischief and his lips quirked in a wicked grin. “You are special in every way, my lady,” he answered, offering her another courtly bow and going so far as to take her hand and press a hot kiss to her knuckles before she had a chance to react. When her wits returned, she snapped her hand away, ignoring the almost hurt? look on his face.

“Stop it,” Raven said, serious. “Stop with the ‘my lady’s and stop with the bowing, and the flirting, just…stop.”

Robin frowned and he appeared about to approach her again until she raised her hands between them in warning. “You have been quite odd since we rescued you from Gisborne, Marion,” he said, concern in his tone. “Perhaps we should send for Tuck?”

‘Great, Tuck?’ Raven wondered, her eyes going heavenward, wondering whether he’d look like Beast Boy or Speedy. “No,” she said succinctly. She might be dreaming or hallucinating, or she might actually be in medieval England with Robin Hood and his Merry Men, but in any case, it wouldn’t do to have anyone proclaim her ill or worse, a witch. She knew enough history to know that much was true. Until she could figure out what was going on, she had to keep her eccentricities and questions to herself.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to straighten herself up, pulling back her shoulders, forcing her expression into neutral lines. “Quite well, thank you,” she said. “I am only…” she searched for a viable medieval excuse, “…tired.”

“Aye, she has had quite a day,” John confirmed. “How did Gisborne manage to nab you, Marion?” he asked her.

Raven shook her head. “I can’t recall.”

“Her speech is altered, still,” John said to Robin. “Do you note it?”

Robin nodded, the worried look still on his face. “You have no memory of your abduction?”

She shook her head. “No, er…nay,” she corrected herself. She wasn’t lying. She didn’t remember her abduction because she wasn’t in this body when it was abducted, but she wouldn’t tell him that.

Robin held out one of the rough wooden benches for her and she sat, while he paced. “If we do not know why he took you, or how, it cannot be safe for you to return to your home,” he determined, stopping to look at her.

John was nodding, hand on his chin as he thought, everything in his expression and mannerisms reminding Raven so much of Cyborg that she felt a sudden pang of homesickness, and the emotion surprised her with its newness. “You may have a traitor among your servants –”

“The bastard could have pulled you from your bed,” Robin said with unexpected vehemence.

“You wish me to stay here?” Raven asked.

“Sure ‘tis not what you are accustomed to,” John started.

“No, it’s not that,” Raven assured him. She glanced at Robin, who was looking at her in that considering way he had. She thought about her next words very carefully. “Will my servants not be worried?”

“Until we know why Gisborne dared abduct you, it is the only way we can be certain of your safety,” Robin said.

And he suddenly looked very much like the Robin she knew and she couldn’t think of a reason to deny him. Not to mention, she wasn’t sure what the flow of this time or place was supposed to be, and she couldn’t in good conscious, alter that blindly. Best she go with the flow, she decided. At least, until she could figure out where she was exactly, and why she was there.

So, with no small amount of wariness, she nodded. “I will remain,” she announced.

She did not miss the look Cyborg (John) and Robin shared, but she pretended to be too involved in her surroundings to notice.

“We shall leave you to your rest then, Marion.”

Raven looked up at him and nodded. “Yes, that’s a good...” she trailed off as she tried to form a more medieval-friendly sentiment. “It is a sound notion,” she determined.

“The others will be anxious to see you, Marion,” Cyborg look alike said with a kind smile on his face. “Will you join us for to sup after you've rested?”

The others? She didn’t think she could take the others, whoever they were, but she had a feeling Marion would never say no, so she nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. “I will.”

She watched them go and thought that the last thing she wanted to do was ‘rest’. She had to find out what she was doing there, how she got there, and what exactly she had to do to get back. It occurred to her as she faced Robin Hood’s concern that if she had just disappeared from the museum as she suspected she had, Robin -- all of her friends -- would be very worried. Could she get word to them somehow, she wondered.

She looked around the hut, mentally cataloging the items present therein, wondering what she could do with the things inside, only half listening to the sounds of life outside until the sound of children’s laughter very near to the entrance caught her attention. She walked to the door and stood at the entrance, staring in amazement at the bustling forest village existing just outside her hut.

The encampment (she couldn't think of a better word) was a seemingly complex network of tree-suspended huts that - for all intents and purposes - were nearly identical, though she made sure to note that each had something that set it apart. The nearest hut to her own had a bright red cloth strewn across the door-flap, the next had a dabs of blue paint slathered intermittently among the thatch. And though she was no where near as accurate as Robin could be, she counted over 30 such huts within the network, though she was almost certain there were others more deeply hidden within the shadows of tree boughs and branches.

The huts were interconnected by a strange sort of rope ladder webbing, and it was obvious that these were expendable in the event of a necessary evacuation. Interspersed within the central courtyard? - it was a clearing certainly but there were saplings among the space - were three large fires, safely ringed by several large stones. Atop one was a spit with a very large animal - a goat maybe? - prepared and being rotated by two boys who had turned the job into a singing game.

The sound of it, their tone and laughter, reminded her suddenly of Starfire.

The fires brought a smokey sort of softness to what Raven perceived to be a bleak scene. Though there were people here, bustling about with work and purpose, it was also obvious these people had seen hardship and were poor. The bulk of them wore clothing that seemed ragged and dull compared to her rich gown, and their faces were invariably dirty and raw-boned.

She was following the sound of the boy's singing and trying to navigate her way to one of those hazardous looking rope ladders earthy, when she was stopped by a short, plump woman with a basket lumped with an assortment of clothes. Raven inexplicably found herself smiling.

“Lady Marion?” the woman asked, and Raven thought she must have called to her at least once already.

“Yes?” Raven tried.

“Robin said you were feeling unwell,” she said, sympathy on her features. “And that you were resting.”

Raven thought of her words before speaking them, something she hadn’t had to do since the first few months she arrived on Earth what seemed like an age ago. “I could not,” she answered. “I did not feel a bit tired.”

It must’ve been the right thing to say, because the woman laughed. “I am glad to hear it!” she announced. “For Lady Marion to retire so early is a sign she is feeling ill indeed.”

Raven's smile widened, because she thought it was what the situation required.

“Were you looking for Robin, then?” the woman asked, shifting her loaded basket.

“No,” Raven said, perhaps too quickly. “I was searching for a place to refresh myself,” she said and hoped it sounded right. “And for a cool drink.”

The woman frowned, “Men,” she said, half under her breath. “Leave it to the rogue to offer the bread but not the brew!” she grumbled. “Come,” she turned the way she had been walking. “I’ll lead you to the stream,” she said. “You can have a bath and your fill of cool water there.”

Raven smiled, sincerely this time, and nodded. “I would be very grateful.”

The woman laughed. “No need to stand on such ceremony here, m’lady!” she said, walking confidently down a slope.

Raven moved to follow the woman, intending to offer to carry the basket, but as she began down the slope as well - carefully, and holding her skirts as far aloft as she could without drawing suspicion - her words died in her throat when she caught hints of the setting sun between the trees.

Nightfall.

Her first night in a strange world, not her time.

‘What if this isn’t a dream?’ she wondered. What did she know about getting in or out of fairytales? What did she know of fairytales, period? Her reading, extensive though it might be, had usually strayed away from the childish stories. Her steps halted suddenly, her hands dropping her skirts to steady herself with a hand against the nearest hut.

‘Nothing,‘ she admitted. She knew nothing.

Something cold and heavy settled in her chest at the realization. She was tempted to call it 'fear'.

To Be Continued . . .

Author’s Notes: Raven's identification of certain fabrics is flawed here due to drawing on her experience. She's not TOO far off, however. Other than that, there isn’t anything of real historical significance in this chapter so there’s really no notes accept to say Emania kicks ass at right Robin’s flirty-ness ^_~

The set up of Robin Hood’s camp is kind of a mesh of all the movie versions I’ve seen. It’s not terribly realistic but we’ll get into more detail about the inner workings later.

The next chapter is MINE primarily - and to give you an idea of the FUN involved, it is tentatively titled, “Minstrel, Silence Thy Mouth With a Kiss.” And never fear! Jump City’s Robin will be making an appearance VERY soon ^_~