Once upon a time...
What it was about young Enid that made her catch the eye of a lord of the fae is hard to say. She was beautiful to look at by the standards of her own people, but looked a plain little thing in comparison to the ladies of his Court.
And yet, there was something about her that compelled him to take her with them. In the faery realm she forgot about everything. Where she came from, who she'd been before, her family and her betrothed. All she knew was the Raven Court of Lord Dai.
After a while he grew tired of her, and she was sent back to hear people, heavy with child.
Talfryd, her betrothed, had never stopped hoping after she disappeared. It was going to be a marriage of love, and after hearing her tale, he saw no reason to change that. His mother did, but he ignored her rage and wed Enid anyway, prepared to raise the child as his own when it was born.
In a rage, the old woman brought down a curse upon Enid's womb, and the child within it. Enid was never to bear a child again after the fae spawn had slithered its way out of her, and said child was never to be happy, never achieve greatness, never know love.
She didn't actually possess any magical ability of her own, so what she did was that she called out to higher powers to aid her in this task. None of her own gods were inclined to listen, but there was one that was. Eris, goddess of Chaos, Strife and Discord. She did some investigating, and found out that if the child was born cursed, it would be a source of much discord indeed.
Since the woman was, after a fashion, swearing an oath, the goddess charged her favourite son Horkos with seeing to it that it was kept. Being a complete mama's boy, he promptly agreed to do so, and did it very well indeed.
In actuality, he should have punished the woman for making an oath she could not keep, but rules can always be bent, and so instead it was the child that got to bear the divine punishment. And Horkos does anything for his mother, so the punishment may have been slightly disproportionate.
The child was a boy, and they named him Bran, since he was a little raven after all. They vowed, however, to never hold that against him.
They were the only ones.
Too tall, too handsome and always singing in a voice that was made to lure people to their doom, he grew up without a real friend, not knowing much intimacy or kindness other than from that of his parents.
And then he met Reynard, and from that moment on his heart belonged to the fox. He was still unaware then, that he was cursed. So it was a hopeful young man that the trickster seduced. Someone who still believed in happiness.
But it is hard, loving a trickster who comes and goes as he pleases, especially when he has shown you how life can be, only it never is when he isn't around.
The more heat, elation, passion and love there was when Reynard was with him, the more stark became the contrast when he went away and Bran was once more alone in a world that did not want him. And the curse wound its strings ever tighter around him.
His love started to feel like a sickness in his blood to him, like it would burn him from the inside out with loneliness and longing. It didn't feel right.
Then, on one of his wanderings, much like the one that had brought him to Reynard, he met Anwyn. She was not much at all like the man he loved, but just like the fox she didn't care at all about what he was, only who he was. And she stilled his raging heart, made him feel calm and at peace.
Though there was one fire that could not be put out by her influence, and that was his love for the blue eyed trickster. But she knew, and she was content with having as much of Bran as he could give, and he was willing to give all of it to her.
Reynard was none too pleased.
Still, things settled into a shape, perhaps partly because of the fox's rock solid conviction that in the end nothing and no one could matter more than him.
He wasn't wrong.
With Anwyn's acceptance of him, it spread amongst other people as well, somewhat, and there was a feeling that perhaps he wasn't so bad after all, the fairy boy. He'd never done anyone harm after all.
Of course, such relative peace wasn't to last. Couldn't last. And it was then that the curse reared its ugly head for real. A strange plague struck the village, only affecting those who had ever shown Bran the slightest bit of kindness.
Naturally, those who took ill the worst were his parents and Anwyn, and while most of the other victims made it through and got well again, neither one of them did.
It was when he was caring for her that his mother finally told him about the curse her mother in law had put on her and her child, on Bran. They had hoped it not to be true, that the old woman didn't have any real power or couldn't get the ear of someone who had. But it would seem as if their hope had been in vain.
So he blamed himself for the deaths of his family and one of his loves, and so did everyone else. He was driven away from the village like a rabid animal, people throwing stones and shouting insults.
Where was he to go, then?
Something compelled him to seek out the Court of the faery who had sired him, and become a part of it.
Now, being the bastard son of the lord, at least in that Court, earned him no favor. Rather the opposite, in fact. And he didn't make himself easy to like, either, consumed as he was with guilt.
For a long while, then, he only sang when he went into battle, apart from when he was with Reynard. He would still sing when bidden, if it was the fox who asked.
He tried to seek glory, win approval, perhaps even love, all the while resenting his sire for what he'd done to his mother. Resenting him for being part of the reason he existed at all.
It was not to last, and during yet another of the petty faery squabbles that led to riding into battle, Bran fell, badly wounded. Nobody cared to help him, and he was left for dead, and that's what he would have been if Reynard had not come looking for him.
That's when he made the final decision to change what he was, and turn himself into a whole other kind of faery.
A Puck. A trickster spirit.
It changed him somewhat, gave him new powers for one. And it gave him a mask to wear.
So he set out on a new path. One of stealing children from their cradles to bring them back to the Courts to be raised as changelings. Causing mischief in the night, kissing maidens in the dark and always leaving people with his laughter ringing in their ears.
Puck knows no pain. He knows no remorse, and he doesn't care if nobody loves him. And what does it matter if that silly Bran boy does regret and grieve? He might as well have died on that battlefield. No, he did die.
There is still one, of course, who will not let him forget who he was. Who he is. The fox always comes back. Always.
It didn't feel right to call himself Bran anymore, so when the mortals took to referring to him as Robin Goodfellow when they wished to speak of him and his kind without having one of them appear, he took it on to use as his.
Robin doesn't know who or what he is anymore, and he so wishes that he didn't care. Still, he remains a not so merry Merry Wanderer who performs well enough in his service as trickster, and hates himself for it when the mask falls. Just not enough to stop.
Bonus feature: Rough timeline of the epic tale of Robin and Reynard.
And yet, there was something about her that compelled him to take her with them. In the faery realm she forgot about everything. Where she came from, who she'd been before, her family and her betrothed. All she knew was the Raven Court of Lord Dai.
After a while he grew tired of her, and she was sent back to hear people, heavy with child.
Talfryd, her betrothed, had never stopped hoping after she disappeared. It was going to be a marriage of love, and after hearing her tale, he saw no reason to change that. His mother did, but he ignored her rage and wed Enid anyway, prepared to raise the child as his own when it was born.
In a rage, the old woman brought down a curse upon Enid's womb, and the child within it. Enid was never to bear a child again after the fae spawn had slithered its way out of her, and said child was never to be happy, never achieve greatness, never know love.
She didn't actually possess any magical ability of her own, so what she did was that she called out to higher powers to aid her in this task. None of her own gods were inclined to listen, but there was one that was. Eris, goddess of Chaos, Strife and Discord. She did some investigating, and found out that if the child was born cursed, it would be a source of much discord indeed.
Since the woman was, after a fashion, swearing an oath, the goddess charged her favourite son Horkos with seeing to it that it was kept. Being a complete mama's boy, he promptly agreed to do so, and did it very well indeed.
In actuality, he should have punished the woman for making an oath she could not keep, but rules can always be bent, and so instead it was the child that got to bear the divine punishment. And Horkos does anything for his mother, so the punishment may have been slightly disproportionate.
The child was a boy, and they named him Bran, since he was a little raven after all. They vowed, however, to never hold that against him.
They were the only ones.
Too tall, too handsome and always singing in a voice that was made to lure people to their doom, he grew up without a real friend, not knowing much intimacy or kindness other than from that of his parents.
And then he met Reynard, and from that moment on his heart belonged to the fox. He was still unaware then, that he was cursed. So it was a hopeful young man that the trickster seduced. Someone who still believed in happiness.
But it is hard, loving a trickster who comes and goes as he pleases, especially when he has shown you how life can be, only it never is when he isn't around.
The more heat, elation, passion and love there was when Reynard was with him, the more stark became the contrast when he went away and Bran was once more alone in a world that did not want him. And the curse wound its strings ever tighter around him.
His love started to feel like a sickness in his blood to him, like it would burn him from the inside out with loneliness and longing. It didn't feel right.
Then, on one of his wanderings, much like the one that had brought him to Reynard, he met Anwyn. She was not much at all like the man he loved, but just like the fox she didn't care at all about what he was, only who he was. And she stilled his raging heart, made him feel calm and at peace.
Though there was one fire that could not be put out by her influence, and that was his love for the blue eyed trickster. But she knew, and she was content with having as much of Bran as he could give, and he was willing to give all of it to her.
Reynard was none too pleased.
Still, things settled into a shape, perhaps partly because of the fox's rock solid conviction that in the end nothing and no one could matter more than him.
He wasn't wrong.
With Anwyn's acceptance of him, it spread amongst other people as well, somewhat, and there was a feeling that perhaps he wasn't so bad after all, the fairy boy. He'd never done anyone harm after all.
Of course, such relative peace wasn't to last. Couldn't last. And it was then that the curse reared its ugly head for real. A strange plague struck the village, only affecting those who had ever shown Bran the slightest bit of kindness.
Naturally, those who took ill the worst were his parents and Anwyn, and while most of the other victims made it through and got well again, neither one of them did.
It was when he was caring for her that his mother finally told him about the curse her mother in law had put on her and her child, on Bran. They had hoped it not to be true, that the old woman didn't have any real power or couldn't get the ear of someone who had. But it would seem as if their hope had been in vain.
So he blamed himself for the deaths of his family and one of his loves, and so did everyone else. He was driven away from the village like a rabid animal, people throwing stones and shouting insults.
Where was he to go, then?
Something compelled him to seek out the Court of the faery who had sired him, and become a part of it.
Now, being the bastard son of the lord, at least in that Court, earned him no favor. Rather the opposite, in fact. And he didn't make himself easy to like, either, consumed as he was with guilt.
For a long while, then, he only sang when he went into battle, apart from when he was with Reynard. He would still sing when bidden, if it was the fox who asked.
He tried to seek glory, win approval, perhaps even love, all the while resenting his sire for what he'd done to his mother. Resenting him for being part of the reason he existed at all.
It was not to last, and during yet another of the petty faery squabbles that led to riding into battle, Bran fell, badly wounded. Nobody cared to help him, and he was left for dead, and that's what he would have been if Reynard had not come looking for him.
That's when he made the final decision to change what he was, and turn himself into a whole other kind of faery.
A Puck. A trickster spirit.
It changed him somewhat, gave him new powers for one. And it gave him a mask to wear.
So he set out on a new path. One of stealing children from their cradles to bring them back to the Courts to be raised as changelings. Causing mischief in the night, kissing maidens in the dark and always leaving people with his laughter ringing in their ears.
Puck knows no pain. He knows no remorse, and he doesn't care if nobody loves him. And what does it matter if that silly Bran boy does regret and grieve? He might as well have died on that battlefield. No, he did die.
There is still one, of course, who will not let him forget who he was. Who he is. The fox always comes back. Always.
It didn't feel right to call himself Bran anymore, so when the mortals took to referring to him as Robin Goodfellow when they wished to speak of him and his kind without having one of them appear, he took it on to use as his.
Robin doesn't know who or what he is anymore, and he so wishes that he didn't care. Still, he remains a not so merry Merry Wanderer who performs well enough in his service as trickster, and hates himself for it when the mask falls. Just not enough to stop.
Bonus feature: Rough timeline of the epic tale of Robin and Reynard.