It's a strange thing, being dead.
Well, not dead, but lingering in the realm between death and life, aware of one's own consciousness but not possessing that consciousness. How long Puck had been like this, he didn't know. At the time, he didn't even know his name. Robin Goodfellow, Puck, even his True Name had been forgotten, stolen by the darkness and leaving him in a dream state as he waited to succumb to the darkness or be reclaimed by the light.
Robin's last moments flitted through his thoughts, unrelated ideas and feelings reminding him of his previous existence. The last he remembered was a popping noise ripping through the air, and even now Puck felt it echo in the darkness as something pierced his flesh and poisoned him. Something foreign and terrible had poisoned his blood, even as it poured out his body, making him feel weak and empty. Robin didn't remember after that. By now, he wondered why he hadn't finished dying or been woken up by now. Something tethered the fae to his world, but didn't pull him back.
Until now.
Puck's eyes flew open and he gasped for breath. His limbs flailed and he toppled forward, his muscles abandoning him. The sudden influx of light, sound and sensation made his body ache, and he struggled to shout, to move, to do anything other than cower on the ground. Within moments, unknown creatures came to his side and picked him up, their fingers rough against his skin. Robin only manage feeble, animal cries while being carried away, the sensations of his new world overwhelming him.
The strange entities laid him on a softer bed and covered him with glamour to ease his pain. He slipped back into darkness, and entered a world between wakefulness and slumber. Every time his mind awoke and he sensed the world around him, a terrible discomfort descended, making his skin crawl as every sensation felt magnified by a thousand. He only remained conscious for a few moments before returning to sleep, but the ache receded every time he awoke and soon he dared to open his eyes.
When he did, the light stung, but he managed to squint long enough for his sight to adjust. He laid in a small bed, in a room made of trees and walls made of branches. Bunches of leaves hung over the walls to make a green ceiling, and beams of sunlight filtered through the holes in the foliage. Smooth, healthy grass covered the ground, and small globes of dimmed faery fire hovered in the air.
A dryad sat in a chair near his bed, looking shocked when their eyes met. She stood and went to his side, watching his face with brown eyes that lacked pupils. She wore long robes made of plants and furs and had rough brown skin, like bark. Auburn hair swayed in the breeze as she examined Robin's face with gentle fingers.
"You're awake. Can you speak?" the dryad asked, looking stunned. Puck could only stare up at her, his mind void of language or understanding. The dryad's shoulders slumped, and a tired smile caused more wrinkles to form in her gnarled face. "No, I wouldn't think so. But even so, you being awake at all is a miracle." The older dryad smiled down at him, and turned to take a bowl of water from her own plate and lift it to his lips. "My name is Aster," the woman murmured as the trickster drank, "and I'm going to take care of you until you get well." Once sated, Robin fell back to sleep.
An unknown amount of time passed like this. Robin would wake, and Aster would be there. She would give him food and water, and clean up any mess he had made in his sleep. He would stare at her with vacant, mournful eyes, and she would shake her head at him as she cleaned his bedsheets. Something inside of Puck would rear its head, and he would feel the commanding urge to scream, to shout, to say something, and frustration would fill him as he struggled to form coherent thoughts from the nameless emotions.
When he slept, he sometimes felt free and weightless, like he had in stasis. When he woke up, Robin would feel enclosed in his own skin, a prisoner of his flesh. At times he could make little breathy noises, and Aster would watch him with wide, excited eyes, and then Puck would get tired and fall asleep again, unaware of Aster's disappointed and pitying gaze. "It would be such a shame," she'd say, "to see the great Robin Goodfellow come back from the dead, only to live the rest of his life being trapped in his own body."
One day, like any other, Aster came into Robin's room. "Good morning, Goodfellow," Aster said, smiling as she wiped Puck's forehead with a damp cloth. As Robin watched her, his face lacking emotion, she went through her daily routine by wiping him down, changing his sheets, then hurrying off to fetch his meal. The sound of clinking bowls echoed in the distance, and Robin stared up towards the sun as something itched in the back of his mind. His heartbeat drummed through his skull like an impatient knock at the door, faster and faster as his blood rushed through his veins. Puck broke out into a sweat. He stood on the edge of a cliff-side, one step away from an epiphany.
"Robin?" Aster's worried voice came from the room's entrance, and in his peripheral vision Robin could see she held a tray of food in her hands. "Robin!" Aster ran to his side, clutching his feverish palm inside her own cool one.
Puck's mind throbbed inside his skull, willing him to remember. Aster's eyes widened, and through the violent cacophony of his own mind, Robin could hear her calling for the other nurses. Footsteps crashed through the door, and Puck shut his eyes to the light that suddenly seemed too bright. The sound of nervous voices and loud footsteps overloaded his mind, and it broke the mental walls Robin had created for himself while in stasis.
Puck forced chapped lips to move, forming words he struggled to remember and understand. "Aster," he said, his voice halting and choked. His eyes took on a sudden gleam, a look of consciousness instead of vegetative life. Robin's heart calmed, his vision stilled, and he could hear again. All that remained of his fit was a layer of sweat on his clammy skin. "Aster," he repeated, staring into the eyes of the shocked dryad.
A sudden, surprised mist formed in Aster's eyes. "Robin," she said, squeezing the tricksters hand. "Robin Goodfellow."
Puck paused, then his lips turned into a small, innocent smile. "Robin."
Robin glowered at his book. The words swam together, indecipherable clusters of black ink that taunted him. Puck ignored his growing headache and struggled through each word. In his head, the trickster felt he understood what the sentences meant, but his eyes refused to translate the forgotten language.
"Having fun?" Aster asked, coming up behind him and laying a hand on his shoulder.
"Oh yeah. I'm having a ball." Puck snorted and slammed the book shut before running a hand through his hair. He closed his eyes and focused on the throbbing pain in his skull. "It feels like a heavy metal band is holding a concert in my head."
Aster massaged his shoulders. "I know it's unpleasant, Robin, but there's very little I can do. Eventually your mind will adjust and the headaches will go away, but I don't know when that'll be."
"Gee, thanks." Puck grunted. "You're very helpful."
"You're right, I am." Aster smiled. "Come on. If your brain is tired, then we can work your muscles." The dryad led her charge from the room to a grove filled with makeshift exercise equipment. Sticks, stones and bags of sand littered the ground, each item promising hours of physical suffering.
"Do I have to?" Robin whined.
"Would you rather let your muscles atrophy even further?" Lacking a comeback, the trickster sat down on a stool and began to lift a pair of dumbbells, grumbling as he did so. "I didn't think so."
"You know, I could just not do this," Puck said, his pride wounded. "I could say, 'you know what? I think I'm better now. Thanks for all your help, but I'm going to join the rest of the fae now. Goodbye!'"
"Is that so?" Aster asked, amused. "Then why haven't you?"
Robin matched the woman's smirk. "I knew you'd miss me."
Aster opened her mouth to reply when a small knock came at the door. "Yes?" the dryad called, her brow furrowing in confusion as she turned to the source of the sound. "Who is it?"
"Barla," a shy, feminine voice replied, her words muffled by the door. "May I come in?"
"Of course," Aster said, bemused. Barla entered the room, and Robin took in her appearance. He didn't often get to see dryads other than Aster. Barla looked small, a good measure shorter than both Aster and Robin. She wore a plain dress of grass and leaves hung together to imitate fabric, and she had solid brown eyes. Her face had less age than Aster's, and anxiety and shyness showed in her expression.
"A letter arrived for Robin Goodfellow." The dryad took a slip of paper from her pocket and her eyes flickered between Aster and Puck as she waited for someone to take it.
"I'll have that, thank you," Aster said, taking the letter from the younger dryad. She turned from both her and Puck and walked to the corner under a floating globe of faery fire, her face unreadable as she read the letter.
"That letter is for me," Robin called, waving a hand at Aster, who ignored him. Puck shrugged and turned to watch Barla. The dryad looked up at him between locks of long, vine-like green hair. Puck grinned at her and her light brown cheeks flooded pink. Barla held her chin to her chest, letting her hair fall over her eyes and avoiding Robin's gaze.
Puck sighed and returned to his stool, putting his hands behind his head and waiting for Aster to finish the letter. Aster maintained an emotionless expression as her eyes went down the page, and she soon finished reading. She looked up and stared off into space before giving a quiet sigh and turning to Puck. "Robin, before you read this, there's something I have to tell you."
Something prickled in the base of Puck's skull. "Do tell," Robin said, forcing a smile.
Aster waved Barla out of the room, then took a deep breath. "Robin," she began, "do you know how long you were in stasis?"
Alarm bells went off in Puck's head. "Including the time spent recuperating?" Aster nodded. "Maybe a year and a half. Year or so in stasis, then a few months spent rebuilding my abilities." Robin spoke in a guarded voice, wary of the information Aster seemed so reluctant to give.
Aster's shoulders slumped, and age tugged at her. "I'm afraid you are incorrect, Robin," she said. "I'm sorry I never told you this before. I wanted to wait until I was sure you were ready to face the world to tell you this. But unfortunately, the world has other ideas."
Puck chuckled, but anxiety colored his voice. "Well, how bad is it, Doc? You're killing me here."
"Puck, you've been asleep for four years."
Beat. "You're kidding," he whispered, his face white.
"I'm not. Granted, it is just an estimate, considering fae time is unreliable at best, but we do believe it's been four years."
Silence filled the room as Robin digested this. A year and half had seemed bad enough, but four years was unimaginable. How much had changed while he lay sleeping? A thought struck Puck out of the middle of nowhere; what happened to Meghan? To Ash? To the Iron Fey and the Courts? Suddenly a mental wall crumbled in the tricksters mind, and panic rushed through Robin's veins.
"What...dear God. I can't. What has changed? Is Meghan all right? Is Ash all right? I don't...shit. I have to go. I have to see them." Puck stood up from his stool and looked around the room, as if searching for Meghan and Ash.
"Robin, sit down," Aster said, putting a gentle hand on Puck's shoulder and easing him back down to the stool. "I understand you're a bit overwhelmed."
Puck snorted. "That's the understatement of the year."
"Yes, well," Aster said, smiling. "I believe this letter is the answer to your questions. But I had to tell you the truth before you rejoined the world." Aster opened her palm and revealed an opened envelope. In neat, clean handwriting written in dark silver ink, the name Robin Goodfellow was written on the front of the letter.
Puck swallowed and took . "This will answer my questions?" he asked, motioning towards the letter. Aster smiled and nodded. Robin took a deep inhale and exhale, then pulled the slip of paper from the envelope. Robin held his breath and began to read.
Dear Robin Goodfellow,
You may not remember me. You may not want to remember me. I would understand if you resented me, even after all this time. Our past is a difficult one, and there is little in this world that could overcome the walls between us. But your death, I feel, is an adequate catalyst for change. Much has changed in the past four years, Puck, and I offer my help to you. Let me show you our new world, and let us try to put our pasts behind us. I am a better man than I was, less angry and fueled by bitterness and sorrow. If you want to start over, and want me to tell you all that has happened in the past half-decade, send me a letter. Pen and paper is enclosed. If I receive no reply, I will assume you have no interest in communication and will not press the matter.
Signed, Prince Ash.
"That's...interesting," Puck breathed. "So Ash wants to be friends again."
"Is that so wrong?" Aster asked, her voice bringing Puck's attention away from the letter. "Prince Ash considered you dead, Puck. Perhaps that hurt hi more than he thought it would. Now that you have returned, this is a chance to regain the relationship you once had. It could be a fresh start."
"You should write motivational posters," Puck smirked.
Aster chuckled. "Maybe. But the real question is, are you going to write his Highness a reply?"
Puck pulled the pen out of the envelope and rolled it between his fingers, a pensive expression on his face. But he decided quickly. Robin looked back at Aster and grinned, his eyes sparkling with an old mischief. "Why not?"
