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Dappled sunlight filters through the leaves overhead, casting dancing shadows upon the merry band who dares to call this forest home. They lean against trees and prop their feet upon the smooth rocks of the riverbed, staring up at the sky and idly juggling pebbles and speaking about nothing in particular. They are not a particularly violent group — on the contrary, their aims are far nobler than those who lay claim to noble blood — but weapons still litter the ground the ground around them. Spears are tucked between branches, swords slumber in their scabbards, and two women sit slightly apart from the others, polishing a pair of bows.
One of those women is the leader of this little group. She keeps her dark hair pulled back from her face, and her eyes burn with tight focus. She is always thinking and always plotting. Leading a band of outlaws requires constant vigilance and cunning, and she possesses both qualities in abundance. She is the only one of these people who sacrificed a title and a comfortable home to be here, relinquishing her ties to the lands upon which she was born and choosing instead to pursue justice for others, taking wealth from those who hoard it and redistributing it to those in need. Lara of Abingdon is long dead, and the maid that they call Robin Hood reigns in her place.
At her side sits a women with freckles and flaming hair, Lara’s peer in strength and loyalty though not in title. She had no estate to flee nor inheritance to renounce. She was born in the forest and raised by outcasts, and joining Lara’s outlaws was like slipping into a second skin and finally finding the work that she was born to do. Those who do not know her call her Scarlet, but those who do call her Aloy.
A whistled tune slips between Lara’s lips — a song born from the tongue of a bard who frequents the tavern in town — and Aloy smiles at the hearing of it.
For a long moment the world is peaceful, made of naught but one’s quiet appreciation of the wood and the pleasant company they keep, but after a time there is a flicker of sound and a lifting of raven wings and the distant pounding of shod hooves and carriage wheels on dirt roads.
The whistling and chatter fade into silence, giving way to quiet anticipation.
Lara moves first, rolling onto her feet with feline grace, one hand remaining firmly upon the wood of her bow whilst the other fetches her quiver from its resting place near Aloy’s foot. She lifts a finger to her lips before moving towards the edge of the clearing, gazing through the underbrush and down the path to see if the invader might be worthy quarry. The corner of her mouth quirks upward as her eyes skate over the familiar royal seal, born by the unwanted prince who rules this country in his brother’s stead. Where the absent king is known for kindness, the prince is known only for greed, leveeing endless taxes on those who cannot afford to pay.
If ever there was a worthy target, it is this one.
Instead of her song, Lara whistles a signal — as bright and dancing as a bird call — and the outlaws, too, leap to their feet, fetching their slumbering weapons in silent haste before moving towards their assigned positions. They are as quick and organized as a pack of wolves tracking a wounded deer.
Aloy moves to crouch at Lara’s side, as she always does. This is her place and her duty, and she is honored to keep it.
The pair raises their bows in tandem — aiming not to hit flesh but instead to stir fear — and wait, muscles tense, lungs tight, and hearts racing. This is a dance, and they have danced it before, but it gets no less exhilarating with repetition.
The carriage draws closer, growing noisier with every step, and moving with great swiftness, four of the outlaws maneuver a fallen tree, swinging it across the road to stop the royal contingency in its tracks.
Confusions bubbles through the royal ranks, passing from guard to carriage driver to prince in turn, the latter of which foolishly shoves his head out the window to whine about the obstacle. Aloy thinks that she’s never heard a voice so grating, but Lara, being all too familiar with the world from which he comes, does not bat an eye. There is a steadying breath as Lara pulls her bowstring taut. A breeze stirs the trees above them, shifting the shadows and stirring the light, and with an expert’s ease, Lara looses her arrow.
It whistles through the air before burying itself first into the prince’s velvet hat and the silk seat behind.
Confusion turns to rage as steel is bared and cries of both command and outrage rise to the heavens, but the band of outlaws is quicker and more practiced than the guards. They are unhampered by horses and armor, and they move and dart and weave their way through the thicket and the horses and surround the carriage.
No one strikes. There is no clashing of blades or bleating of pain or clamoring of wood upon wood.
It is a siege and a standoff, as it always is.
This is a quest for money and not for blood. Lara’s people know that, the guards know that, and perhaps even the horses sense it as they flare their nostrils and quiet their stamping hooves, however, the road forward does not depend on whether or not the lowly know it, but on whether or not the prince knows it. No doubt the royal coffers will hardly notice the loss of whatever coin and jewels he carries, but the royal coffers do not account for lion pride and dragon greed.
Lara’s quick fingers unstring her bow and stows it over her shoulder as she turns her eyes to Aloy. In response to the silent, unspoken request, Aloy nods, keeping her own weapon at the ready. This is always the way. Lara negotiates, and as the only person who Lara truly trusts, Aloy provides cover from the high ground, ready to shoot should things devolve. She has never had to loose her arrow before, but there is a first time for everything, and she is always prepared to do what must be done to protect their cause and the people who she loves.
Beneath the safety of Aloy’s guard, Lara strides into the road with her hands in her pockets and a jaunty smile perched upon her lips, and she greets the besieged contingency like old friends, even though they are nothing of the sort. Though there is dirt on her face and mud on her boots and a glimmer of sweat clinging to her skin, she radiates calm and poise and charm. The royal family may hold the deed to these woods, but they are her woods, and this is her court.
There is an exchange of words, a flicker of laughter as the prince snaps his disapproval, a sweeping of small hands and calloused fingers and Lara indicates the emptiness of the world around them and reminds them that there is no sheriff in crying distance and no army to save them.
This is her domain and her domain alone, and she is the one that they call Robin Hood.
The name stirs anger and fear and the spitting of threats, but Lara does not flinch. She knows that Aloy is at her back, holding an arrow steady with two more at the ready should things happen to grow dire.
The prince grows more and more indignant and Lara grows ever bolder, spurred forth by the supportive cries of her outlaws.
For a moment, doubt flickers in Aloy’s face, softening the set of her mouth and wrinkling her brow. She fears a stalemate that will end in bloodshed, and she carries that fear for the others and for Lara, who will suffer the most should they be caught, but much to her relief, that worry is short-lived.
There is a shrugging of shoulders and a dropping of weapons and the doors swing open as a trunk is hurled onto the road, closely followed by another. The first hits the road with a dull thud of finality, but the second explodes, sending expensive clothes and glittering jewels tumbling into the dirt.
A spot of golden sunlight glints off a polished gem, and one of the horses upon which a guard is mounted spooks, turning and darting back the way they had come. The outlaws gather their loot and their glory as the prince simpers from within the carriage, slamming the doors shut and withdrawing into his misery, Lara smiles and plunges her hands back into the pockets of her trousers, and as always, Aloy keeps her arrow steady.
Eventually, the tree is returned to its place and the barrier is removed and the robbed prince is allowed to go on his way. There is still the pounding of iron-shod hooves against the packed dirt, but the carriage seems to rattle slightly less beneath the lightened load.
The band tenses, weapons still at the ready as they wait for their victims to move beyond the reach of light and sound.
Once solitude is certain, there is a great whooping cheer. It disturbs a flock of songbirds and sends them flying, and is swept up and away by the rising wind and the rustling of trees.
Aloy finally releases her breath and un-nocks her arrow, lowering it towards the carpet of fallen leaves that lines the road.
When Lara turns and meets Aloy's eyes, and there is elation and relief and fierce love shining in her face.
The peasants that they serve will eat well tonight, the band of outlaws will move onto their next post to avoid the brutal arm of the law, Lara will pick up another tune, Aloy will spin a story, and the crackling warmth of a fire will lull them to sleep beneath the glimmering tableaux of stars that slips through the cover of the trees and speaks on the behalf of a brighter world.