A/N: This is my actual first actual AU. So, I'm putting this up as a pilot/test thingy. Show some love, tell me how it is, and maybe you'll get more.

Peace out - Tom.

Red Ribbon: I

The man rode his horse along the road. He clip-clopped over the rough dirt track, worn from centuries of use.

When the people started to appear on the road, he knew he was close to a town. Some of them, evidently humble farmers, waved a greeting, and he tipped his black tricorne hat to them, a wry smile sparkling on his shadowed face.

He wasn't clothed gaudily, in a simple dark coat with faux-silver buttons up the sides, and grey breeches with brown gaiters over tall black riding-boots. His black hair was tied with a red ribbon.

The man whistled to a nearby labourer, ploughing a field with the aid of two thin horses. "Is there a town nearby?" he asked, to ensure there actually was a town and he wasn't accidentally riding into an Army camp or a fort or something equally disastrous.

The dark-tanned man looked up and gestured with his thumb in a sort-of north-westerly direction. "Aye, that's Chessington. No' more than a hour's ride, guv."

The dark rider, after some hesitation, flipped him a small silver coin and nodded his thanks.

The farm hand pounced on the coin, rubbing it with his dirty fingertips. "Ta, milord. 'Member, just down t' road, straight as the arrow, as t'were."

The ploughman's assessment proved accurate, as little under ten minutes later the faint image of a small hamlet fluttered into view. The man cracked a small grin; finally, somewhere to stay without feeling hunted.

Everyone in town knew young Miss Rachel Roth. The pretty girl with the slightly lilac-grey eyes ran a small apothecary's shop in the centre of town, selling various herbal remedies and cures for common diseases.

She was actually getting tired of the constant greetings - "Mornin' Miss Rachel!", "A fine day, Miss Rachel, so it is.", "Dear me, Miss Rachel, have you heard about this-that-and-the-next-thing which happened to so-and-so this week-end?" - that were directed to her every morning.

So she mainly just stayed in her shop and read, tending to whatever customer who might enter. Business wasn't booming, but she made a living.

The bell on her shop's door trilled and she looked up from her book.

There stood the town's blacksmith, a bulky Hessian named Victor who had moved to Chessington far earlier than anyone could remember, and as such had lost all but a twinge of his native Germanic accent.

"Good morning, Miss Rachel. Would you happen to have any of your fine-" he started, but Rachel interrupted him.

"I've told you before, it's just Rachel for you, and yes, I do have some of that poultice for burns. Why don't you wear gloves?"

Victor looked sheepish and rubbed the back of his clean-shaven head. "I do not really notice the heat."

"Well, you should." she scolded. "And tell Garfieldthat his horse medicine is ready. In fact, tell him it was ready last week."

"Of course, Miss Rachel. I'll have that Colonial halfwit on his way in no time!" Victor said, tipping her a wink.

True to his word, Garfield, a short, brown haired stablehand from the American Colonies, awkwardly stumbled in the door a few minutes later. "'Pologies, Miss Rachel, but Ah was down at the stables a' day and must've forgotten to swing by." he bumbled in his ridiculous accent.

"That's all very well, Garfield, but the medicine takes up far too much space which I need for my other supplies, and you know that. But, this should last for a good month or two. So don't come back until you've entirely run out." Rachel handed him a saddlebag full of small paper sachets of herbs.

"Much 'ppreciated, Miss Rachel. Ah'll try not to be so late next time."

"See that you aren't." she said, shooing the poor boy out of the shop and settling back down to her book.

She was interrupted, again, by an incredibly tall girl with an insane shock of bright red hair and quite unnatural green eyes wearing a purple tartan dress who burst in the door and then patiently waited for Rachel to sigh theatrically, put her book on the counter and ask "What is it that you want, Karyan?"

Karyan Daers was locally known as "that wee slip of a thing who lives up over the way and were communin' with faery folk and suchlike", although Rachel (and Victor and Garfield) knew she was just a slightly strange girl who had an odd Celtic background and a barely understandable grasp of the King's English.

"Well, dear Raven-bird (only Karyan called Rachel this, but was remarkably cryptic about the whole affair), I was in looking for some of your rooms of mush. I am needing of some for my broths, as I am running of the short and tending to be using them with great speed."

"You want mushrooms for some soup?"

"Precisely. Also, you are having some of the crystals that can be found upon the rock face to the north?"

"I'm afraid not. You could ask Victor to mine some out for you?" Rachel suggested as she handed over a wicker basket of brown mushrooms.

"That is a splendid idea, Raven-bird, I'm so glad that it was thought of."

And with that she turned, left a few archaic and a few modern coins on the counter, and flew from the shop, leaving the little bell on the door ringing madly at the sudden rush of air.

Rachel settled back down to her book. Hopefully, this would be the last of her interruptions today.

Sadly, it was not to be. The little bell on her door ringed quietly as someone gently pushed the door open, allowing the sounds of the recently arrived rainstorm into the shop, then carefully shut it behind him and walked over to the counter, boots clunking rhythmically on the wooden floor.

"Excuse me, Miss Roth."

Rachel looked up to see a dripping wet red-coated soldier, a red sash around his waist denoting his status as an officer.

He took off his bicorne hat to reveal greying hair and a black patch over his right eye.

"Yes, Mr...?" she asked.

"Lieutenant. Lieutenant Wilson, miss. His Majesties' Army. I'm here to warn you about a highwayman who's been seen around this area."

"A highwayman? What interest would such a vagabond have in my little shop?"
Lieutenant Wilson chuckled a little. "Very true, milady, but they have been known to rob well-to-do stores such as your own. I'm merely to remind you to shutter up your shop after you close up, not that I would need to, careful girl't you seem."

"I'll be sure to follow your advice, Lieutenant, and alert one of your fine men if I notice anything suspicious." Rachel said, nodding.

"Thank you kindly, miss. Ah, but you remind me so of my own little Rosie. Goodnight, miss, and stay safe."

The lieutenant clunked over to the door and left with the same care as he had entered. Rachel walked over to the small window and watched as the soldiers marched away, undoubtedly to set up camp a little outside the town.

As the soldiers left, a lone rider came trotting into the square. He dismounted his horse, patted it, hitched it to a post outside the local inn (which Rachel knew for a fact was full up with the seasonal farm workers) and then trudged inside.

About five minutes later, she watched him emerge from the inn and walk through the downpour to her own shop.

She heard him knock on the door, and she stepped briskly over to open the door.

He slipped into the shop, closing the door behind him as fast as possible in order to keep the store as dry as he could.

"Evening, Miss...uh...Roth?" he asked.

Rachel nodded.

"Well, um, the innkeeper tells me he hasn't a room to spare, and he told me that you had somewhere?" he said, reaching up to his hat. "I appreciate that you might not, and even if you did, you wouldn't go letting it out to a wanderer who couldn't pay you in anything but his coat buttons, but..."

"I do have a small room at the back where I keep the dry goods. You could have that, if you wanted." Rachel smiled.

The man took off his hat, and Rachel could see his hair was tied in a simple knot by a red ribbon. Then she saw his eyes – the brightest blue, although having lost some of their sparkle for a more weary look. Her breath hitched in her throat.

They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, before Rachel coughed and looked away.

"Oh, am I staring? Sorry. People say I tend to do that." the man said, scratching at his rough stubble and looking down. "I'm very sorry, but I can't remember when I last slept, and as a consequence, not much of this conversation, sorry. Were you about to throw me out of your shop, or...?"

"N-no, no, of course you can have the back room. For as long as you need. It's no inconvenience, really." Rachel stammered.

"I can't thank you enough. But, uh, if you'll excuse me, I'm very tired. May I?" the stranger requested, gesturing towards the back of the store.

"Oh, of course. Though," Rachel said, hands on her hips, "I shall need to know your name, 'wanderer.'"

"Richard." he said, a wry smile sparkling on his face. "Richard Grayson."