[CRACKFIC] Noble is the Head...Part 4

[makingamochrie.livejournal.com]

Okey dokey, here's part four as promised to...someone.  Can't remember who off the top of me head, but someone.  A new character is introduced as they begin to go on their way.  Thanks again Clay for her beta skillz, and there's still a piece in your inbox that I don't *think* you responded to, but you could have and I just missed it.  Talk to you soon.  Enjoy everyone!

TITLE:  Noble is the Head....
Part:  4
PAIRING:  None yet, but still Cae safe
Disclaimer:  CRACKFIC!

Colin remembered sitting down in the dirt and refuse encrusted ground, dragging a stick around in one of the many mud puddles just to see the foam.  The air was loud with the cracking of wooden swords as two of his younger brothers battled one another with the fierceness of fully grown soldiers fighting a bloody campaign. 

 

Something told him to look up suddenly, and he did, his chocolate eyes widened to the size of saucers as the tall, heavily weaponed men dressed as the King’s Own sauntered into the ‘yard’, staring hungrily at the three boys there.  Colin’s mother, a tiny woman with pale, pock-marked skin hurried out of the hovel to gather her children up even as their father, fat and more than half drunk on whatever fermented shit he’d managed to imbibe yanked her away with a growl.  “This is my home, woman, and these men are welcomed.”  He eyed the soldiers, swaying slightly.  “Do you have the goods?”

 

Sneering, the tallest of the men tossed a cloth wrapped packet and a waterskin directly into the largest of the mudpuddles, spraying the family.  Uncaring, Colin’s father scrabbled after it as if it contained the most precious gems in the world.  Grabbing out a long loaf of rot infested bread, he smiled in satisfaction.  “Take those three.”  Bringing his fat, dirty fingers to his lips, he whistled and a fourth boy, barely older than a toddler, ran out. 

 

“Yes, papa?”

 

“Go with those men.  They’ll take care of you.”

 

“Forever, papa?”

 

“For as long as you have use for them,” he growled, flapping his hand away.  “Now get out of my sight, you good for nothing maggots.”

 

“But who will take care of Mama?” Colin asked, coming to his full height which, since he was still quite young, wasn’t all that tall.

 

“She ain’t your Mama no more, so get out of here before I take down the whip and leave you for the dogs.  I got other kin I can trade for food.”

 

Swallowing hard, Colin darted into his mother’s arms, squeezed as tightly as he could, then darted away from the coming smack of his father.  The man almost fell on his ass right in the middle of the mud, and the soldiers laughed.

 

“Get ‘em out of my sight,” the man sneered, grabbing his wife by the hair and dragging her back into the hovel.

 

“No!” Colin shouted, trying to struggle to his seat.  He was beyond dizzy, beyond nauseas, and had a headache that would drop a horse at three paces.  But the dream—it had been so damn real.  “Mama,” he whispered, giving up the ghost and slipping down onto his back again, laying one arm over his eyes.

 

“Are you alright?”  It was the sweet, light voice of the Witch bending over him.

 

“Yeah,” Colin replied, twisting a bit in the blanket laid over him.  “Just a nightmare.”

 

“A memory,” the Witch corrected.  “This potion tends to dredge up some of the less pleasant memories when used.”

 

Colin opened his eyes.  “Then why use it?”

 

“It was the only thing I have strong enough to make one such as you sleep.  I am sorry for the after effects.”

 

“Don’t be.  You were only trying to help.  How long was I asleep?”

 

“Pretty much the entire day.  Are you hungry?  I have prepared some soup, and I assure you it is much more pleasant than the potion I gave you earlier.”

 

Nausea rose up again, but even through it, Colin realized he was, in fact, hungry.  He didn’t know what had happened to the food the kitchen had given to him, and Ryan’s kill was probably halfway to being eaten by now. 

 

As the Witch approached with a carefully carved wooden bowl, Colin chanced a sniff, and smiled.  Whatever was in there smelled good.  Returning his smile, she handed the bowl over with a wooden spoon and urged him to dig in.

 

The broth was not overly spiced, which was good on his belly, and contained what he thought were potatoes, noodles, and some sort of meat.  At least he thought it was meat.  He wasn’t too sure he wanted to know exactly.

 

“Thank you,” he said when he’d finished, his natural good manners coming to the fore.

 

“Quite welcome, young man.  Would you like any more?  I’ve got plenty.”

 

“No, thank you,” Colin replied, patting his belly.  “That was just right.  Do…do you have any water, perhaps?”

 

The Witch smiled broadly.  “Do I?  Only the best water on this entire continent if I do say so myself.  I had a special, extra deep well dug for me years ago.  Must have hit a natural spring or something.  It truly is the taste of the gods.  Like some?”

 

“With a sendup like that?  How could I possibly refuse?”

 

Cackling, the Witch made her way to the well and cranked up the bucket, pouring the water in several clay and glass jars she had with her.  The water was crystal clear and cold as ice.  And absolutely pure. 

 

As she reentered the hovel, Colin scuttled up on his hands, already licking his parched lips.  “Careful now,” she warned, dipping a wooden ladle into the jar.  “The water is very cold.”

 

Taking heed of her warning was hard, but he restricted himself to a few small sips, agreeing with the woman that it was, by far, the best water he’d ever tasted.  Not, of course, that he had much to compare it with given his prior living circumstances, but it was damn good.  After another sip, he pushed the ladle away so his headache wouldn’t suffer even worse.  Settling back on the bed, he looked around.  “Where’s Ryan?”

 

Taking in the casual use of the Crown Prince’s name, the Witch bit back a smile and nodded toward the one entrance, and exit, to her hovel.  “Out with his horse.  He’ll return soon for some sup.  The horse is healing well.”

 

“And me?  How am I?”

 

“You’re healing.  Surprisingly quickly, might I add, for one such as yourself who’s doubtless seen the outside only through windows, yes?”

 

Coloring slightly, Colin ducked his head and nodded.  “I’d play sometimes for the soldiers, but the King wanted me pretty much with him.”  He chanced a look back up.  “Do…do you think I’ll be able to ride out with him when he goes?”

 

The Witch narrowed her eyes slightly.  “It would be against my better judgment, but I think you’re pretty much out of the woods, if you’ll excuse the pun.  I don’t think a ride would kill you.”  She held out a long, gnarled finger.  “And riding’s all you’ll do.  Those feet won’t be fit to stand upon for at least a week, most likely more.

 

Colin sighed, shaking his head.  “He’s not going to like that very much.”

 

“Well, he’ll just have to deal with it, won’t he.”

 

As if summoned, Ryan ducked under the door and stood again to his full height.  “Deal what what?  And who is ‘he’?”  Then he looked at Colin and smiled.  “Ah good, you’re awake.  How do you feel?”

 

“Better than I have any right to,” Colin answered truthfully, without really answering at all.  Knowing this, Ryan simply raised an eyebrow and turned to the healer.

 

“If you allow him to stay off his feet for the next few days, Majesty, he should heal well.  Otherwise….”

 

Ryan nodded thoughtfully.  “That should be fine.  It’s at least two days ride to the next town anyway.  I’ll walk if carrying two becomes too stressful for Acham.”

 

Biting back her smile yet again, the Witch turned away and grabbed a wheel of bread and cheese.  These she handed to Ryan, along with a mug filled with water.  “I’d advise taking your sup and getting some sleep if you plan to start out tomorrow, then, Lord.”

 

Saying nothing, Ryan took the offered food and drink and brought it over to the small wooden table, immediately tearing into it as if his last meal had been a year past.  Gone were the genteel Court manners. This was a very hungry man.  Colin just stared at him, bemused.  “Where do you put it all?” he wondered, scarcely aware he was speaking aloud.

 

Ryan quirked his lips.  “Unlike my father,” he said around a mouthful of bread, “I live a hard life.  I use up most of my energy on the battlefield.”  He frowned slightly.  “Or at least I did.  Now it’s traveling and trying to evade the hounds.”

 

Colin chuckled lightly, abashed.  “Sorry.”

 

Ryan’s smile turned more sunny.  “Don’t be. That was the most fun I’d had in weeks.”

 

“Glad to have been of service to you, m’Lord,” Colin said dryly.

 

It was Ryan’s turn to chuckle.  “Let’s just not make a habit of it, okay?”

 

“You’ve got it.”

 

*******

 

It was just before midday when Ryan and his charge were finally permitted to be off.  Colin now bore a light knapsack filled with all sorts of nostrums and concoctions for his feet, as well as trail food and a stout pair of sandals he could don as soon as his feet would allow the contact.  For now, they were carefully wrapped in fresh, clean and undyed linen and although they didn’t feel good, they didn’t feel as horrible as they had earlier either, and Colin was more than thankful for that.

 

As they rode away from the Witch’s hut at the far end of the town and entered the merchant’s area, they heard an elderly, weak and raspy voice shout “Thief!  Stop, thief!! Stop!  Thief!!”

 

As Colin watched from behind Ryan’s tall back, a dark-haired, expensively attired man darted through the rows of carts, stuffing something of middling size in his overblouse.  Nudging Acham into the crowd, Ryan reached out a long arm and snatched the man up by the back of his shirt, leaving his feet to dangle more than a foot off the ground.  “Give it back before I use your guts to string my bows,” he growled.

 

Dark eyes widened in surprise, but showed not one shred of fear.  “Afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, smirking.

 

Almost too calmly, Ryan reached into the man’s blouse and grabbed out the wrapped item, showing it to him and cocking his head.

 

The man shrugged.  “So?  Wasn’t aware it was a crime to buy something from a merchant these days.”

 

“You bought this?” Ryan asked, his disbelief plain on both face and voice.  “With what?”

 

“My dashing good looks,” the man quipped.  He looked casually back at Colin.  “And they say this is the man who’s going to be King when his father finally pops off.  Makes you wonder, doesn’t it.”  He eyed Ryan carefully.  “I think you took one too many sword hits to the head.”

 

Colin shook his head at the man’s audacity, not being able to help the feeling of admiration going through him.  The man Ryan was holding was either very brave or very foolish.  He was betting on the former.

 

Still very calmly, Ryan unwrapped the object, bearing a statue made of solid jade, a vary rare stone in this area.  “None but a nobleman could afford this,” he said, “and you’re no nobleman.”

 

“I won the lottery.”

 

“The what?”

 

“Nevermind.”

 

“I know you,” Colin said softly.  “Your name is Greg.  You tried to make off with some of the nobles’ moneybelts last year during the King’s Crowning Anniversary.”  He ignored Greg’s scowl.  “I thought they’d thrown you in prison for that.”

 

Greg shrugged.  “I got bored there, so I left.”  He grinned.  “Besides, the food sucked.”

 

“So, an escapee and a thief,” Ryan commented.

 

“You’ve got no proof I stole anything, your Majesty.”  The title came out quite sarcastically.

 

Hefting the statue, he showed it to the merchant.  “This yours?”

 

“Yes, my Lord!” the man replied, nodding like mad.

 

“There’s my proof.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“Now, what to do with you….”

 

“You could just let me go and pretend you never saw me,” Greg answered seriously.  “I won’t say anything if you won’t.”

 

“I’m afraid today’s just not your lucky day, thief,” Ryan remarked.  “Do you have a horse?  One you didn’t steal?”

 

“I’m afraid horses and I don’t get along too well,” Greg responded, resisting the urge to rub his hindquarters in sympathy for the last time he’d tried to ride.

 

“That’s soon to change.  Guard!”

 

One of the guards who had stood frozen at Ryan’s sudden appearance, trotted forward, spear in hand.  “Yes, Lord?”

 

“One of your horses, saddled and bridled, and some cuffs with chains as well.”

 

“Kinky,” Greg commented, still grinning.

 

“Thy will, my Lord.”

 

As the man ran off to do his Prince’s bidding, Ryan urged Acham, Greg still in tow, over to the merchant wagon, where he returned the statue. 

 

“Thank you, Majesty!” the man said, bowing as much as his feeble body allowed.  “Thank you most kindly.  You did a great work here today.  The Bards will sing of it come dinner tonight.”

 

Blushing slightly, Ryan turned away.  “I’m glad I could help.” 

 

By that time, two more guards and a groomsman rushed forward leading a fine bay colt, saddled and bridled as instructed.  One of the guards carried a set of arm cuffs with a long, thick chain connecting them. 

 

“Steady,” Ryan murmured to the horse as he easily flipped Greg over the saddle.  “Take those cuffs and thread the chain through the saddle bolt, then apply them to his wrists.”

 

“Thy will, Majesty.”

 

Soon, Greg was sitting upright on the saddle, his wrists stoutly and firmly chained to it.  Smirking, Ryan showed him the key before stuffing it in a hidden space behind his gleaming breastplate.

 

Greg smirked right back.  “I don’t need a key to get out of these.”

 

“We’ll see,” Ryan replied, unperturbed. 

 

“So, headed back to the castle to throw me in the dungeon, your Majesty?  You know I’ll just escape again.”

 

“No, I have something far worse in mind for you,” Ryan said, smiling.  “You’re coming with us.  I think I could use a man of your…talents.”

 

Licking his lips, Greg eyed Ryan up and down his long form.  “Mm.  I’m sure you do,” he all but oozed.  Looking back briefly at Colin, he said, “But won’t your bedslave mind?”

 

Colin managed to look affronted.  Ryan’s face was neutral.  Not saying another word, he urged Acham around and toward the town’s outer boundaries, nodding to the people who lined the rutted pathways, bowing deeply to him.

 

Greg’s laughter could be heard throughout.

 

*******

Comments

[corliamat.livejournal.com]

:( Poor Colin again.

Yay for Greg being there, boo for everyone having the hots for Ryan 'cause Colin is much cuter:P (ducks projectile missiles).

Twas a fab chapter as always and i'm looking forward to the fun they're gonna have with Greg there :)

[makingamochrie.livejournal.com]

Well, I wouldn't say *everyone* has the hots for Ryan, cause thus far, only Greg's shown any interest, and as of right now, that's just Greg being Greg. Glad you liked, though. :)

[clayangel.livejournal.com]

The air was loud with the cracking of wooden swords -- I've always loved that sound.

Grabbing out a long loaf of rot infested bread, -- Just to show how my mind works, the first time I read this, I thought something along the lines of an overly happy "Yay...maggot bread." ^_^

I also really liked the Colin waking up from the dream transition. I think it just fits so damn well here.

potatoes, noodles, and some sort of meat. At least he thought it was meat. -- Such a sad soup. ^_^

Ryan reached out a long arm and snatched the man up by the back of his shirt, leaving his feet to dangle more than a foot off the ground. -- I don't think I mentioned before how much I adore this imagery.

But you know that I'm absolutely in love with this Greg. I always love your Gregs, and I do think that this is one of my favorites, possibly right up there on top. It's his fearlessness that I find particularly charming. I think he really adds a great element to this story, being so very different from both Colin and Ryan.

[makingamochrie.livejournal.com]

He *is* fearless, that's for sure. I just added a pinch of Autolycus to him, but it's pretty much his own character just coming out.

And yay for maggot bread!!!

[kekona-iolana.livejournal.com]

Yayness for Greg!!! I love how your writting him, it's almost like you just picked him up from modern times, put him in some fancy clothes, and just let him go.

“One of your horses, saddled and bridled, and some cuffs with chains as well.”

“Kinky,” Greg commented, still grinning. - hahahhahaha only Greg.

Licking his lips, Greg eyed Ryan up and down his long form. “Mm. I’m sure you do,” he all but oozed. Looking back briefly at Colin, he said, “But won’t your bedslave mind?” - oh yah Greg wants it.

Very well done darlin!

[makingamochrie.livejournal.com]

Thank'ee kindly. And yeah, Greg's pretty much Greg (with a little bit of Autolycus mixed in), same as he is in the present, except without glasses (though you're welcome to picture him in them if you wish).

[the-empressar.livejournal.com]

I LOVE IT! It was one of those "turn around the corner and there he is" moments. Greg's perfect in this part! He'll be good for comic relief! I hope he causes a lot of trouble!! Tee Hee! I think he's going to bring Ry/Col's feelings for each other out before they realize it. Lots of purposefully uncomfortable moments at their expense. Once again, I LOVE IT!!!

*btw, I think he is as wise as the witch is because they both seem to 'know' right away*

[makingamochrie.livejournal.com]

Greg? Cause alot of trouble? Surely you jest! (Ha ha, a PUN!). Seriously, I'm glad you're continuing to enjoy!

[desiredeffect.livejournal.com]

You're completely ridiculous, you know that right? :P

[desiredeffect.livejournal.com]

Be fairly warned to not let all this medieval stuff burn into your brain. Or otherwise you'll soon be talking like Shakespeare.

I couldn't ever really get my head around all the thee's and thou's and doth's but I'm sure you'd make a pretty good go of it. :P

“I won the lottery.”
“The what?”

*snort* :D

[makingamochrie.livejournal.com]

That wot I shalt never do, so sayeth thee and thine forever on ever, Ah-Men!

Heh.

No, this is rather like Xena. Ancient Greeks talking modern Californian. At least Greg is!!