[CRACKFIC] Noble is the Head.... Part 3

[makingamochrie.livejournal.com]

Many thank yous for the feedback.  I'm glad some are enjoying.  Thank you also for Clay's consistent beta feedback.  It's really helping.  Still Cae safe.  *g*  Go get em, Gal!!!

TITLE:  Noble is the Head....
Part:  Three
Pairing:  None yet
Rating:  G
Disclaimers:  CRACK, CRACK and NOTHING BUT THE CRACK.

“It’s okay to make noise, you know.”

 

At the sudden sound of the deep voice so close to his ear, Colin fluttered his eyes open just in time to see Ryan’s smiling face pull away.  “I think I swallowed my tongue.”

 

At the Prince’s snort, Colin allowed himself to look around the room, or what there was of one.  It was more like a dark, cramped shack, actually, that smelled of drying herbs and bitter brews. 

 

In many ways, it reminded him of the Witch’s hut his mother had taken him to when he was very, very young and suffering from a high fever.  The memory was bittersweet and he winced as he tried to push it away, wondering fleetingly if his mother was still alive.  Probably not.  She was never a well woman to begin with, being more or less forced to have one child after another without time in between to recover. 

 

Their hovel was so crowded, it was almost a relief when she and his bastard of a father sold Colin and three of his younger brothers off as slaves to the King in return for a week’s ration of bread and water.   Those brothers were dead now as well, their bones bleaching in some battlefield or another.  He’d been forced into soldiering once, but had failed at it rather spectacularly.  His gentle nature made the prospect of wounding or, god forbid, killing someone so repugnant that he spent more time on his knees vomiting than he ever did fighting.

 

Only his ability to make others laugh spared his life.

 

He was never sure if he should be thankful for that or not.

 

Right now, he wasn’t feeling very thankful.  His feet felt as if they were being bathed in boiling oil and the pain was about the most immense he’d ever felt.  He remembered riding into the town, but nothing after that.  Must have passed out and been carried like a baby into this…whatever this was. 

 

Well, he’d suffered far worse indignities in his life.  What was one more?  Strangely, the thought of being carried in Ryan’s strong arms, huddled close to his chest, was an appealing one.  Best again to leave that one alone.  Fate had already saved him twice.  No sense tempting it again, not when it could turn on him so readily and nastily. 

 

Gritting his teeth and arching a little against the agony, he found himself slightly comforted by the feel of one of Ryan’s large hands grasping briefly at his bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze.  “It’s almost over,” the Prince said.

 

“Next time,” Colin gasped, “I’m bringing boots.  With metal soles.  And spikes for toes.”

 

Ryan laughed again, softly, and after another squeeze, removed his hand.  He straightened as a short, hook-nosed woman reentered, her gnarled hands filled with various herbs that had yet to be dried.  She walked over to her patient and smiled, revealing a mouth filled with rotted teeth—what few there were of them at any rate.  “How do you feel?” she asked in a voice that was surprisingly sweet despite the harshness of her looks.  Her deep brown eyes were likewise warm. 

 

“Like you’re having a bonfire and using my feet for kindling,” Colin answered honestly, though he made sure to keep his voice quiet and matched in tone to the healer.

 

The old woman tutted softly, peering at her handiwork.  “The Prince managed to save your life,” she explained.  “Even one more day and the infection would have taken over the whole body.  It would have been out of my hands, then.  Not even the most skilled healers in the Kingdom can do anything when it reaches that stage.”

 

Colin looked over at Ryan, who was ostensibly studying the bottles upon bottles of unknown substances that were supposedly used for healing.  “Thank you…again.”

 

“Mm,” came the seemingly disinterested answer that Colin knew was not.

 

“I’ll have to start thinking of some amusing tales to tell when we start traveling again.”

 

He didn’t miss the significant glance that passed between the Witch and the Prince.  He frowned.

 

“We are going to travel again…aren’t we?”

 

The woman touched him lightly on the chest, still smiling.  “You are a very sick man, Colin.  It will take some time for you to recover.  His Majesty has deeds that cannot wait.”

 

Colin slumped back down into the straw mattress.  “They’ll just find me here and bring me back.  You shouldn’t have tried to save my life,” he whispered.

 

Scowling, Ryan approached the bed again.  “Don’t talk like that.”

 

“Why not?  You know it’s true.”

 

“My men will carry my message to my father.  They won’t look for a dead man.”

 

Colin snorted.  “I’m not exactly what you’d call unrecognizable, Ryan.  Word would spread back to your father’s ear, and not only would I bring trouble down upon myself and this town, I would bring it down upon you too.  You were supposed to have killed me, remember?”

 

Ryan sighed, tapping his long fingers on his chin.  “Acham has a stone bruise in his left front hoof.  It will take a day or two to heal.  If you are well enough to travel by then, we’ll leave together.  If not…we’ll both take our chances.”

 

After a moment, Colin nodded.  “I suppose that’s the best that can be hoped for.”

 

“It is,” Ryan assured him.  “Now try to get some rest.”

 

“I’m…not sure my feet are going to let me.”

 

“I have the answer for that,” the Witch said, carrying over a mug in which a foul smelling brew caused Colin’s eyes to water.  The woman laughed.  “I know it stinks, but drink it and I guarantee you’ll be out like a babe in arms, pain or no pain.”

 

Not seeing much choice in the matter, Colin took the mug in hand and downed the whole vile thing, sternly telling his stomach that it just better accept the gift given it, no matter how horrid it tasted. 

 

Surprisingly, it listened, and he immediately felt himself growing sleepy.  The agony in his feet slowly faded away into a minor, unimportant thing, and before he knew it, he was deep beneath the warm, comforting blanket of true sleep.

 

The Witch smiled, stroking the few hairs left atop the sleeping man’s head.  “He looks almost angelic like this, doesn’t he?”

 

Moving closer, Ryan nodded, eyeing Colin’s relaxed face intently. Reaching down, he gently dragged the woolen blanket over the sleeping form, tucking it beneath Colin’s chin before pinning the Witch with the intensity of his gaze.  “Will he heal?”

 

“If I have anything to say about it, he will.  He might always walk with a slight limp, but that’s a small price to pay, I think, for his freedom.”  She met the Prince’s eyes steadily.  “He is free, isn’t he?”

 

Ryan nodded.  “He is.”

 

“Then he has something to live for, doesn’t he?”

 

Ryan nodded again, brushing the backs of his fingers against Colin’s smooth, cool cheeks. 

 

“And perhaps something else, as well,” the Witch murmured, still smiling.

 

Ryan snatched his hand away as if burnt, giving the woman his fiercest glare. 

 

Which, of course, had absolutely no affect on the grinning Witch.

 

Scowling, Ryan turned away.  “I’ll be tending to my horse.  See that you notify me when he awakens.”

 

The woman nodded deeply.  “As you wish, Lord.”

 

******