fic: a not-fairytale (pg-13, gen) 1/2
Nov. 22nd, 2009 04:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sailorstkwrningTitle: A Not-Fairytale
Characters: Featuring Panic!, The Young Veins, MCR and cameos by other bandom people.
Rating: PG-13 for offscreen violence, non-life-threatening injuries to characters, Ryan Ross in a cage, hangovers and an instance of bloody medieval warfare.
Wordcount:5,071 9,391 words
A/N: Yet more comment fic that got out of hand, lightly edited for continuity. Fake as fake can be!
Once upon a time, in an amorphous medieval era, the countryside is awash in reivers and raiders, and Ryan Ross is a plucky orphan who has been put in charge of the laird's pigs. His friend Jon Walker is in charge of the sheep.
One night the laird's stately home is beset by reivers and Ryan escapes notice by hiding with his pigs. When he finally comes out Jon and the sheep are missing and the courtyard is full of dead people. The laird is dead or run away.
The dead people are very upsetting, and so is Jon being missing, but Ryan doesn't have anywhere else to go. Also the countryside is full of armed men. So he stays where he is, though he does take the liberty of washing the pig-stink off in the laird's tub and sleeping (gloriously alone!) in the laird's bed.
Ryan's starting to get bored by himself and also he's almost out of food when he hears the clatter of hooves and men shouting in the courtyard. They're bellowing in a language he doesn't know, which means raiders, not reivers. He's essentially trapped in the laird's apartments. Then he hears boots on the stairs and armor clanking. He dives into a nearby dog cage (the laird spoiled his mastiffs) and yanks the door shut behind him.
There is more bellowing in the corridor, and then a very tall man comes into the room. He has blond hair and is wearing a big sword. He doesn't look very happy. Ryan holds his breath and tries to become invisible, but it doesn't work. The man sees him. They stare at each other for a moment, and then the man yells something that makes a third man come in the room. The new person is much tinier and has dark hair, and doesn't seem to be armed.
He crouches down in front of the cage and Ryan scuttles further back. The blond man says something that sounds like "Bren Dawn" and the little dark one turns around, so Ryan guesses that must be his name. They have a conversation that sounds like gargling to Ryan, and then Bren Dawn turns around and gargles at Ryan.
Ryan shakes his head. Bren Dawn frowns, then tries again in what Ryan eventually realizes is Latin. Ryan shakes his head again, but he shuffles towards the front of the cage. If Bren Dawn is a priest that explains why he isn't armed, and furthermore priests are technically not supposed to kill people.
Bren Dawn smiles at Ryan and the blond man makes some more gargling noises. He's taken his hand off his sword, though, and he doesn't move when Bren Dawn unlatches the cage and backs up so Ryan can crawl out. Ryan sits on the floor, not sure what to do. The tall one crouches down in front of him and mimes eating something.
Ryan bites his lip; there's enough to last him for another couple of days, but armed men are like locusts. Still, he isn't dead. He stands up and leads them to the cellars.
The next couple of hours are a blur. There are a lot of men and a lot of horses and the big blond one has Ryan running all over the house tending to their various needs. By the time everyone gathers in the great hall at sunset, Ryan is exhausted. The men have filled the benches, so Ryan finds a mostly clean patch of rushes to sit on while he eats his dinner. Having a fire in the big fireplace and the hall full of people again is actually almost comforting, even if he can't understand anyone.
Ryan's drinking the last of his beer when someone throwns another log on the fire, and Bren Dawn goes to kneel in front of it. He's holding a lute. The big blond one gets up from a table, a broad, flat drum in his hands, and goes to sit next to him. The initial bang bang bang is kind of scary, but Ryan forgets about that when Bren Dawn starts to sing.
The first song is slow and mournful. The whole hall joins in for the chorus, and Ryan can feel himself tearing up. Before he can get properly annoyed about it the blond one changes the tempo and people start clapping and hooting. Someone starts playing a flute, and then several of the raiders get up and start dancing. They yell and stomp and swing each other around, beards and hair flying everywhere.
They're drunk and not very careful, and Ryan scrambles under a table so he doesn't get stepped on. Eventually he falls asleep.
When Ryan wakes up it's dark, and he's back in the mastiff cage in the laird's bedroom. He tugs at the door and fumbles at the latch, but it's no use, they've locked him in and he can't figure out how to open it from the inside. Annoyed, he rattles the door again, and someone gargles in the darkness.
Ryan lets go of the door and scrambles for the back of the cage. It really isn't that bad; there's a soft pillow, and enough room for him to curl up comfortably. There's some rustling and some more gargling, and then a flare of candlelight. Ryan hears the low swish of robes on stone, and then the big blond one appears out of the darkness. He's a lot less scary in his nightshirt. Ryan scoots forward and rattles the door again. The blond one shakes his head and gargles at him, and it almost sounds apologetic.
Ryan narrows his eyes, and the blond one has the temerity to smile at him. He's really not scary when he's smiling. Ryan glares at him, then makes an irritated noise and flops down on the pillow. There's some more apologetic gargling, and then the light drifts away. Ryan's asleep again a few minutes later.
The next morning, though, it's Bren Dawn who awakens Ryan by rattling the cage doors and waving a honeyed oatcake under his nose. Ryan sticks a hand through the bars and grabs it (Bren Dawn's eyes go comically wide) and eats it quickly. When he's done they sit and stare at each other for a moment until Ryan points at his privates and then at the corner of the bed where the necessary pot is hidden. Bren Dawn bites his lip and Ryan's heart sinks, but then Bren Dawn opens the cage anyway and scoots backwards, and Ryan bolts out before he can change his mind.
Bren Dawn disappears briefly while Ryan is occupied with his ablutions. When he comes back he's carrying a plate full of oatcakes and two tankards. He sets everything on the trunk at the end of the bed, and kneels down next to it. Ryan huddles by the window, not willing to get that close to the cage again.
Bren Dawn hold up an oatcake and gargles something at Ryan. Ryan shakes his head. Bren Dawn tries again, this time with the tankard, and Ryan just scowls at him.
"Bren Dawn," he says, pointing to himself, though he pronounces it differently than the big blond one, like it's all one word.
Then he picks up an oatcake and points it at Ryan, his eyebrows arching encouragingly.
"Oatcake," Ryan says, understanding now.
Brendawn grins broadly and hands Ryan a tankard, then picks up the other one and gargles something that begings with "slanja" and ends in "hootcack!" at him. Ryan stares at him, baffled, but he doesn't seem to notice. In fact it takes another hour of pointing and naming and puzzling exclamations of "hootcack!" before Ryan realizes Brendawn thinks Ryan's name is oatcake.
Ryan stops in the middle of naming the bedclothes, points to himself and says his name.
"Reeean?" Brendawn says, and that's close enough. Ryan nods.
Brendawn turns pink, but then he starts laughing, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. Ryan can't help but grin back at him. That is the last of the merriment for a while, though; Ryan is in the middle of naming the things he recognizes in Brendawn's bag of herbs when the big blond one comes in and drags him off to deal with yet more men and horses.
When Ryan gets to the courtyard he finds out it's more than just men and horses. There are also a motley collection of crippled old men, children and pregnant girls waiting for him, as well as a couple dozen heads of cattle and ten very unhappy sheep. Ryan scans the crowd for Jon, but doesn't see him.
Then one of the pregnant girls starts clutching her belly and screaming and the courtyard erupts in chaos. The big blond one starts gargling orders, and Ryan slips away with the cattle, grateful for the distraction. Getting the animals settled takes most of the morning, and he's barely finished cajoling an extra piece of cheese out of the old lady who's taken over the kitchen when Brendawn appears and hauls him off to pick herbs.
Ryan gathers thistles and considers running away. Brendawn is busy digging in the dirt and not paying attention to Ryan; it would be easy to knock him out and make a break for the forest. Ryan picks up a good size rock, slips it into his sleeve and thinks some more. He has a rough idea where the london road is, it's still warm enough that he could sleep outside if he had to, and it's not like he has to say goodbye to anyone.
On the other hand, the countryside is still full of armed men, which means caging food is going to be difficult, and so is finding a safe place to sleep, especially outdoors. Also Ryan's not quite willing to give up on Jon yet. Ryan takes one last look at the edge of the trees and lets the rock slide out of his sleeve.
By the time Brendawn's hunger for plants has been satisfied, it is almost dark and Ryan's belly is rumbling loudly. They meet the big blond one in the courtyard; he's wearing his sword and there are two other men with him. They look like they're about to ride out. He starts gargling angrily at Brendawn and Ryan slips away, keen to get to the great hall before all the food is gone.
That night the hall is noisier, but less merry, and Ryan only has two tankards of beer before he goes to tend to the cows. They nuzzle him with soft noses and whuffle agreeably in his ear when he curls up with them in the byre. The next couple of days bring more people and more animals, but still no Jon. On the morning of the third day, Ryan wakes up to the big blond one poking him with a sword.
Ryan scrambles to his feet, but he's once again he's trapped. The big blond one gargles at him -- Ryan catches a "Bren Dawn" in the torrent of gibberish -- then sheaths his sword and stalks off. Ryan hops over a still-sleeping cow and follows him to the still room, where Brendawn is boiling something that smells vile over a low fire. The room isn't that cold, but he's hunched in his robes and looks even tinier than he did a few days ago.
Brendawn produces a tankard from his sleeve and dips it into the cauldron, and Ryan takes a step back, ready to run. Then the big blond one grabs him by his shoulder and shakes him in Brendawn's general direction, gargling grumpily the whole time. Brendawn almost drops the tankard, and for a minute Ryan thinks Brendawn might hug him.
He starts trying to wriggle away, but the big blond one just tightens his grip and forces Ryan to sit down on a nearby bench. There is some more gargling, and then the big blond one stalks out. Brendawn hands him a knife and some thistles and mimes cutting the heads off. Ryan sulkily does as he's told.
Sometime later one of the pregnant girls brings in a plate of bread and cheese and two tankards of beer, and they eat in companionable silence. Afterwards Brendawn belches loud and long, then laughs so hard at Ryan's shocked expression that he falls off the bench. Ryan blinks a couple of times then smirks into his tankard; he knows how to win this game. He waits a few moments for Brendawn to get up and go back to stirring the cauldron before he lets rip.
Brendawn jumps and splashes smelly medicine all over himself. Ryan laughs, delighted, and Brendawn makes a shakes the ladle at Ryan in mock reproof. Ryan makes his best "Who, me?" eyes and goes back to beheading thistles.
That night Ryan doesn't protest when the big blond one catches him on his way out of the hall and shoves him up the stairs towards the laird's room. Brendawn is already there, sitting at a desk and writing something in a big book. Ryan pulls the dog pillow out of the cage, shoves it into an open space beneath a window, and curls up on it pulling his knees up against his chest and tucking his nose into the folds of his sleeves. It's not as warm as the cow byre, but it'll do. He's almost asleep when he hears wood scraping over stone, and feels the gentle weight of a sleeping fur settle over his shoulders.
After that he spends most of his days in the still room, chopping and slicing and grinding under Brendawn's watchful eye. Meanwhile more and more people are arriving at the castle. The first frost comes and goes, bringing with it the augue, and a steady stream of coughing and sneezing visitors to the still room. The atmosphere in the hall grows tense, and there are some fights. The big blond one gets dragged into several of the brawls, and one night someone someone gets stabbed.
Two days later the big blond one saddles his horse and leads a group of men out of the courtyard. Brendawn watches from the front steps, face set and impassive, his hands hidden in his sleeves. He stays quiet all day, barely cracking a smile when Ryan pretends to stab himself in the hand with a paring knife. Several times Brendawn bows his head and Ryan sees his lips move; he supposes he must be praying.
Ryan hears the clatter of hooves on stone first and bolts away from the too-quiet room. His heart sinks when he sees the men have come back, and one of the horses is dragging a litter.
The men scatter as Ryan passes among them; he can hear muffled, anxious gargling in his wake. He kneels down by the litter and his worst suspicions are confirmed: the big blond one is lying there looking pale and strained. He opens his eyes when Ryan touches his shoulder, though, and gargles at him softly.
Ryan recognizes enough words now to know that he's trying to say he's fine. Ryan pats his shoulder and peels back the edge of the cloak that's draped over the big blond one's body; at first glance there's no blood or obvious broken bones. Ryan drops the cloak just as Brendawn comes running up. He moves out of the way quickly, but stays close in case Brendawn needs him.
Brendawn drops to his knees and the big blond one starts talking, periodically amplifying his comments with a descriptive hand gesture. Ryan gathers they were chasing someone, and they almost caught them, and then there was something with tusks that charged, and something else with a tail that wiggled, and the big blond one's horse bucked him off and into a tree. Perhaps a bush.
Brendawn's face relaxes and he smiles for the first time all day. The big blond one looks both affronted and relieved. Brendawn stands up and gargles at the others until they take the litter down and carry the big blond one up to the laird's room. Once he's settled on the bed Brendawn shoos the men away and motions Ryan over.
The two of them strip the big blond one to the skin. He's covered in bruises and scrapes (and scars, Ryan notices), but the worst is revealed when Brendawn flips him over: his back is full of thorns.
Brendawn inhales sharply and says something that sounds like "Spenthair" followed by a lot of angry gargling. Ryan winces in sympathy for both the pain and the scolding and goes to fetch Brendawn's instruments.
When he comes back, Brendawn has produced a jug of liquor from somewhere and is busy pouring some of it down Spenthair's throat. Ryan hands over the instruments and Brendawn shoots him a grateful look, then motions for him to fetch a bowl from a nearby desk. Ryan brings it over and Brendawn starts filling it with thorns.
Ryan fixes his eyes on the bowl and not on Spenthair's back, and concentrates on trying to follow what Brendawn is saying. He catches a couple of words he knows are numbers, and one or two he thinks might be affectionate cursing, but mostly it's still a jumble. Spenthair is silent the whole time, though his eyes are leaking tears by the end.
When the last thorn is gone, Brendawn pours the rest of the liquor over Spenthair's back. Spenthair arches and screams but doesn't roll away, and Brendawn pets his hair, gargling softly, until he settles. Ryan blinks back sympathetic tears and helps Brendawn apply bandages and roll Spenthair over again.
They don't eat in the great hall that night. A different pregnant girl brings up a tray of sliced meats and sweet puddings, and they wash it down with mouthfuls of liquor. Spenthair falls asleep not long thereafter, but Brendawn stays awake writing for quite some time. Dizzy from adrenaline and drink, Ryan curls up on his pillow and drifts off to the sound of Brendawn's pen scratching over parchment.
The next morning starts when Spenthair wakes up and tries to get out of bed. Ryan wakes up to Spenthair's groan of pain, Brendawn's outraged commentary on the entire plan of action and also a pounding headache. He escapes to the relative peace of the kitchen, but only briefly; he's almost charmed the cook into giving him extra honey on his oatcake when Brendawn appears out of nowhere and drags him back upstairs.
Spenthair is laying on his belly looking pitiful; Brendawn takes no mercy on him at all. He strips the bandages off, pours more liquor over Spenthair's back, and then directs Ryan in the task of putting clean bandages on. Then he stalks off gargling imprecations under his breath. Spenthair's eyes slide shut, and Ryan retreats to his pillow.
The next time Ryan wakes his head is clearer, but someone has moved his pillow so that he's jammed under Brendawn's desk. Brandawn, or someone else who wears heavy black robes, is standing in front of the desk, hiding him. Ryan pulls back a bit of fabric, sees several rows of armor-clad legs, and realizes the room is full of raiders. They smell strongly of horses. He drops the fabric and listens; Spenthair having a serious conversation with someone whose voice Ryan doesn't recognize, and he sounds annoyed.
It feels like hours before the other raiders leave and Brendawn steps aside to let Ryan out from under the desk. He stands up to stretch and fill his lungs with clean air, and notices Spenthair's grim expression. Brendawn does not look any happier.
There's a long silence, and then Spenthair swings his legs off the bed and stands up. He takes one step and sways a little, and Ryan goes to prop him up without thinking. Brendawn glares at both of them. Ryan can feel Spenthair trembling and tries to help him back to bed, but Spenthair will have none of it. His hand closes around Ryan's shoulder in a death-grip and he takes three more steps before falling gracelessly onto the trunk.
Brendawn's eyes narrow but he doesn't say anything. Spenthair gargles at Ryan, and Ryan looks at him blankly. Spenthair sighs and repeats himself, tugging at his nightclothes and pointing at his bare feet. Ryan only hesitates for a moment before he takes a mostly-clean robe off the top of the pile of clothes on the floor and helps Spenthair into it. Boots and a loose belt are next. When Ryan is finished, Spenthair heaves himself to his feet and uses Ryan as a walking stick to get down to the great hall.
It looks like every man, woman and child in the keep is waiting for them when they get there. Still leaning on Ryan, Spenthair makes his way to the laird's dias and sits down heavily in the laird's chair. Ryan keeps his head down. He didn't have any particular love for the laird, but this feels weird and not-right.
Spenthair clears his throat and the usual rumble of the hall stops. He speaks for a few minutes, and the words are mostly unintelligible to Ryan but his tone is clear: something terrible has happened. Given the number of men putting their hands on their swords, there is probably about to be some fighting. The refugees, on the other hand, all look as baffled as Ryan feels.
Spenthair stops talking and the rumble of the hall comes back, twice as loud as before. The noise stops again when the men start stepping forward and kneeling down, laying their swords at Spenthair's feet. Almost twenty of them have assembled before Spenthair pushes himself up and starts making his way down the steps. Ryan and the men fall in behind him, and the rest of the people fall back to let them through.
Ryan hovers close, but Spenthair makes no move to lean on him again. Instead he leads them all up to a room next to the laird's bedroom where there is a large table. Spenthair settles himself at one end, and the rest of the men crowd around. One of them, perhaps one of the raiders from earlier, pulls a folded piece of parchment out of his sleeve and lays it out on the table. Ryan can see just enough of it to tell it's a map. He inches closer, curious, and one of the men pushes him away.
Surprised, Ryan stumbles backwards and almost falls. Spenthair gargles at the man, then says something to Ryan that includes "Brendawn" and Ryan takes that as permission to leave. But when he goes next door Brendawn is missing. After a brief detour to the kitchen, Ryan finally finds him in the still room, scowling furiously at some mossy paste.
He deliberately trips over his own feet to let Brendawn know he's there, but Brendawn doesn't laugh like he usually does, he just looks more pinched and angry. Ryan sits down on a bench, shoulders hunched, not sure what to do next. Brendawn sighs and gargles something under his breath, then pats Ryan's shoulder on his way across the room. He comes back with two large glass jars. He hands one of them to Ryan, then pulls his cloak on and carries the other one out the door. Ryan scrambles after him, wondering what they're collecting this time.
It turns out to be leeches. By the time they fill the jars to Brendawn's satisfaction, they are both soaked to the skin and Ryan's teeth are chattering. When they come back to the keep, the courtyard is ringing with the sound of swordfighting. Spenthair is pacing between sets of fighters scowling and barking orders.
Ryan stops to watch a two men spar. One is bigger and broader than Spenthair, with blond hair to his waist, the other is dark and whippet-thin, but fast on his feet. He doesn't recognize them, and supposes they must be new. He only gets to see Whippet land a few blows before Brendawn drags him away.
Brendawn steps into the stillroom and stops so suddenly Ryan almost runs into him. There is a dark haired stranger perched on the edge of one of the benches. He looks very tired, but that does not stop Brendawn from erupting into a stream of angry gargling. Ryan sets down his jar of leeches and grabs Brendawn's before he drops it, and takes his cloak off as well.
The stranger waits for Brendawn to finish before he starts talking. His accent is strange and he swallows some of the words, but Ryan can see Brendawn's face clearing, and at the end he steps forward and gives the stranger a hug. Then it is the stranger's turn to scold them, tugging on their wet things and frowning. Brendawn shrugs one shoulder and waves him off, but he does strip off his heavy outer robe and motions for Ryan to do the same.
Brendawn sends Ryan off to lay the robes by the fire to dry. When Ryan comes back the leeches have been put away and Brendawn and the stranger are hunched over a massive book talking in low tones. The stranger stabs at something on the page with one finger and Brendawn steps away for a moment to get the volume he writes in after each patient. Ryan listens for a moment, then fetches one of the bags of thistles and a knife and settles down to cutting them up; Brendawn always seems to need more thistles.
The next couple of days pass in a whirl of clanging steel and increasingly heavy rain. Ryan spends the time shuttling between chopping thistles, grinding moss and finding room for the refugees that continue to stream into the keep. Sometimes he stops to watch the fighters -- particularly Whippet and the Giant -- but not often, as Spenthair has taken to conscripting anyone he catches hanging around.
On the fourth morning it starts to snow. Ryan wraps himself in an old cloak and goes out to deal with the day's first crop of refugees. He's wading through the usual crowd of stooped old men, weary pregnant girls and pinch-faced old women when the Giant and the Whippet walk into the courtyard, dragging someone between them.
When Spenthair sees them he calls the sword-drills to a halt and walks forward to meet them. The Giant and the Whippet drop their quarry on the icy stones. The person -- man -- raises his head, and Ryan realizes he knows his face: it's Jon.
At first Ryan is too stunned to move. Spenthair, the Whippet and the Giant gargle back and forth for a moment, and it's not until they reach down to grab Jon again that Ryan recovers himself enough to push his way through the crowd and throw himself between Jon and Spenthair.
Jon makes a startled noise, and Ryan wills him to be quiet. Spenthair is peering down at both of them, eyebrows arched, and Ryan stammers out the few barbarian words he knows: please, mine, friend.
Spenthair's eyes widen. Ryan tries again, terrified he's pronounced something wrong and accidentally insulted someone. The Whippet makes a noise that could be a cough or could be a laugh, an Spenthair glares at him briefly before leaning over and hauling Ryan to his feet, and gargling something at the Whippet and the Giant that cause them to lift Jon to his feet and shove him at Ryan.
Ryan grabs Jon's hand and tugs him away as the sword drills start up again. Up close Ryan can see he's filthy, and his nose has been broken since the last time Ryan saw him. Also he's limping and the right half of his body is bulky and twisted in a way it shouldn't be.
Ryan touches it and Jon screams and jerks away. Ryan apologizes quickly and tightens his grip on Jon's other hand, tugging gently until Jon starts walking. When they get to the stillroom there's yet another dark-haired stranger sitting at the table, and he's using Ryan's knife to cut thistles. Brendawn and the original stranger are frowning over a mountain of grubby plants.
"Brendawn," Ryan says, ignoring the interloper for now.
When Brendawn looks at him, clearly irritated at being interrupted, Ryan goes for the barbarian words again: help, please, mine, friend.
Brendawn's eyes widen just as Spenthair's did, and then he catches sight of Jon and all of the irritation melts away, replaced by concern. He and the original stranger both come around the table, wiping their hands on their robes and asking questions Ryan can't answer.
Jon surprises Ryan by gargling back at them. Whatever he says makes Brendawn inhale sharply, and the second stranger stops his chopping to stare at them. After a beat Brendawn starts peeling Jon's clothes off, and it soon becomes apparent what's wrong. His arm is hanging at an unnatural angle from his shoulder, and his entire upper body is heavily bruised.
Brendawn and the first stranger examine Jon quickly, barely touching him. Brendawn turns and grabs a stirring spoon from the table behind him. He wipes the handle off on his robes taps it against Jon's mouth until he opens up and bites down on it. Brendawn points to Jon's arm and makes some odd movements with his hands, and Jon nods.
Brendawn smiles briefly, then taps at Ryan's chest until he lets go of Jon and sits down at the worktable with the new interloper. He pinches himself, just in case he's dreaming, but Jon doesn't disappear. The interloper gargles at him, but Ryan is too worked up to concentrate on the words.
Meanwhile, the original stranger move around to Jon's other side and held on to his elbow, talking softly the whole time.
"Jherard," Brendawn says, now gripping Jon's arm firmly, and the original stranger goes quiet. "En tree."
Jherard nods.
"An, dhu, tree," Brendawn says.
There's a flurry of movement and Jon howls around the spoon, but when Brendawn and Jherard step back, Jon's arm is back in its socket. (The spoon is in two pieces on the floor, but Brendawn doesn't seem upset.) Jon staggers and Ryan jumps up to catch him.
Brendawn gargles at them some more. Ryan catches the words for "bath" and "bed" and nods obediently, then guides Jon upstairs to the laird's bedroom.
Part 2
Characters: Featuring Panic!, The Young Veins, MCR and cameos by other bandom people.
Rating: PG-13 for offscreen violence, non-life-threatening injuries to characters, Ryan Ross in a cage, hangovers and an instance of bloody medieval warfare.
Wordcount:
A/N: Yet more comment fic that got out of hand, lightly edited for continuity. Fake as fake can be!
Once upon a time, in an amorphous medieval era, the countryside is awash in reivers and raiders, and Ryan Ross is a plucky orphan who has been put in charge of the laird's pigs. His friend Jon Walker is in charge of the sheep.
One night the laird's stately home is beset by reivers and Ryan escapes notice by hiding with his pigs. When he finally comes out Jon and the sheep are missing and the courtyard is full of dead people. The laird is dead or run away.
The dead people are very upsetting, and so is Jon being missing, but Ryan doesn't have anywhere else to go. Also the countryside is full of armed men. So he stays where he is, though he does take the liberty of washing the pig-stink off in the laird's tub and sleeping (gloriously alone!) in the laird's bed.
Ryan's starting to get bored by himself and also he's almost out of food when he hears the clatter of hooves and men shouting in the courtyard. They're bellowing in a language he doesn't know, which means raiders, not reivers. He's essentially trapped in the laird's apartments. Then he hears boots on the stairs and armor clanking. He dives into a nearby dog cage (the laird spoiled his mastiffs) and yanks the door shut behind him.
There is more bellowing in the corridor, and then a very tall man comes into the room. He has blond hair and is wearing a big sword. He doesn't look very happy. Ryan holds his breath and tries to become invisible, but it doesn't work. The man sees him. They stare at each other for a moment, and then the man yells something that makes a third man come in the room. The new person is much tinier and has dark hair, and doesn't seem to be armed.
He crouches down in front of the cage and Ryan scuttles further back. The blond man says something that sounds like "Bren Dawn" and the little dark one turns around, so Ryan guesses that must be his name. They have a conversation that sounds like gargling to Ryan, and then Bren Dawn turns around and gargles at Ryan.
Ryan shakes his head. Bren Dawn frowns, then tries again in what Ryan eventually realizes is Latin. Ryan shakes his head again, but he shuffles towards the front of the cage. If Bren Dawn is a priest that explains why he isn't armed, and furthermore priests are technically not supposed to kill people.
Bren Dawn smiles at Ryan and the blond man makes some more gargling noises. He's taken his hand off his sword, though, and he doesn't move when Bren Dawn unlatches the cage and backs up so Ryan can crawl out. Ryan sits on the floor, not sure what to do. The tall one crouches down in front of him and mimes eating something.
Ryan bites his lip; there's enough to last him for another couple of days, but armed men are like locusts. Still, he isn't dead. He stands up and leads them to the cellars.
The next couple of hours are a blur. There are a lot of men and a lot of horses and the big blond one has Ryan running all over the house tending to their various needs. By the time everyone gathers in the great hall at sunset, Ryan is exhausted. The men have filled the benches, so Ryan finds a mostly clean patch of rushes to sit on while he eats his dinner. Having a fire in the big fireplace and the hall full of people again is actually almost comforting, even if he can't understand anyone.
Ryan's drinking the last of his beer when someone throwns another log on the fire, and Bren Dawn goes to kneel in front of it. He's holding a lute. The big blond one gets up from a table, a broad, flat drum in his hands, and goes to sit next to him. The initial bang bang bang is kind of scary, but Ryan forgets about that when Bren Dawn starts to sing.
The first song is slow and mournful. The whole hall joins in for the chorus, and Ryan can feel himself tearing up. Before he can get properly annoyed about it the blond one changes the tempo and people start clapping and hooting. Someone starts playing a flute, and then several of the raiders get up and start dancing. They yell and stomp and swing each other around, beards and hair flying everywhere.
They're drunk and not very careful, and Ryan scrambles under a table so he doesn't get stepped on. Eventually he falls asleep.
When Ryan wakes up it's dark, and he's back in the mastiff cage in the laird's bedroom. He tugs at the door and fumbles at the latch, but it's no use, they've locked him in and he can't figure out how to open it from the inside. Annoyed, he rattles the door again, and someone gargles in the darkness.
Ryan lets go of the door and scrambles for the back of the cage. It really isn't that bad; there's a soft pillow, and enough room for him to curl up comfortably. There's some rustling and some more gargling, and then a flare of candlelight. Ryan hears the low swish of robes on stone, and then the big blond one appears out of the darkness. He's a lot less scary in his nightshirt. Ryan scoots forward and rattles the door again. The blond one shakes his head and gargles at him, and it almost sounds apologetic.
Ryan narrows his eyes, and the blond one has the temerity to smile at him. He's really not scary when he's smiling. Ryan glares at him, then makes an irritated noise and flops down on the pillow. There's some more apologetic gargling, and then the light drifts away. Ryan's asleep again a few minutes later.
The next morning, though, it's Bren Dawn who awakens Ryan by rattling the cage doors and waving a honeyed oatcake under his nose. Ryan sticks a hand through the bars and grabs it (Bren Dawn's eyes go comically wide) and eats it quickly. When he's done they sit and stare at each other for a moment until Ryan points at his privates and then at the corner of the bed where the necessary pot is hidden. Bren Dawn bites his lip and Ryan's heart sinks, but then Bren Dawn opens the cage anyway and scoots backwards, and Ryan bolts out before he can change his mind.
Bren Dawn disappears briefly while Ryan is occupied with his ablutions. When he comes back he's carrying a plate full of oatcakes and two tankards. He sets everything on the trunk at the end of the bed, and kneels down next to it. Ryan huddles by the window, not willing to get that close to the cage again.
Bren Dawn hold up an oatcake and gargles something at Ryan. Ryan shakes his head. Bren Dawn tries again, this time with the tankard, and Ryan just scowls at him.
"Bren Dawn," he says, pointing to himself, though he pronounces it differently than the big blond one, like it's all one word.
Then he picks up an oatcake and points it at Ryan, his eyebrows arching encouragingly.
"Oatcake," Ryan says, understanding now.
Brendawn grins broadly and hands Ryan a tankard, then picks up the other one and gargles something that begings with "slanja" and ends in "hootcack!" at him. Ryan stares at him, baffled, but he doesn't seem to notice. In fact it takes another hour of pointing and naming and puzzling exclamations of "hootcack!" before Ryan realizes Brendawn thinks Ryan's name is oatcake.
Ryan stops in the middle of naming the bedclothes, points to himself and says his name.
"Reeean?" Brendawn says, and that's close enough. Ryan nods.
Brendawn turns pink, but then he starts laughing, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. Ryan can't help but grin back at him. That is the last of the merriment for a while, though; Ryan is in the middle of naming the things he recognizes in Brendawn's bag of herbs when the big blond one comes in and drags him off to deal with yet more men and horses.
When Ryan gets to the courtyard he finds out it's more than just men and horses. There are also a motley collection of crippled old men, children and pregnant girls waiting for him, as well as a couple dozen heads of cattle and ten very unhappy sheep. Ryan scans the crowd for Jon, but doesn't see him.
Then one of the pregnant girls starts clutching her belly and screaming and the courtyard erupts in chaos. The big blond one starts gargling orders, and Ryan slips away with the cattle, grateful for the distraction. Getting the animals settled takes most of the morning, and he's barely finished cajoling an extra piece of cheese out of the old lady who's taken over the kitchen when Brendawn appears and hauls him off to pick herbs.
Ryan gathers thistles and considers running away. Brendawn is busy digging in the dirt and not paying attention to Ryan; it would be easy to knock him out and make a break for the forest. Ryan picks up a good size rock, slips it into his sleeve and thinks some more. He has a rough idea where the london road is, it's still warm enough that he could sleep outside if he had to, and it's not like he has to say goodbye to anyone.
On the other hand, the countryside is still full of armed men, which means caging food is going to be difficult, and so is finding a safe place to sleep, especially outdoors. Also Ryan's not quite willing to give up on Jon yet. Ryan takes one last look at the edge of the trees and lets the rock slide out of his sleeve.
By the time Brendawn's hunger for plants has been satisfied, it is almost dark and Ryan's belly is rumbling loudly. They meet the big blond one in the courtyard; he's wearing his sword and there are two other men with him. They look like they're about to ride out. He starts gargling angrily at Brendawn and Ryan slips away, keen to get to the great hall before all the food is gone.
That night the hall is noisier, but less merry, and Ryan only has two tankards of beer before he goes to tend to the cows. They nuzzle him with soft noses and whuffle agreeably in his ear when he curls up with them in the byre. The next couple of days bring more people and more animals, but still no Jon. On the morning of the third day, Ryan wakes up to the big blond one poking him with a sword.
Ryan scrambles to his feet, but he's once again he's trapped. The big blond one gargles at him -- Ryan catches a "Bren Dawn" in the torrent of gibberish -- then sheaths his sword and stalks off. Ryan hops over a still-sleeping cow and follows him to the still room, where Brendawn is boiling something that smells vile over a low fire. The room isn't that cold, but he's hunched in his robes and looks even tinier than he did a few days ago.
Brendawn produces a tankard from his sleeve and dips it into the cauldron, and Ryan takes a step back, ready to run. Then the big blond one grabs him by his shoulder and shakes him in Brendawn's general direction, gargling grumpily the whole time. Brendawn almost drops the tankard, and for a minute Ryan thinks Brendawn might hug him.
He starts trying to wriggle away, but the big blond one just tightens his grip and forces Ryan to sit down on a nearby bench. There is some more gargling, and then the big blond one stalks out. Brendawn hands him a knife and some thistles and mimes cutting the heads off. Ryan sulkily does as he's told.
Sometime later one of the pregnant girls brings in a plate of bread and cheese and two tankards of beer, and they eat in companionable silence. Afterwards Brendawn belches loud and long, then laughs so hard at Ryan's shocked expression that he falls off the bench. Ryan blinks a couple of times then smirks into his tankard; he knows how to win this game. He waits a few moments for Brendawn to get up and go back to stirring the cauldron before he lets rip.
Brendawn jumps and splashes smelly medicine all over himself. Ryan laughs, delighted, and Brendawn makes a shakes the ladle at Ryan in mock reproof. Ryan makes his best "Who, me?" eyes and goes back to beheading thistles.
That night Ryan doesn't protest when the big blond one catches him on his way out of the hall and shoves him up the stairs towards the laird's room. Brendawn is already there, sitting at a desk and writing something in a big book. Ryan pulls the dog pillow out of the cage, shoves it into an open space beneath a window, and curls up on it pulling his knees up against his chest and tucking his nose into the folds of his sleeves. It's not as warm as the cow byre, but it'll do. He's almost asleep when he hears wood scraping over stone, and feels the gentle weight of a sleeping fur settle over his shoulders.
After that he spends most of his days in the still room, chopping and slicing and grinding under Brendawn's watchful eye. Meanwhile more and more people are arriving at the castle. The first frost comes and goes, bringing with it the augue, and a steady stream of coughing and sneezing visitors to the still room. The atmosphere in the hall grows tense, and there are some fights. The big blond one gets dragged into several of the brawls, and one night someone someone gets stabbed.
Two days later the big blond one saddles his horse and leads a group of men out of the courtyard. Brendawn watches from the front steps, face set and impassive, his hands hidden in his sleeves. He stays quiet all day, barely cracking a smile when Ryan pretends to stab himself in the hand with a paring knife. Several times Brendawn bows his head and Ryan sees his lips move; he supposes he must be praying.
Ryan hears the clatter of hooves on stone first and bolts away from the too-quiet room. His heart sinks when he sees the men have come back, and one of the horses is dragging a litter.
The men scatter as Ryan passes among them; he can hear muffled, anxious gargling in his wake. He kneels down by the litter and his worst suspicions are confirmed: the big blond one is lying there looking pale and strained. He opens his eyes when Ryan touches his shoulder, though, and gargles at him softly.
Ryan recognizes enough words now to know that he's trying to say he's fine. Ryan pats his shoulder and peels back the edge of the cloak that's draped over the big blond one's body; at first glance there's no blood or obvious broken bones. Ryan drops the cloak just as Brendawn comes running up. He moves out of the way quickly, but stays close in case Brendawn needs him.
Brendawn drops to his knees and the big blond one starts talking, periodically amplifying his comments with a descriptive hand gesture. Ryan gathers they were chasing someone, and they almost caught them, and then there was something with tusks that charged, and something else with a tail that wiggled, and the big blond one's horse bucked him off and into a tree. Perhaps a bush.
Brendawn's face relaxes and he smiles for the first time all day. The big blond one looks both affronted and relieved. Brendawn stands up and gargles at the others until they take the litter down and carry the big blond one up to the laird's room. Once he's settled on the bed Brendawn shoos the men away and motions Ryan over.
The two of them strip the big blond one to the skin. He's covered in bruises and scrapes (and scars, Ryan notices), but the worst is revealed when Brendawn flips him over: his back is full of thorns.
Brendawn inhales sharply and says something that sounds like "Spenthair" followed by a lot of angry gargling. Ryan winces in sympathy for both the pain and the scolding and goes to fetch Brendawn's instruments.
When he comes back, Brendawn has produced a jug of liquor from somewhere and is busy pouring some of it down Spenthair's throat. Ryan hands over the instruments and Brendawn shoots him a grateful look, then motions for him to fetch a bowl from a nearby desk. Ryan brings it over and Brendawn starts filling it with thorns.
Ryan fixes his eyes on the bowl and not on Spenthair's back, and concentrates on trying to follow what Brendawn is saying. He catches a couple of words he knows are numbers, and one or two he thinks might be affectionate cursing, but mostly it's still a jumble. Spenthair is silent the whole time, though his eyes are leaking tears by the end.
When the last thorn is gone, Brendawn pours the rest of the liquor over Spenthair's back. Spenthair arches and screams but doesn't roll away, and Brendawn pets his hair, gargling softly, until he settles. Ryan blinks back sympathetic tears and helps Brendawn apply bandages and roll Spenthair over again.
They don't eat in the great hall that night. A different pregnant girl brings up a tray of sliced meats and sweet puddings, and they wash it down with mouthfuls of liquor. Spenthair falls asleep not long thereafter, but Brendawn stays awake writing for quite some time. Dizzy from adrenaline and drink, Ryan curls up on his pillow and drifts off to the sound of Brendawn's pen scratching over parchment.
The next morning starts when Spenthair wakes up and tries to get out of bed. Ryan wakes up to Spenthair's groan of pain, Brendawn's outraged commentary on the entire plan of action and also a pounding headache. He escapes to the relative peace of the kitchen, but only briefly; he's almost charmed the cook into giving him extra honey on his oatcake when Brendawn appears out of nowhere and drags him back upstairs.
Spenthair is laying on his belly looking pitiful; Brendawn takes no mercy on him at all. He strips the bandages off, pours more liquor over Spenthair's back, and then directs Ryan in the task of putting clean bandages on. Then he stalks off gargling imprecations under his breath. Spenthair's eyes slide shut, and Ryan retreats to his pillow.
The next time Ryan wakes his head is clearer, but someone has moved his pillow so that he's jammed under Brendawn's desk. Brandawn, or someone else who wears heavy black robes, is standing in front of the desk, hiding him. Ryan pulls back a bit of fabric, sees several rows of armor-clad legs, and realizes the room is full of raiders. They smell strongly of horses. He drops the fabric and listens; Spenthair having a serious conversation with someone whose voice Ryan doesn't recognize, and he sounds annoyed.
It feels like hours before the other raiders leave and Brendawn steps aside to let Ryan out from under the desk. He stands up to stretch and fill his lungs with clean air, and notices Spenthair's grim expression. Brendawn does not look any happier.
There's a long silence, and then Spenthair swings his legs off the bed and stands up. He takes one step and sways a little, and Ryan goes to prop him up without thinking. Brendawn glares at both of them. Ryan can feel Spenthair trembling and tries to help him back to bed, but Spenthair will have none of it. His hand closes around Ryan's shoulder in a death-grip and he takes three more steps before falling gracelessly onto the trunk.
Brendawn's eyes narrow but he doesn't say anything. Spenthair gargles at Ryan, and Ryan looks at him blankly. Spenthair sighs and repeats himself, tugging at his nightclothes and pointing at his bare feet. Ryan only hesitates for a moment before he takes a mostly-clean robe off the top of the pile of clothes on the floor and helps Spenthair into it. Boots and a loose belt are next. When Ryan is finished, Spenthair heaves himself to his feet and uses Ryan as a walking stick to get down to the great hall.
It looks like every man, woman and child in the keep is waiting for them when they get there. Still leaning on Ryan, Spenthair makes his way to the laird's dias and sits down heavily in the laird's chair. Ryan keeps his head down. He didn't have any particular love for the laird, but this feels weird and not-right.
Spenthair clears his throat and the usual rumble of the hall stops. He speaks for a few minutes, and the words are mostly unintelligible to Ryan but his tone is clear: something terrible has happened. Given the number of men putting their hands on their swords, there is probably about to be some fighting. The refugees, on the other hand, all look as baffled as Ryan feels.
Spenthair stops talking and the rumble of the hall comes back, twice as loud as before. The noise stops again when the men start stepping forward and kneeling down, laying their swords at Spenthair's feet. Almost twenty of them have assembled before Spenthair pushes himself up and starts making his way down the steps. Ryan and the men fall in behind him, and the rest of the people fall back to let them through.
Ryan hovers close, but Spenthair makes no move to lean on him again. Instead he leads them all up to a room next to the laird's bedroom where there is a large table. Spenthair settles himself at one end, and the rest of the men crowd around. One of them, perhaps one of the raiders from earlier, pulls a folded piece of parchment out of his sleeve and lays it out on the table. Ryan can see just enough of it to tell it's a map. He inches closer, curious, and one of the men pushes him away.
Surprised, Ryan stumbles backwards and almost falls. Spenthair gargles at the man, then says something to Ryan that includes "Brendawn" and Ryan takes that as permission to leave. But when he goes next door Brendawn is missing. After a brief detour to the kitchen, Ryan finally finds him in the still room, scowling furiously at some mossy paste.
He deliberately trips over his own feet to let Brendawn know he's there, but Brendawn doesn't laugh like he usually does, he just looks more pinched and angry. Ryan sits down on a bench, shoulders hunched, not sure what to do next. Brendawn sighs and gargles something under his breath, then pats Ryan's shoulder on his way across the room. He comes back with two large glass jars. He hands one of them to Ryan, then pulls his cloak on and carries the other one out the door. Ryan scrambles after him, wondering what they're collecting this time.
It turns out to be leeches. By the time they fill the jars to Brendawn's satisfaction, they are both soaked to the skin and Ryan's teeth are chattering. When they come back to the keep, the courtyard is ringing with the sound of swordfighting. Spenthair is pacing between sets of fighters scowling and barking orders.
Ryan stops to watch a two men spar. One is bigger and broader than Spenthair, with blond hair to his waist, the other is dark and whippet-thin, but fast on his feet. He doesn't recognize them, and supposes they must be new. He only gets to see Whippet land a few blows before Brendawn drags him away.
Brendawn steps into the stillroom and stops so suddenly Ryan almost runs into him. There is a dark haired stranger perched on the edge of one of the benches. He looks very tired, but that does not stop Brendawn from erupting into a stream of angry gargling. Ryan sets down his jar of leeches and grabs Brendawn's before he drops it, and takes his cloak off as well.
The stranger waits for Brendawn to finish before he starts talking. His accent is strange and he swallows some of the words, but Ryan can see Brendawn's face clearing, and at the end he steps forward and gives the stranger a hug. Then it is the stranger's turn to scold them, tugging on their wet things and frowning. Brendawn shrugs one shoulder and waves him off, but he does strip off his heavy outer robe and motions for Ryan to do the same.
Brendawn sends Ryan off to lay the robes by the fire to dry. When Ryan comes back the leeches have been put away and Brendawn and the stranger are hunched over a massive book talking in low tones. The stranger stabs at something on the page with one finger and Brendawn steps away for a moment to get the volume he writes in after each patient. Ryan listens for a moment, then fetches one of the bags of thistles and a knife and settles down to cutting them up; Brendawn always seems to need more thistles.
The next couple of days pass in a whirl of clanging steel and increasingly heavy rain. Ryan spends the time shuttling between chopping thistles, grinding moss and finding room for the refugees that continue to stream into the keep. Sometimes he stops to watch the fighters -- particularly Whippet and the Giant -- but not often, as Spenthair has taken to conscripting anyone he catches hanging around.
On the fourth morning it starts to snow. Ryan wraps himself in an old cloak and goes out to deal with the day's first crop of refugees. He's wading through the usual crowd of stooped old men, weary pregnant girls and pinch-faced old women when the Giant and the Whippet walk into the courtyard, dragging someone between them.
When Spenthair sees them he calls the sword-drills to a halt and walks forward to meet them. The Giant and the Whippet drop their quarry on the icy stones. The person -- man -- raises his head, and Ryan realizes he knows his face: it's Jon.
At first Ryan is too stunned to move. Spenthair, the Whippet and the Giant gargle back and forth for a moment, and it's not until they reach down to grab Jon again that Ryan recovers himself enough to push his way through the crowd and throw himself between Jon and Spenthair.
Jon makes a startled noise, and Ryan wills him to be quiet. Spenthair is peering down at both of them, eyebrows arched, and Ryan stammers out the few barbarian words he knows: please, mine, friend.
Spenthair's eyes widen. Ryan tries again, terrified he's pronounced something wrong and accidentally insulted someone. The Whippet makes a noise that could be a cough or could be a laugh, an Spenthair glares at him briefly before leaning over and hauling Ryan to his feet, and gargling something at the Whippet and the Giant that cause them to lift Jon to his feet and shove him at Ryan.
Ryan grabs Jon's hand and tugs him away as the sword drills start up again. Up close Ryan can see he's filthy, and his nose has been broken since the last time Ryan saw him. Also he's limping and the right half of his body is bulky and twisted in a way it shouldn't be.
Ryan touches it and Jon screams and jerks away. Ryan apologizes quickly and tightens his grip on Jon's other hand, tugging gently until Jon starts walking. When they get to the stillroom there's yet another dark-haired stranger sitting at the table, and he's using Ryan's knife to cut thistles. Brendawn and the original stranger are frowning over a mountain of grubby plants.
"Brendawn," Ryan says, ignoring the interloper for now.
When Brendawn looks at him, clearly irritated at being interrupted, Ryan goes for the barbarian words again: help, please, mine, friend.
Brendawn's eyes widen just as Spenthair's did, and then he catches sight of Jon and all of the irritation melts away, replaced by concern. He and the original stranger both come around the table, wiping their hands on their robes and asking questions Ryan can't answer.
Jon surprises Ryan by gargling back at them. Whatever he says makes Brendawn inhale sharply, and the second stranger stops his chopping to stare at them. After a beat Brendawn starts peeling Jon's clothes off, and it soon becomes apparent what's wrong. His arm is hanging at an unnatural angle from his shoulder, and his entire upper body is heavily bruised.
Brendawn and the first stranger examine Jon quickly, barely touching him. Brendawn turns and grabs a stirring spoon from the table behind him. He wipes the handle off on his robes taps it against Jon's mouth until he opens up and bites down on it. Brendawn points to Jon's arm and makes some odd movements with his hands, and Jon nods.
Brendawn smiles briefly, then taps at Ryan's chest until he lets go of Jon and sits down at the worktable with the new interloper. He pinches himself, just in case he's dreaming, but Jon doesn't disappear. The interloper gargles at him, but Ryan is too worked up to concentrate on the words.
Meanwhile, the original stranger move around to Jon's other side and held on to his elbow, talking softly the whole time.
"Jherard," Brendawn says, now gripping Jon's arm firmly, and the original stranger goes quiet. "En tree."
Jherard nods.
"An, dhu, tree," Brendawn says.
There's a flurry of movement and Jon howls around the spoon, but when Brendawn and Jherard step back, Jon's arm is back in its socket. (The spoon is in two pieces on the floor, but Brendawn doesn't seem upset.) Jon staggers and Ryan jumps up to catch him.
Brendawn gargles at them some more. Ryan catches the words for "bath" and "bed" and nods obediently, then guides Jon upstairs to the laird's bedroom.
Part 2
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-11-25 11:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-25 01:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-25 03:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-11-26 06:13 am (UTC)I'm kind of writing it as it comes to me, so, um, there will be more as the spirit moves, I suppose? I actually know exactly how this one ends (I've been making myself sniffly with it for two days) but I'm enjoying waffling around with men with swords and archers and medieval medicine and everything else. heh.
I know, all of these half-finished stories floating around, it's bad. But the holidays are coming, which means more free time. And I'm committed to finishing *something* this year. What, I don't know, but I will finish something. Damnit.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-26 09:45 pm (UTC)meanwhile no matter how much i love all other stories, my vote is always for tentacles :D
no subject
Date: 2009-11-26 09:56 pm (UTC)and tentacles in in the top 3 of my fic priorities.
no subject
Date: 2009-11-26 10:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-07 09:53 am (UTC)do you know if anyone else had this problem or is it just my comp being tempremental lol
no subject
Date: 2009-12-07 05:24 pm (UTC)