Alfred held it in front of him like he’d seen in the movies, and pulled back the string. Or, well, perhaps attempted to pull back the string would be a better term. Sinews bit into his fingers painfully, and Alfred gritted his teeth and pulled, slowly, getting it back far enough to notch the arrow in place. He released, and the bow thwanged and the string bit into his arm, causing him to yelp in pain, drop the bow, and clamp down on the wound, hissing through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut. Damn, damn that hurt!
After a moment, he reluctantly lifted his hand, and winced at the sight of red welts on his forearm. “Another.” Ceorl’s firm voice called, and Alfred looked at him, startled. His arms felt like jelly. He picked up the bow and plucked at the string, counting the vibrations. After a few calculations, he figured the tension and then the force required to move it. It had to be… at least 90 lb-force… And he felt like he’d just bench pressed the moon. 90 lb-force… Alfred paused in his figuring. He could bench press a tank barely breaking a sweat with his normal strength. An M-1 Abrams Tank was 67 tons… meaning he had less than 0.0006716 % of his strength left. Less, than… Fuck, that wasn’t even enough to get on a food label! Alfred cast his mind back to his submarine example and did the calculations for that… at least 1170 tons… 0.0000384% then. This, this sucked, majorly, and while time made the pain of loss a little duller, Alfred was constantly reminded that he was less than before, less than himself. It was parts infuriating, parts humiliating, and parts depressing all at once. It was so, so unlike him.
Determined to prove that percentage wrong, Alfred swiftly drew another arrow, and, arms shaking, shot again. Although he was expecting it, the string still slammed into his forearm to raise another welt. Ooouuuuccchhh… Alfred took the bow in his left hand and slowly rubbed his injured flesh as it healed in front of his eyes.
He raised his eyes to see where his arrows had landed. Not very far at all… maybe…30 feet? Ceorl looked at him appraisingly. “You see? It requires much more strength to shoot a bow than it does to wield a sword.”
Alfred sighed, knowing this to be true now. Whoever had decided that a bow and arrow were ‘girl’s’ weapons in all the books and movies and everything was just stupid, honestly. He suddenly had a lot more respect for Legolas, even if he later became Will Turner and hasn’t touched a bow since.
Ceorl held up Alfred’s sword in his palms, offering it to him. Alfred swallowed, and took the weapon. The hilt was safer, more familiar, and while it would cut him, it wouldn’t cause raised welts and friction burns. It was like returning home a little… No, now he was just exaggerating. It was just he knew it better. An old friend, that was it. Not like Bess and Amy, but it was at least cooperative generally, and not downright hostile, like the bow. He would be master this. Perhaps, perhaps it was time to give this sword a name…
“Ceorl, what do you think I should name him?” Alfred asked, wanted the other man’s opinion. It had to be suitably medieval after all, and this sword was definitely a he.
Ceorl quickly shook his head vehemently. “No, Tungolbyre, that sword has a name already. Do not go renaming things, it only confuses people, generally, and the object itself. Names are very important here.”
“Alright, alright, I won’t name it then!” Alfred replied, wondering exactly how he’d find out what this sword’s name was, anyways.
Still, slowly, painfully, Alfred got better, and began to be able to do the drills that Ceorl came up with, and after a long while, he was able to spar with his taskmaster and not lose within two seconds. Alfred had thought that maybe after he got a little better Ceorl would be a bit nicer, but no, with every drill and movement he mastered, Ceorl simply added two more onto the list. Alfred worked and worked on his own, because gosh darn it, he was going to get good at this! He needed to be good at something.
Then one day, months later, Alfred dueled Ceorl to a standstill, and actually wasn’t the only one sweating for once. Alfred was elated, and pushed harder and harder, becoming more and more aggressive and oh my God he was going to win and—
Suddenly, Ceorl twisted his blade in a complex manner and Alfred’s went flying. Alfred expected Ceorl’s sword to be at his throat, but instead, when he looked back at him, the other man was smiling, grin so broad it seemed to disappear into his beard. “I haven’t had to use that arc in years, not since… well, you aren’t the first traveler I’ve had to best that way.” Alfred gaped at him. “I think you’re ready now, for this is all that I can teach you. You have been here a long time.” He turned and began to walk back to the cottage.
Suddenly, it came to Alfred that he had indeed been here a long time. He shook himself and followed hurriedly. “Ceorl, how long have I been here?”
Ceorl didn’t even turn. “Have I not told you? Time is fluid here.”
“Yes, but—“
“And I have been here rather a while.” Ceorl walked right into the cottage, dug through one of his chests, and pulled out a book, which he started flipping through.
“Yes, but I don’t see—“
“There are ways of not making it so fluid again.” Ceorl didn’t look up. Oh. Oh! Alfred stared at the other man as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Right, that made sense. No wonder Ceorl hadn’t been that concerned that he’d been spending so much time here as opposed to the whole rescuing Arthur thing. “I have a bit more magic than the average person, but I must admit, time is not my specialty, and Maggie set up this world for me, so I generally only need to provide the key…” Ceorl began muttering under his breath, tracing patterns in the air with his free hand.
Alfred felt a great pressure on his ears, like he really needed to pop them, and then! With a sound like a gong, vibrations rippled through the air and suddenly everything was normal. It was rather like waking up after a long dream. Alfred shook his head to clear it as he accepted what had just happened. He wasn’t even going to try on this one.
Ceorl closed the book with a snap that send dust spinning into the air. He looked at Alfred expectantly. “You mentioned travelling companions? I think it is time for your friends to find you.”
After Alfred quickly explained exactly who he his guides were, Ceorl laughed out loud, almost dropping the book as he clutched his stomach. What the hell? Once he resurfaced, wiping tears to Alfred’s general confusion, he said: “Well that does make things easier then. Adain and Y Brenin Cysgu… both the best of companions, though I must admit, Adain’s tone does grate on one rather like a wasp’s nest.”
“Exactly!” Alfred exclaimed, overjoyed to find that Ceorl agreed with him.
“Aengus is one of the most helpful people in Underhill. There are a few things he keeps hidden, but one must accept this. Maggie sent him to me when I first came here. He helped me… adjust somewhat… to my current occupation.” Ceorl brought his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle that Alfred had to quickly clap his hands to his ears to keep himself from going deaf.
After a moment, a small bird fluttered down onto Ceorl’s outstretched palm. “Hello Sir Robin, would you please fetch Aengus and Adain to us, please?” The robin whistled a few notes, and then took off again. Alfred watched it go with awe. How the hell did you get a songbird that intelligent? Only the owls in Harry Potter could do that, and everyone knew that wasn’t real… Alfred jumped again, even though his ears were still ringing a little, when Ceorl clapped his hands. “Well then, let’s get you ready to go then, shall we? I have a few things to give you.”
A few things were actually rather a lot. Ceorl gave his a lot of apples, ones for hunger, healing (“You cannot use it effectively on yourself, remember.”), of gold, of silver, regular apples, the recipe for his apple tart, one from the poisoned tree… At Alfred’s slightly aghast look, Ceorl quickly explained: “I have a feeling you might need it. A lot of what goes on here happens suspiciously for a reason after all.” Alfred made sure to keep the blood red fruit separate from the others.
Ceorl also gifted him with a better scabbard, and a set of clothes which weren’t ripped and bloody. Alfred… wasn’t sure how to feel about them. There was a cloak, a tunic, trousers, leggings, and a knife. The cloak was fur-lined, with the plush part of the fur on the inside next to his skin. It opened in the front, and was fasten with a clip, brooch thing. Ceorl was very proud of the fastener. “This will hopefully take a bit of me with you.” Alfred examined it more closely. It was gold, with three crows delicately etched into the metal. His nose wrinkled a little. Great, royalty. Jeez, did nobody get that he was a freaking democratic republic?
The tunic fit snugly, coming down to the middle of Alfred’s thighs. Fortunately he was able to use his own – well, Arthur’s belt. Though Alfred was… reluctant about the trousers. That’s a good word. Admittedly, his own pants more closely resembled shorts now given what he’d done to them, but still! Definitely not tailored attractively! Plus Ceorl was not the same body shape as him, exactly, so they were a little short. There were also these things that Ceorl called leggings which were itchy, but Alfred did get to keep his dress shoes, though he did think it was a little silly. All in all, he felt like he’d gotten a summer job at a Ren Faire, and had accidentally worn the clothes home.
Or maybe… actually, what they reminded Alfred of was that Halloween party a decade or so ago, when someone had made the theme Closet Switch. No seriously, hold on, the idea and the party was a lot better than it sounded, just wait. They had all paired up, and then had to wear something from the other person’s closet, preferably something older and slightly unique-ish. In the far back of Arthur’s closet hung something like what Alfred was currently wearing, only shorter and obviously made for someone younger and smaller. That had been kinda cool, and Alfred had smiled a bit over the image of a cute Arthur wearing that, but there had been no way Alfred would’ve ever fit that. They had actually ended up wearing matching RAF/Army Air Corps uniforms, and you should’ve seen how gosh darn sexy Arthur looked in one of his uniforms. Not that he wasn’t normally ridiculously attractive… well, this time was just extra special. Just something about Arthur and khaki… Perhaps it was the way the material had fit, so snug around his thinner torso… And he knew he struck a pretty attractive figure in blue. See, it was good that Arthur was actually about only two-and-a-half inches shorter than he was, 5’9”, so stuff fit in the leg department generally with a bit of hemming. Arthur was actually taller than a lot of people, he just never looked it, because one, he was so gosh darn skinny, and two, he never actually stood up straight like he always was lecturing Alfred to do, at least not recently anyways. The surefire way to get Arthur to stand up straight was to start teasing him about his old man back. Suddenly, Arthur was glaring at him and standing ramrod straight.
Everyone had called them the flyboys all evening, which Alfred had thought was so hilarious he began quoting Han Solo at everyone after that, cuz dude, Han was his favorite character from those movies! Arthur had just rolled his eyes and refused to join in. At the end of the night in the middle of a downpour, Arthur had hailed a cab, and Alfred had responded with a playful “Why is it that you can always get a cab, and I never can, especially when it’s raining?”
Arthur had sent him a smirk that sent blood rushing immediately south, gestured to the open door of the cab, and replied with a slow, perfectly executed bedroom voice: “Someone has to save our skins. Into the garbage chute, fly boy.”
That’s when the kissing had started in earnest. Once back at the house, there was the slightly fumbling strip of almost forgotten uniforms, and the decision about who exactly was topping that evening. Alfred remembered not caring one way or the other, and Arthur had clearly wanted to top, so Alfred just let him flow with it, only adding in “Look, Your Worshipfulness, let's get one thing straight. I take orders from just one person: me.”
Arthur had sealed the deal with the reply “It's a wonder you're still alive.”
After which had come some pretty fantastic sexing… Alfred grinned lazily as he recalled the events of those early morning hours. Oh yeah, Arthur owed him some pretty fantastic sex after all this was over, in addition to the suit…
But back to the point, the difference between this and the “got lost at the Ren Faire” look, Alfred thought as he plucked at the tunic, was that these were made out of genuine materials and were therefore uneven. And uneven meant itchy. Eugh. No wonder kilts had been in. Thank god for boxers.
Aengus and Adain eventually emerged from the mists surrounding the garden walls midday on the fourth morning, looking so serious that Alfred almost burst out laughing, especially as Ceorl greeted them the most carefree manner possible, handing them each an apple pastry and inviting them to stay and eat for a bit. Just the expressions on their faces… priceless. Though what was truly amazing was the Aengus looked… well, a bit more solid actually. Like normal person solid. Alfred had hugged them both (manly hugs, dude, c’mon!), and for once his arms didn’t go straight through. Alfred had looked at Aengus in alarm, but the ghost had quickly waved off his concerns. Adain’s version of a hug was to sink his claws into the fur of the cloak (not enough to hurt Alfred, thankfully), and wrap his wings around Alfred’s head, which was surprisingly… sweet. It was a relief to hear Adain’s voice in his head again. Alfred hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the pair.
During that time, it was, as Ceorl put it “a time for tale telling”. Alfred swore the guy had an uncanny gift for alliteration sometimes.
What Aengus and Adain had been up to in that time, Alfred eventually put together from the rather jumbled composite of interruptions, was a long and fruitless search. First off, they had spent some time trying to find Alfred in the canyon itself, and ended up in a battle with two trolls over whether or not Alfred had been eaten by them or not, and ended up kinda winning, but they knew that Alfred hadn’t been seen by any of the trolls. So then they’d figured they’d needed to make a focus. Oh right, that was something Alfred had gotten explained. A focus was something you could use to track a person, something that expended a lot of magic in ordinary circumstances. Apparently, it was particularly difficult to find Alfred because he didn’t have any magic at all (Connall’s words came to mind here). Blood was the best focus, and a lock of hair was reasonably good, but they didn’t have any of that. What they had to resort to was the discarded banana peel Alfred had left in the cave entrance, since that had a bit of saliva or something. Alfred had wrinkled his nose at this. Wow, this just seemed a whole lot of effort for no reason. The not-so-good focus had led them originally to something that had been enchanted, they supposed, to look like Alfred, and then they had started to come this way. Sir Robin was ultimately a godsend. Somewhere in there, there was something about a couple of enchanted, sentient rocks and more worryingly, some dragonsbane.
When Aengus and Adain heard Alfred’s tale, they were both a little disgruntled and a little amazed. “You mean ta tell me,” Aengus asked skeptically, leaning towards Alfred with his elbows on the kitchen table, “That you went and got carried off by a bloody Roc, and you survived.”
Alfred scrunched up his face. That’s what those birds were called? “Maybe? All I know is that the thing was huge, black, nation-eating, and had babies.”
Adain and Aengus looked at each other. Definitely a Roc. How exactly did you survive?
Ceorl looked up from something he was whittling from his spot at the head of the table. “Do not cut yourself in my kitchen!” Ceorl fixed Alfred with a pleading look.
At the other two’s startled reaction, Alfred quickly replied: “Well, actually, I had wanted to ask you about that. My blood seems to be so full or iron that it’s poisonous to creatures with magic. Some of my blood entered one of the chick’s bodies, and it was in so much pain that I had a chance to escape. It killed a rock snake thing. How are you still alive?”
Adain thought for a moment. Well, if that’s true… I suppose it’s because it never actually entered my bloodstream. How potent is it?
“Enough to change one of my trees completely.” Ceorl broke in. “I’m not sure exactly what it did, but…”
“I want to see this!” Aengus said, standing up from the table, shoving his chair back.
Ceorl waved him off. “Later. You want to hear the rest of this.” Aengus sat back down, if a bit reluctantly.
“And then I found this sword in the nest too.” Alfred picked it up from next to him and hefted it onto the table. “Those Rocs made me lose my guns.” Alfred felt a pang in his chest, but it was distant. He was glad he could talk about Bess and Amy now.
Aengus and Adain bent over the sword with interest. Is this…? Adain started, but Ceorl interrupted.
“One of Wēland’s? I believe so.” Ceorl was ridiculously eager about all of this… “I wish I knew which one he is.”
“It’s a ‘e then?” Aengus asked, fingers ghosting above the hilt, but not exactly touching it.
“Oh yeah.” Alfred said, smiling widely. He knew all about the genders of inanimate objects. “Definitely a he. And I can actually use him now; I’ve spent most of my time here learning how.”
Aengus smiled broadly at him, and withdrew his hand. “Well then, that there explains a few things. But not ‘ow you got ‘ere.”
Alfred paused, hesitating. He didn’t exactly want to share how crazy everything had gotten when he finally had run out of food and water. “Well, I tried to get back to you guys, but there were these rock plateaus and this desert, and my supplies only lasted so long. So I started dying and stuff, and the snake poison wasn’t helping things, exactly, and then I woke up here.” Alfred shrugged at the end of it all.
Adain and Aengus shared a look that Alfred couldn’t decode. So you don’t know any more? Anything?
“No…” Alfred answered, not exactly sure what they were looking for.
“Right then.” Aengus stood up from the table. “I want a look at that tree, and then we best be going. ‘Ave to get as far as we can before –” Aengus quickly cut himself off. Alfred barely managed to restrain his curiosity.
It didn’t take that long, and soon Alfred was packed up with Adain and Aengus at the gate. Ceorl was fussing over him, and beaming over him like Alfred was graduating from kindergarten or high school or something. “Well, thanks for everything!” Alfred gave him a handshake which his turned into a hug.
Ceorl’s face was wistful a little. “Would that I could go with you. But you must not look back. Else you shall remain dead until I myself can leave.” What? This hadn’t been mentioned before… His startled look must’ve tipped Ceorl off. “Well, what did you expect? Magic like this always has a few rules.”
Adain’s semi-snide He’ll break them was ignored.
“You should come out somewhere near the dwarf mines. At least that’s where Maggie told me it was anyways.” Ceorl continued. “At least Seelie territory.”
“How exactly…?” Alfred asked before he could stop himself. How the heck had they gotten very far from the desert?
“If time can be fluid, how would space not also be?” Ceorl asked with a small smile.
Right, time and space, good old Einstein. Alfred was a little relieved that at least some universal constants or relationships remained at least a little constant here. Even as they were breaking them. He shook his head at himself. “Is money also fluid here?” He joked. “Time being money, after all.”
“I am… not sure of what you mean.” Ceorl said, a little puzzled.
Right, that had been Benjy Franklin. Waayyyy after Ceorl’s time. “Nevermind.”
Aengus took one last look around the garden, then looked to Ceorl. “She’s still trying you know.”
Ceorl’s face suddenly lost a lot of its joy, and had a very tired expression on it. “I know. I got the shirt.” What the heck was this about?
Have you told her you forgive her? Adain asked gently.
“Well, perhaps she ought to worry a bit about that.” Ceorl snapped, so different from his usual demeanor that Alfred almost jumped. Who was her, and what exactly had she done to make Ceorl react this way? “When someone renounces your love, your marriage, and her semi-humanity, let’s see how well you take it.” Ahh, that might do it, there.
Aengus and Adain looked sadly at each other. “But you still love ‘er?”
“Of course I do! I’ll never stop.” Ceorl stared up at the sky, and Alfred was absurdly reminded of Gene Kelly for some unfathomable reason. “But I’ve learned my lesson. She cannot be my wife again until she has a soul, well and truly, for forever.” Ceorl turned determinedly to Alfred, who did jump this time. “Goodbye, Tungolbyre, and best of luck on your journey.”
Alfred nodded back, thoughts still swirling over the conversation he had just heard. “I won’t look back.”
Ceorl simply nodded. Alfred wasn’t sure what to say. So he nodded back, turned his head, and with a deep breath, stepped outside of the gates into the mists. Time for the next part of this journey.
Lol, long author’s notes are long. The wordcount is 58,561 of pure story, and the page count is higher than my weight. And now that Alfred is no longer in life-and-death situations, he can get back to his normal style of thinking, which I personally enjoy writing a bit more, as you can see by the update time. Yes, the first part is basically a character study of Alfred, again which I enjoyed writing. Please remember that this is from Alfred’s point of view, so take everything through a filter about how he thinks about himself and others. But I will say that that first part is extremely honest.
Arthur’s height: If you look at UK height charts, they’re actually taller than the French. Both Arthur and Alfred have a few body issues.
About the major plot components: Yes, there are some unanswered questions here, some very big unanswered questions. These two chapters have set up the second major mythology arc of the story. So yes, they will be answered eventually, but not immediately. If you have done some research of your own, I have rewritten and twisted a good amount of history and mythology to fit into this verse.
Ceorl: Why yes, I did misspell his name in half of the last chapter! *blush* The disadvantages of self-betaing… Alfred doesn’t know who he is yet, but here is what he does know, so you might be able to figure it out: He lives in a garden of apple trees that is called: The Garden of Apples, or the Isle of Apples, and is there until he is needed elsewhere. Remember that you’re taking everything through Alfred’s language filter too. This garden is surrounded by mist. He speaks Old Welsh. He knows nations exist, and cares particularly for Arthur and Darren. He did not know that Arthur and Darren had been stolen. He twitched particularly violently around when Darren was stolen – around 500 AD. He has a female protector who knows magic whom he’s nicknamed “Maggie”. He is familiar with the swords of Wēland the Great Smith, and states “I’d know the maker anywhere…” which should imply that he owned one of Wēland’s blades. That should narrow it down dramatically to a few great heroes. He is also skilled with a blade. About Alfred’s sword: If you figure out who Ceorl is, this should also eliminate one of the major contenders, for Ceorl does not say that he knows the blade, but rather the maker. He was not always a gardener. He appears regal at times, and used to absolute authority. He gives Alfred a pin with three crowns on it. He had a wife, who left him.
Anon 1: :D Yeah, that scene will get even worse later, I assure you, because here’s a hint: You’ll see it two more times. I had a lot of fun with Mary, Andy, Cher, and Bugs. Go back to the kidnapping diary once more if you’re still having trouble with Ceorl.
Anon 2: I’m so glad someone figured it out! Fantastic! One more bonus hint about the sword if you want to know early: Look at The Matter of France.
Anon 3: *flails back* I’m so glad you like it! Johnny kinda came to me. I was originally not going to stick any American mythos in here, but then it just fit too perfectly and it hints at a later thing in the story kinda. In a sideways way. And honestly the image of Alfred with a frying pan on the top of his head would not get out of my head!
Anon 4: Yay new reader! *happy dance* About Alfred’s characterization: You can kinda see that he’s gone through a bit of character development already, with the detail selection. But something I make sure to keep in mind about APH is that it's through a Japanese bias-scope. Therefore of course an American is boisterous and crazy to a Japanese person, because of how our cultures are different. Alfred doesn’t view himself this way, so he doesn’t quite come off that bad. If you look at most international character books, it says that Americans have a fundamental desire to be well-liked, and I hope this comes across a bit. Thus the babbling and the silliness. Americans are also fairly insecure about some things, and therefore act big in order to compensate for their self-viewed weakness. We’ve seen Alfred in a place where he isn’t sure of what to do or how to act, so he isn’t quite as silly as he would be normally. Hopefully you enjoy his antics in the flashbackish thing. If you’re curious, I’m in no way studying mythology or history; I’m a mechanical engineer, with a focus in aerospace, so the stuff with the tension on the bow string is something I’ve done in class. I’ve always been fascinated by mythology, and I’ve done so so much research. Good luck to you too!
Anon Last: LOL thanks for pointing out my mistake! There needs to be a meme: Misspell major characters name through half of story: YOLO! And shh… your meaning is also correct, but it comes into play later! The blood and the tree are important, especially for the end story.
Comments make me write way faster, as you can see!
I absolutely, continually, love the way you write Alfred's point of view.
I've kinda stopped doing research (mostly--sometimes I can't help myself), because I've decided that I'm going to enjoy the journey.
I am loving you so much after these latest two updates. Seriously.
I don't have as much to say as usual. I feel kinda bad, because you're writing is so amazing and there's so much to it. I just get lost in all the many facets that you include.
Eeek, so many things that sprang to mind while reading, but I forget them by the time I get to the end...
OMG Arthur in Alfred's uniform. Alfred in RAF uniform. *Homer drool*
Star Wars is America's great literature, I am convinced. But you did it a disservice by suggesting light saber dueling is poor in comparison to broadsword/longsword fighting! Standard light sabers are based on Japanese kendo style dueling, which is fine if that's the weapon you're using. Darth Tyrannis, I believe, was the one who used a fencing-style light saber and requires a completely different fighting style. So does two-weapon styles. Pretty much every sword has different styles, as a matter of fact.
I don't know the Carolingian myth cycles well (I'm beginning to see why you considered bringing in France!). (And researching it led me to discover England has a for real ceremonial broken sword in the Crown Jewels! O_O) If Ceorl is That Guy (he's waiting at the Isle of Apples and he's not a bard, who else? And he belonged to Wales first.), then it isn't Caliburn. Wiki tells me that two of Weyland's blades are connected with fairies, though neither is named: Huon of Bordeaux got on with King Oberon, and the sword that was made for Hugh the Novice Monk in Puck of Pook's Hill (http://www.online-literature.com/kipling/puck-of-pooks-hill/1/).
I think you characterize Alfred pretty well. Especially regarding the "How" as opposed to "shoulds" or "whys" and "wheres."
The pin first said "three crows" and I was puzzled why Alfred'd think that was royal. Three crows makes me think of the Babd. LOL Three crowns makes more sense..Alfred can always wear it for attending the Triple Crown races?
So now he has a bagful of apples...(the poison blood-red apple makes me think of Snow White)..I feel there should have been a mythical figure with a bagful of apples...At least the resurrection ability came in handy? I guess he went to the Isle of Apples because England is his true love and he was with England when he died..
Didn't think it would be the first sword-- considering who Ceorl was. The French connection... That was one I wasn't sure if you'd use, it being French and all. :) (It's been a long time since I read that particular story, and don't remember all of it.) Was wondering if Ceorl would reappear at some point-- after all, there was a condition... and I think that might be met soonish. :D Anyway. You're doing a fantastic job weaving the elements in. (And learning how to use a sword? Is hard. I can barely defend myself in fencing.) Looking forward to more.
Ah, I suck at research (though mostly because my damn school wifi blocks half the sites that look promising), but I think your little teasing hints might be enough to make me try!
But I'm still in love with this story-- all the little details that weave together to create something that's intense and involved and... another i-word that I can't think of at the moment.
Lovelovelovelovelovelove love this story! I love the little details you put into everything, like when Alfred was learning swordplay and archery (both of which I have learned and I can completely sympathize with Alfred) and Alfred's point of view about everything, which is wonderful, and Alfred and Arthur's relationship, which is the best they are the best and you write them as the best, and Adain and Aengus and they're fabulous and it's fabulous and I just can't wait for everything to come to a head and yeah.
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Crowe 13c/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-10 06:15 pm (UTC)(link)After a moment, he reluctantly lifted his hand, and winced at the sight of red welts on his forearm. “Another.” Ceorl’s firm voice called, and Alfred looked at him, startled. His arms felt like jelly. He picked up the bow and plucked at the string, counting the vibrations. After a few calculations, he figured the tension and then the force required to move it. It had to be… at least 90 lb-force… And he felt like he’d just bench pressed the moon. 90 lb-force… Alfred paused in his figuring. He could bench press a tank barely breaking a sweat with his normal strength. An M-1 Abrams Tank was 67 tons… meaning he had less than 0.0006716 % of his strength left. Less, than… Fuck, that wasn’t even enough to get on a food label! Alfred cast his mind back to his submarine example and did the calculations for that… at least 1170 tons… 0.0000384% then. This, this sucked, majorly, and while time made the pain of loss a little duller, Alfred was constantly reminded that he was less than before, less than himself. It was parts infuriating, parts humiliating, and parts depressing all at once. It was so, so unlike him.
Determined to prove that percentage wrong, Alfred swiftly drew another arrow, and, arms shaking, shot again. Although he was expecting it, the string still slammed into his forearm to raise another welt. Ooouuuuccchhh… Alfred took the bow in his left hand and slowly rubbed his injured flesh as it healed in front of his eyes.
He raised his eyes to see where his arrows had landed. Not very far at all… maybe…30 feet? Ceorl looked at him appraisingly. “You see? It requires much more strength to shoot a bow than it does to wield a sword.”
Alfred sighed, knowing this to be true now. Whoever had decided that a bow and arrow were ‘girl’s’ weapons in all the books and movies and everything was just stupid, honestly. He suddenly had a lot more respect for Legolas, even if he later became Will Turner and hasn’t touched a bow since.
Ceorl held up Alfred’s sword in his palms, offering it to him. Alfred swallowed, and took the weapon. The hilt was safer, more familiar, and while it would cut him, it wouldn’t cause raised welts and friction burns. It was like returning home a little… No, now he was just exaggerating. It was just he knew it better. An old friend, that was it. Not like Bess and Amy, but it was at least cooperative generally, and not downright hostile, like the bow. He would be master this. Perhaps, perhaps it was time to give this sword a name…
“Ceorl, what do you think I should name him?” Alfred asked, wanted the other man’s opinion. It had to be suitably medieval after all, and this sword was definitely a he.
Ceorl quickly shook his head vehemently. “No, Tungolbyre, that sword has a name already. Do not go renaming things, it only confuses people, generally, and the object itself. Names are very important here.”
“Alright, alright, I won’t name it then!” Alfred replied, wondering exactly how he’d find out what this sword’s name was, anyways.
Still, slowly, painfully, Alfred got better, and began to be able to do the drills that Ceorl came up with, and after a long while, he was able to spar with his taskmaster and not lose within two seconds. Alfred had thought that maybe after he got a little better Ceorl would be a bit nicer, but no, with every drill and movement he mastered, Ceorl simply added two more onto the list. Alfred worked and worked on his own, because gosh darn it, he was going to get good at this! He needed to be good at something.
Crowe 13d/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-10 06:15 pm (UTC)(link)Suddenly, Ceorl twisted his blade in a complex manner and Alfred’s went flying. Alfred expected Ceorl’s sword to be at his throat, but instead, when he looked back at him, the other man was smiling, grin so broad it seemed to disappear into his beard. “I haven’t had to use that arc in years, not since… well, you aren’t the first traveler I’ve had to best that way.” Alfred gaped at him. “I think you’re ready now, for this is all that I can teach you. You have been here a long time.” He turned and began to walk back to the cottage.
Suddenly, it came to Alfred that he had indeed been here a long time. He shook himself and followed hurriedly. “Ceorl, how long have I been here?”
Ceorl didn’t even turn. “Have I not told you? Time is fluid here.”
“Yes, but—“
“And I have been here rather a while.” Ceorl walked right into the cottage, dug through one of his chests, and pulled out a book, which he started flipping through.
“Yes, but I don’t see—“
“There are ways of not making it so fluid again.” Ceorl didn’t look up. Oh. Oh! Alfred stared at the other man as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Right, that made sense. No wonder Ceorl hadn’t been that concerned that he’d been spending so much time here as opposed to the whole rescuing Arthur thing. “I have a bit more magic than the average person, but I must admit, time is not my specialty, and Maggie set up this world for me, so I generally only need to provide the key…” Ceorl began muttering under his breath, tracing patterns in the air with his free hand.
Alfred felt a great pressure on his ears, like he really needed to pop them, and then! With a sound like a gong, vibrations rippled through the air and suddenly everything was normal. It was rather like waking up after a long dream. Alfred shook his head to clear it as he accepted what had just happened. He wasn’t even going to try on this one.
Ceorl closed the book with a snap that send dust spinning into the air. He looked at Alfred expectantly. “You mentioned travelling companions? I think it is time for your friends to find you.”
After Alfred quickly explained exactly who he his guides were, Ceorl laughed out loud, almost dropping the book as he clutched his stomach. What the hell? Once he resurfaced, wiping tears to Alfred’s general confusion, he said: “Well that does make things easier then. Adain and Y Brenin Cysgu… both the best of companions, though I must admit, Adain’s tone does grate on one rather like a wasp’s nest.”
“Exactly!” Alfred exclaimed, overjoyed to find that Ceorl agreed with him.
“Aengus is one of the most helpful people in Underhill. There are a few things he keeps hidden, but one must accept this. Maggie sent him to me when I first came here. He helped me… adjust somewhat… to my current occupation.” Ceorl brought his fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle that Alfred had to quickly clap his hands to his ears to keep himself from going deaf.
After a moment, a small bird fluttered down onto Ceorl’s outstretched palm. “Hello Sir Robin, would you please fetch Aengus and Adain to us, please?” The robin whistled a few notes, and then took off again. Alfred watched it go with awe. How the hell did you get a songbird that intelligent? Only the owls in Harry Potter could do that, and everyone knew that wasn’t real… Alfred jumped again, even though his ears were still ringing a little, when Ceorl clapped his hands. “Well then, let’s get you ready to go then, shall we? I have a few things to give you.”
A few things were actually rather a lot. Ceorl gave his a lot of apples, ones for hunger, healing (“You cannot use it effectively on yourself, remember.”), of gold, of silver, regular apples, the recipe for his apple tart, one from the poisoned tree… At Alfred’s slightly aghast look, Ceorl quickly explained: “I have a feeling you might need it. A lot of what goes on here happens suspiciously for a reason after all.” Alfred made sure to keep the blood red fruit separate from the others.
Crowe 13e/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-10 06:16 pm (UTC)(link)The tunic fit snugly, coming down to the middle of Alfred’s thighs. Fortunately he was able to use his own – well, Arthur’s belt. Though Alfred was… reluctant about the trousers. That’s a good word. Admittedly, his own pants more closely resembled shorts now given what he’d done to them, but still! Definitely not tailored attractively! Plus Ceorl was not the same body shape as him, exactly, so they were a little short. There were also these things that Ceorl called leggings which were itchy, but Alfred did get to keep his dress shoes, though he did think it was a little silly. All in all, he felt like he’d gotten a summer job at a Ren Faire, and had accidentally worn the clothes home.
Or maybe… actually, what they reminded Alfred of was that Halloween party a decade or so ago, when someone had made the theme Closet Switch. No seriously, hold on, the idea and the party was a lot better than it sounded, just wait. They had all paired up, and then had to wear something from the other person’s closet, preferably something older and slightly unique-ish. In the far back of Arthur’s closet hung something like what Alfred was currently wearing, only shorter and obviously made for someone younger and smaller. That had been kinda cool, and Alfred had smiled a bit over the image of a cute Arthur wearing that, but there had been no way Alfred would’ve ever fit that. They had actually ended up wearing matching RAF/Army Air Corps uniforms, and you should’ve seen how gosh darn sexy Arthur looked in one of his uniforms. Not that he wasn’t normally ridiculously attractive… well, this time was just extra special. Just something about Arthur and khaki… Perhaps it was the way the material had fit, so snug around his thinner torso… And he knew he struck a pretty attractive figure in blue. See, it was good that Arthur was actually about only two-and-a-half inches shorter than he was, 5’9”, so stuff fit in the leg department generally with a bit of hemming. Arthur was actually taller than a lot of people, he just never looked it, because one, he was so gosh darn skinny, and two, he never actually stood up straight like he always was lecturing Alfred to do, at least not recently anyways. The surefire way to get Arthur to stand up straight was to start teasing him about his old man back. Suddenly, Arthur was glaring at him and standing ramrod straight.
Everyone had called them the flyboys all evening, which Alfred had thought was so hilarious he began quoting Han Solo at everyone after that, cuz dude, Han was his favorite character from those movies! Arthur had just rolled his eyes and refused to join in. At the end of the night in the middle of a downpour, Arthur had hailed a cab, and Alfred had responded with a playful “Why is it that you can always get a cab, and I never can, especially when it’s raining?”
Arthur had sent him a smirk that sent blood rushing immediately south, gestured to the open door of the cab, and replied with a slow, perfectly executed bedroom voice: “Someone has to save our skins. Into the garbage chute, fly boy.”
That’s when the kissing had started in earnest. Once back at the house, there was the slightly fumbling strip of almost forgotten uniforms, and the decision about who exactly was topping that evening. Alfred remembered not caring one way or the other, and Arthur had clearly wanted to top, so Alfred just let him flow with it, only adding in “Look, Your Worshipfulness, let's get one thing straight. I take orders from just one person: me.”
Crowe 13f/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-10 06:17 pm (UTC)(link)After which had come some pretty fantastic sexing… Alfred grinned lazily as he recalled the events of those early morning hours. Oh yeah, Arthur owed him some pretty fantastic sex after all this was over, in addition to the suit…
But back to the point, the difference between this and the “got lost at the Ren Faire” look, Alfred thought as he plucked at the tunic, was that these were made out of genuine materials and were therefore uneven. And uneven meant itchy. Eugh. No wonder kilts had been in. Thank god for boxers.
Aengus and Adain eventually emerged from the mists surrounding the garden walls midday on the fourth morning, looking so serious that Alfred almost burst out laughing, especially as Ceorl greeted them the most carefree manner possible, handing them each an apple pastry and inviting them to stay and eat for a bit. Just the expressions on their faces… priceless. Though what was truly amazing was the Aengus looked… well, a bit more solid actually. Like normal person solid. Alfred had hugged them both (manly hugs, dude, c’mon!), and for once his arms didn’t go straight through. Alfred had looked at Aengus in alarm, but the ghost had quickly waved off his concerns. Adain’s version of a hug was to sink his claws into the fur of the cloak (not enough to hurt Alfred, thankfully), and wrap his wings around Alfred’s head, which was surprisingly… sweet. It was a relief to hear Adain’s voice in his head again. Alfred hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the pair.
During that time, it was, as Ceorl put it “a time for tale telling”. Alfred swore the guy had an uncanny gift for alliteration sometimes.
What Aengus and Adain had been up to in that time, Alfred eventually put together from the rather jumbled composite of interruptions, was a long and fruitless search. First off, they had spent some time trying to find Alfred in the canyon itself, and ended up in a battle with two trolls over whether or not Alfred had been eaten by them or not, and ended up kinda winning, but they knew that Alfred hadn’t been seen by any of the trolls. So then they’d figured they’d needed to make a focus. Oh right, that was something Alfred had gotten explained. A focus was something you could use to track a person, something that expended a lot of magic in ordinary circumstances. Apparently, it was particularly difficult to find Alfred because he didn’t have any magic at all (Connall’s words came to mind here). Blood was the best focus, and a lock of hair was reasonably good, but they didn’t have any of that. What they had to resort to was the discarded banana peel Alfred had left in the cave entrance, since that had a bit of saliva or something. Alfred had wrinkled his nose at this. Wow, this just seemed a whole lot of effort for no reason. The not-so-good focus had led them originally to something that had been enchanted, they supposed, to look like Alfred, and then they had started to come this way. Sir Robin was ultimately a godsend. Somewhere in there, there was something about a couple of enchanted, sentient rocks and more worryingly, some dragonsbane.
When Aengus and Adain heard Alfred’s tale, they were both a little disgruntled and a little amazed. “You mean ta tell me,” Aengus asked skeptically, leaning towards Alfred with his elbows on the kitchen table, “That you went and got carried off by a bloody Roc, and you survived.”
Alfred scrunched up his face. That’s what those birds were called? “Maybe? All I know is that the thing was huge, black, nation-eating, and had babies.”
Adain and Aengus looked at each other. Definitely a Roc. How exactly did you survive?
Ceorl looked up from something he was whittling from his spot at the head of the table. “Do not cut yourself in my kitchen!” Ceorl fixed Alfred with a pleading look.
At the other two’s startled reaction, Alfred quickly replied: “Well, actually, I had wanted to ask you about that. My blood seems to be so full or iron that it’s poisonous to creatures with magic. Some of my blood entered one of the chick’s bodies, and it was in so much pain that I had a chance to escape. It killed a rock snake thing. How are you still alive?”
Crowe 13g/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-10 06:19 pm (UTC)(link)“Enough to change one of my trees completely.” Ceorl broke in. “I’m not sure exactly what it did, but…”
“I want to see this!” Aengus said, standing up from the table, shoving his chair back.
Ceorl waved him off. “Later. You want to hear the rest of this.” Aengus sat back down, if a bit reluctantly.
“And then I found this sword in the nest too.” Alfred picked it up from next to him and hefted it onto the table. “Those Rocs made me lose my guns.” Alfred felt a pang in his chest, but it was distant. He was glad he could talk about Bess and Amy now.
Aengus and Adain bent over the sword with interest. Is this…? Adain started, but Ceorl interrupted.
“One of Wēland’s? I believe so.” Ceorl was ridiculously eager about all of this… “I wish I knew which one he is.”
“It’s a ‘e then?” Aengus asked, fingers ghosting above the hilt, but not exactly touching it.
“Oh yeah.” Alfred said, smiling widely. He knew all about the genders of inanimate objects. “Definitely a he. And I can actually use him now; I’ve spent most of my time here learning how.”
Aengus smiled broadly at him, and withdrew his hand. “Well then, that there explains a few things. But not ‘ow you got ‘ere.”
Alfred paused, hesitating. He didn’t exactly want to share how crazy everything had gotten when he finally had run out of food and water. “Well, I tried to get back to you guys, but there were these rock plateaus and this desert, and my supplies only lasted so long. So I started dying and stuff, and the snake poison wasn’t helping things, exactly, and then I woke up here.” Alfred shrugged at the end of it all.
Adain and Aengus shared a look that Alfred couldn’t decode. So you don’t know any more? Anything?
“No…” Alfred answered, not exactly sure what they were looking for.
“Right then.” Aengus stood up from the table. “I want a look at that tree, and then we best be going. ‘Ave to get as far as we can before –” Aengus quickly cut himself off. Alfred barely managed to restrain his curiosity.
It didn’t take that long, and soon Alfred was packed up with Adain and Aengus at the gate. Ceorl was fussing over him, and beaming over him like Alfred was graduating from kindergarten or high school or something. “Well, thanks for everything!” Alfred gave him a handshake which his turned into a hug.
Ceorl’s face was wistful a little. “Would that I could go with you. But you must not look back. Else you shall remain dead until I myself can leave.” What? This hadn’t been mentioned before… His startled look must’ve tipped Ceorl off. “Well, what did you expect? Magic like this always has a few rules.”
Adain’s semi-snide He’ll break them was ignored.
“You should come out somewhere near the dwarf mines. At least that’s where Maggie told me it was anyways.” Ceorl continued. “At least Seelie territory.”
“How exactly…?” Alfred asked before he could stop himself. How the heck had they gotten very far from the desert?
“If time can be fluid, how would space not also be?” Ceorl asked with a small smile.
Right, time and space, good old Einstein. Alfred was a little relieved that at least some universal constants or relationships remained at least a little constant here. Even as they were breaking them. He shook his head at himself. “Is money also fluid here?” He joked. “Time being money, after all.”
“I am… not sure of what you mean.” Ceorl said, a little puzzled.
Right, that had been Benjy Franklin. Waayyyy after Ceorl’s time. “Nevermind.”
Aengus took one last look around the garden, then looked to Ceorl. “She’s still trying you know.”
Ceorl’s face suddenly lost a lot of its joy, and had a very tired expression on it. “I know. I got the shirt.” What the heck was this about?
Have you told her you forgive her? Adain asked gently.
Crowe 13h/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-10 06:23 pm (UTC)(link)Aengus and Adain looked sadly at each other. “But you still love ‘er?”
“Of course I do! I’ll never stop.” Ceorl stared up at the sky, and Alfred was absurdly reminded of Gene Kelly for some unfathomable reason. “But I’ve learned my lesson. She cannot be my wife again until she has a soul, well and truly, for forever.” Ceorl turned determinedly to Alfred, who did jump this time. “Goodbye, Tungolbyre, and best of luck on your journey.”
Alfred nodded back, thoughts still swirling over the conversation he had just heard. “I won’t look back.”
Ceorl simply nodded. Alfred wasn’t sure what to say. So he nodded back, turned his head, and with a deep breath, stepped outside of the gates into the mists. Time for the next part of this journey.
Lol, long author’s notes are long. The wordcount is 58,561 of pure story, and the page count is higher than my weight. And now that Alfred is no longer in life-and-death situations, he can get back to his normal style of thinking, which I personally enjoy writing a bit more, as you can see by the update time. Yes, the first part is basically a character study of Alfred, again which I enjoyed writing. Please remember that this is from Alfred’s point of view, so take everything through a filter about how he thinks about himself and others. But I will say that that first part is extremely honest.
Arthur’s height: If you look at UK height charts, they’re actually taller than the French. Both Arthur and Alfred have a few body issues.
About the major plot components: Yes, there are some unanswered questions here, some very big unanswered questions. These two chapters have set up the second major mythology arc of the story. So yes, they will be answered eventually, but not immediately. If you have done some research of your own, I have rewritten and twisted a good amount of history and mythology to fit into this verse.
Ceorl: Why yes, I did misspell his name in half of the last chapter! *blush* The disadvantages of self-betaing… Alfred doesn’t know who he is yet, but here is what he does know, so you might be able to figure it out:
He lives in a garden of apple trees that is called: The Garden of Apples, or the Isle of Apples, and is there until he is needed elsewhere. Remember that you’re taking everything through Alfred’s language filter too. This garden is surrounded by mist.
He speaks Old Welsh.
He knows nations exist, and cares particularly for Arthur and Darren.
He did not know that Arthur and Darren had been stolen.
He twitched particularly violently around when Darren was stolen – around 500 AD.
He has a female protector who knows magic whom he’s nicknamed “Maggie”.
He is familiar with the swords of Wēland the Great Smith, and states “I’d know the maker anywhere…” which should imply that he owned one of Wēland’s blades. That should narrow it down dramatically to a few great heroes. He is also skilled with a blade. About Alfred’s sword: If you figure out who Ceorl is, this should also eliminate one of the major contenders, for Ceorl does not say that he knows the blade, but rather the maker.
He was not always a gardener. He appears regal at times, and used to absolute authority.
He gives Alfred a pin with three crowns on it.
He had a wife, who left him.
Anon 1: :D Yeah, that scene will get even worse later, I assure you, because here’s a hint: You’ll see it two more times. I had a lot of fun with Mary, Andy, Cher, and Bugs. Go back to the kidnapping diary once more if you’re still having trouble with Ceorl.
Anon 2: I’m so glad someone figured it out! Fantastic! One more bonus hint about the sword if you want to know early: Look at The Matter of France.
Crowe 13i/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-10 06:24 pm (UTC)(link)Anon 4: Yay new reader! *happy dance* About Alfred’s characterization: You can kinda see that he’s gone through a bit of character development already, with the detail selection. But something I make sure to keep in mind about APH is that it's through a Japanese bias-scope. Therefore of course an American is boisterous and crazy to a Japanese person, because of how our cultures are different. Alfred doesn’t view himself this way, so he doesn’t quite come off that bad. If you look at most international character books, it says that Americans have a fundamental desire to be well-liked, and I hope this comes across a bit. Thus the babbling and the silliness. Americans are also fairly insecure about some things, and therefore act big in order to compensate for their self-viewed weakness. We’ve seen Alfred in a place where he isn’t sure of what to do or how to act, so he isn’t quite as silly as he would be normally. Hopefully you enjoy his antics in the flashbackish thing. If you’re curious, I’m in no way studying mythology or history; I’m a mechanical engineer, with a focus in aerospace, so the stuff with the tension on the bow string is something I’ve done in class. I’ve always been fascinated by mythology, and I’ve done so so much research. Good luck to you too!
Anon Last: LOL thanks for pointing out my mistake! There needs to be a meme: Misspell major characters name through half of story: YOLO! And shh… your meaning is also correct, but it comes into play later! The blood and the tree are important, especially for the end story.
Comments make me write way faster, as you can see!
Re: Crowe 13i/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-11 02:56 am (UTC)(link)I've kinda stopped doing research (mostly--sometimes I can't help myself), because I've decided that I'm going to enjoy the journey.
I am loving you so much after these latest two updates. Seriously.
I don't have as much to say as usual. I feel kinda bad, because you're writing is so amazing and there's so much to it. I just get lost in all the many facets that you include.
Re: Crowe 13i/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-11 11:59 pm (UTC)(link)OMG Arthur in Alfred's uniform. Alfred in RAF uniform. *Homer drool*
Star Wars is America's great literature, I am convinced. But you did it a disservice by suggesting light saber dueling is poor in comparison to broadsword/longsword fighting! Standard light sabers are based on Japanese kendo style dueling, which is fine if that's the weapon you're using. Darth Tyrannis, I believe, was the one who used a fencing-style light saber and requires a completely different fighting style. So does two-weapon styles. Pretty much every sword has different styles, as a matter of fact.
I don't know the Carolingian myth cycles well (I'm beginning to see why you considered bringing in France!). (And researching it led me to discover England has a for real ceremonial broken sword in the Crown Jewels! O_O) If Ceorl is That Guy (he's waiting at the Isle of Apples and he's not a bard, who else? And he belonged to Wales first.), then it isn't Caliburn. Wiki tells me that two of Weyland's blades are connected with fairies, though neither is named: Huon of Bordeaux got on with King Oberon, and the sword that was made for Hugh the Novice Monk in Puck of Pook's Hill (http://www.online-literature.com/kipling/puck-of-pooks-hill/1/).
I think you characterize Alfred pretty well. Especially regarding the "How" as opposed to "shoulds" or "whys" and "wheres."
The pin first said "three crows" and I was puzzled why Alfred'd think that was royal. Three crows makes me think of the Babd. LOL Three crowns makes more sense..Alfred can always wear it for attending the Triple Crown races?
So now he has a bagful of apples...(the poison blood-red apple makes me think of Snow White)..I feel there should have been a mythical figure with a bagful of apples...At least the resurrection ability came in handy? I guess he went to the Isle of Apples because England is his true love and he was with England when he died..
Re: Crowe 13h/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-10 10:23 pm (UTC)(link)That was one I wasn't sure if you'd use, it being French and all. :) (It's been a long time since I read that particular story, and don't remember all of it.)
Was wondering if Ceorl would reappear at some point-- after all, there was a condition... and I think that might be met soonish. :D
Anyway. You're doing a fantastic job weaving the elements in. (And learning how to use a sword? Is hard. I can barely defend myself in fencing.) Looking forward to more.
Re: Crowe 13h/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-11 03:36 am (UTC)(link)But I'm still in love with this story-- all the little details that weave together to create something that's intense and involved and... another i-word that I can't think of at the moment.
Thank you so much for giving us your story!
Re: Crowe 13h/?
(Anonymous) 2012-10-11 04:46 am (UTC)(link)Brilliant story, I'll stop rambling now.