The Bellows and The Boy

Startled, Ozzy whipped himself around to find Fraser in a crumpled heap, once again. His feet were bare and he could tell he’d left the cave in a panic, from what he wasn’t sure but still he rushed to his aid, tucking his manhood away as almost an afterthought. Two quick strides and he made it to Fraser’s side, reached down and pulled him up by his shirt.

“You’ve really gotta slow down Doc,” he said with a chuckle as he kneeled down to dust debris from Fraser’s legs.

Even his toes are adorable...all covered in muck…

Without thinking, Ozzy looped an arm around his waist and lifted Fraser off his feet. “Shouldn’t be out here shoeless either. No telling what kinda sharps are hiding in the muck. Remember what I said about not getting mangled,” he said with a snort as he deposited him in a patch of soft grass not far a few paces away. “Do your business and I’ll break camp. Mind your footing on the way back... Can’t have those delicate soles injured,” he said, the last of course was supposed to stay inside his head. Ozzy hoped his shock didn’t show on his face. Though his jaw was set, he could feel a warmth spreading along his high cheekbones and down the back of his neck. And despite the crisp morning air, there was sweat running down his back.

“I don’t wanna have to carry you again,” he offered with a smirk, hoping that might be enough to throw Fraser off.

Keep it together...just a few more days...keep it together…

He must have repeated it a million times as he kicked out what remained of the fire and packed away his bedroll. He found his cup, still with remnants of last night tea and smiled a little as he fingered the rim. Those lips were on this cup, he thought before shoving it into his kit.

Wonder what else they’re good for…
 
Osbourne's constant physicality was keeping Fraser breathless and scattered. Now he was being scooped up and moved around like a sack of potatoes, and it made him want to either push away or burst into giddy, childish giggles, and the thought of exhibiting either reaction seemed unacceptable to him. He clenched his jaw instead, his eyes wide, and quickly turned his back to Osbourne the moment his feet were on the grass, the man's words barely registering.

Cheeks aflame, he limped a bit further into the brush for privacy. It took quite a while for his piss stream to come.

When he finally returned to camp, it looked like Osbourne had been ready to go for a few minutes already.

"Sorry," he said humbly, ducking down as he retrieved his shoes and fumbled with the laces. He was still limping a bit, but was at least steadier on his feet.

"My leg fell asleep," he explained in the direction of his shoes. The rasp in his weak voice betrayed his exhaustion. "I... I think it's the only part of me that did. But I'll try hard to keep up. I promise."

Delicate soles...

The words danced through his consciousness as he pushed his second foot into its respective shoe. Where had that come from? Did Osbourne say that? Something about him having delicate feet? Fraser cringed inwardly. The man was a good sport, that was certain, but how long would his patience last around someone who was 'delicate'?
 
“Don’t be sorry,” Ozzy said, waving his hand at Fraser as he slipped into his shoes. “You’ll get used to it. And once you’re suited up properly, you won’t even notice how hard the ground is. Word of advice though, keep your boats on. You never know when you’ll have to move out.”

With that Ozzy slung his pack on his back and gave himself a cursory pat down. Short sword at his hip. Blade at his belt. Four throwing knives on his chest. Gloves and cloak. He was ready to go. He made a quick glance at Fraser still struggling with his shoes and shift his eyes to the boys bag.

If I ask, he’ll surely deny my assistance…

Ozzy didn’t give him a chance, snatching up the burlap sack before the boy could reach. “You can take over once you get your legs back under you,” he said quickly and made his exit. “We’ll travel a bit first...maybe find some breakfast along the way. There are fruit trees sprinkled in amongst the rest and perhaps you’ll find more of those flowers to make us some of that tea. Don’t know if it was the whiskey of the...what’d you call it again? Either way I feel almost good as new,” he admited, making a show of twisting his trunk from left to right. “There’s a stream ahead where we can fill our skins. We’ll take it easy until we get there, then while press on...but you’ll let me know if you need a break. I’ll not judge you for it. You’re no good to either of us exhausted,” Ozzy said honestly as he lead them back to the game trailed they’d followed the day before.

They’d covered a good distance, much more than he thought the night before. Barring any calamity, they would reach the Inman-Smith cottage just after midday. His stomach grumbled at the thought of what Lucan might be baking and his weary bones could use a night in a proper bed.

Though there’s only one spare
 
Fraser was a little bit frustrated, but mostly relieved when Osbourne took up his bag without giving him a chance to protest. He was sure he couldn't go on like this, requiring special treatment and patience and rescuing at every turn, but for now he was just too tired to overthink it. He needed the break the man was offering, and so he stayed quiet and focused on putting one foot in front of the other as their journey continued.

Around the time Fraser was getting towards feeling like he couldn't go further, he spotted a small clearing redolent with blossoms, calling to him as if he'd been meant to find this place all along.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, pointing. "Over here - please, could I just...? Oh, there are so many!"

The symphony of scents washed over him. He gathered armfuls of meadowsweet, more calendula and goldenrod, yarrow, comfrey, wild bergamot. His exhaustion seemed forgotten for the time being - his eyes were bright and animated as he spotted one bloom after another and lovingly gathered the best of the flowers and leaves that had attracted his eyes and nose. His lips moved constantly, forming phantom syllables as he silently recited the scientific names of everything he encountered.

There were bees - wonderful, fat honeybees, lazily drifting about him. His eyes traced their movements and he let them lead the way to their nest. The hum tickled in his ears as he grew closer.

There it was - a mass of activity in the hollow of an old half-rotted stump. What were his chances of harvesting safely?

He looked back at Osbourne finally, having been barely aware of his presence during the last few minutes.

"Honey," he whispered.
 
Ozzy wanted to be frustrated, angry even but how could he be witnessing the first signs of life from the seemingly perpetually sullen Fraser Pryce. He made no attempt to stop him, and doubted he could if he tried. Short of tossing him over his shoulder, of course. He hung back, allowing Fraser his moment of exploration and found himself smiling at the boy’s joyous exclamations. Ozzy had the slightest idea of what he said, but guessed he was naming the various foilage he gathered.

While Fraser scrambled around like a madman, Ozzy dug around his bag for the velvet sack that contained the whetstone and mineral oil he used to maintain his blades. There was room for both in the various pockets of his cloak. The bag he turned inside out and headed over to offer it to Fraser to deposit his finds.

“Honey,” he whispered, and Ozzy caught his shoulder just before the the boy took off again.

“Hold it now,” he said sternly and thrust the bag into his chest. “We’re avoiding injury remember. Put your flowers and what not in there and we’ll see about getting you your honey. You can’t just go running headlong into things Doc…’specially something as dangerous as a hive that big. Those bees will be none to pleased we go charging into their yard. First rule of attack...we must plan,” he said with a raised eyebrow and dropped their packs.

“We had hives at the Temple to fortify the Mother’s Milk,” Ozzy remembered as he dug around for his flask. “I’ll need a big stick and a bit of cloth for a torch. We’ll smoke ‘em out first, that way we don’t get stung and they’ll come back to keep this little oasis going for the next botanist that comes along. Now you go get the biggest branch you can carry,” Ozzy instructed as he removed his cloak.

He grabbed hold of one tattered sleeve and one quick yank separated the seam. When Fraser returned with the stick, Ozzy wrapped one end with the mangled sleeve. “I’ll handle the fire, you take care of the looting,” he said and draped his cloak on Fraser’s slender shoulders, then handed over his blade and tin cup. “Get your arms in and don the hood. Stay behind me until I say go,” he said as he set the makeshift torch aflame.

If Quick every gets wind of this, I’ll never live it down…
 
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Fray's heart thumped. He wanted to prove he could do something without help, even something dangerous, and it was true he'd harvested honey before without the use of smoke. But he supposed this hive was on a scale he hadn't dealt with before, and Osbourne's caution was warranted. Plus, there was a certain joy in sharing this experience with the other man.

He was disappointed there was nothing better than the cup they'd drank tea from last night to hold this harvest, but there was no use complaining. This whole travelling thing was enough of a hassle without carrying around a bunch of bottles and jars just in case.

He followed every instruction the large man gave him and bundled himself up inside the cloak, hiding his knife and cup within and only letting enough of his face peek out of the hood so that he could see where he was going. He waited for Osbourne to work his magic with the torch and then, when he got the signal, crept in close to the hive, breathing deeply.

The hive had calmed a great deal, but the hum still filled his ears. He slowly let his knife and cup emerge from the safety of the cloak and reached closer to the great waxy mass, slowly inserting the blade into it and working it open to see how it looked inside. He felt the tickle of a few bees crawling up his wrists and even finding their way other places, crawling on and beneath his clothes. He tried to ignore them, even as they began to sting. He gritted his teeth against the sharp pains and focused on his task.

He leaned closer to examine the comb, avoiding the darker-looking brood cells and going straight for the wonderful golden honey cells. He worked a chunk loose that would be as much as would fit in the cup and, still moving very, very slowly, pulled it free and eased it into the tin cup. He pursed his lips as he felt a few stings on his hands, and even a couple on his back.

"Okay," he exhaled, "got it."

They backed away from the hive, moving to a safe distance before Fraser shrugged out of the cloak in simultaneous discomfort and triumph. He offered Osbourne a small, proud smile and licked his fingertips, the welts of his recent stings already showing on his hands, forearms, and face.
 
The smile that emerged from beneath the cloak warmed Ozzy’s heart, even despite the angry red splotches that peppered Fraser’s still perfect face. He wanted to hug him but settled for a quick head rub instead and offered his congratulations.

“You did good Doc,” Ozzy said with a grin to match Fraser’s. “But we best get a move on. I’m sure you’d rather sleep on something soft tonight.”

Ozzy donned his cloaked, trying his best not to mention the blemishes that seemed to welt before his eyes. He wondered if Fraser could feel them but imagined he might be experiencing his own type of berserker fury.

Let the kid have his moment...he took good care of you...bet he takes better care of himself…

“The streams not far off. We’ll fill the skins and be on our way,” Ozzy said as he donned his cloak and took up their kits.

He led the way and did the honors of refreshing their waterskins before digging out his ration of hard biscuits. “Should go quite nicely with you honey Doc,” he said as he broke off a piece to share with Fraser.
 
Fraser was riding high on the satisfaction of having collected so many useful herbs as well as a lovely cupful of wild honey, which they could use medically as well as enjoy as a treat. It was only after they'd left the meadow and continued their journey a short ways that he noticed the unpleasant needles of pain pulsing in several places. Once he noticed them, it was hard to think of anything else, but he made no complaint.

It was a relief to settle down on the bank of the cool stream. He thanked Osbourne for sharing his rations and took only a few nibbles of the hard biscuit dipped in honey before setting it aside and pushing his sleeves up, rinsing off his hands and arms in the fresh water, and having a look at the welts the honeybees had left him with.

"Did you get stung too?" he asked, scraping at one of the raised, reddened areas with his thumbnail. "You have to get the stingers out. Fortunately, honey is a good remedy."

He managed to remove the stingers from all the areas on his forearms, and dotted each one with a tiny dab of honey. He then raised his hands to his face, feeling a few there as well. He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

"Do you think you could help?" he asked humbly, raising his face to Osbourne but looking at his forehead instead of his eyes. "It's hard to get the stingers out if you can't see them."
 
Ozzy was afraid of that, the invitation to touch him. To have to be so close to those lips…

“Uhhh...I don’t...my sausage fingers. I’ll probably make it worse,” he said, though he felt himself drifting forward. His hands moved to grip Fraser’s shoulders as he ushered him towards a boulder and urged him to sit with gentle pressure before he kneel down before him. All of a sudden he was sweating again, his palms shock as he assessed the damage.

Slowly, Ozzy lean in close and cradled Fraser’s face in his hands. “It’s not so bad,” he whispered, trying his best not to pay too much attention to those lips. So plump. Soft. With his fingers wrapped around the back of his head, Ozzy used his thumbs to trace along Fraser’s cheeks. Down his chin. Just barely grazed his bottom lip. “You’ll tell me if it hurts,” he said before he found the first stinger, just under Fraser’s supple cheek. With just his thumb nail, he scraped down, releasing the barb in one shot.

He continued that way until he’d cleared all his wounds. And though he only used one hand, the other remain firm on the back of Fraser’s neck, fingers gently playing at the downy hair at the nape of his neck. Ozzy followed Fraser’s advice and applied tiny dabs of honey on the red splotches, then licked the remnants from his outstretched finger.

“All done Doc,” he said with a gentle tap to Fraser’s nose, though he made no moves to get away. “We should give you a full inspection when we’re safely indoors...well you...you should check. You’re the doctor right,” he said with a quiet chuckle before finally pulling his hands away. With his hand on either side of Fraser’s thighs, Ozzy pressed himself up to standing and smiled. “We should get going,” he said with an outstretched hand.
 
Fraser was at a loss to understand Osbourne's constant physicality or how to react to it. There was always an extra, unnecessary touch, a lingering hand, a movement - was he crazy to think it was a caress? More and more he was thinking back to his brief but fateful interlude with Amadeo. It was the only thing he could compare this to. But Osbourne was so.... different. Osbourne Clifton might as well be a pinnacle of masculinity.

There was some cultural implication he was missing, surely.

He endured the session staring mostly at the scar on Osbourne's cheek, or down at his chest, all the while scrunching his toes almost painfully and clenching his fists until his fingernails left half-moon indentations in his palms.

When the man finally stood, Fray exhaled heavily and got up, looking pointedly at the ground as he did so, weakly pretending he didn't notice the offered hand.

"Thank you for your assistance," he said politely. He could feel a couple of stings on his lower back, but decided to leave them be for now. He couldn't handle any more contact. Everywhere Osbourne had touched him still tingled like the soft tickle of tiny honeybee feet.

"What a life of a honeybee!" he piped up, latching onto the subject and carrying on with it as they continued their travels

"They die after stinging, you know. Each sting is a life sacrificed to protect their honey and their home - do you suppose that makes us terrible people? But they also die after mating, you know. The males, that is. They exist only for that purpose - they are born, mate with the queen, and die. Only the female bees have stingers, and it's the females who do all the work of making the honey. Bees communicate by dancing. Bees...."

He paused mid-sentence, gulping and inhaling quickly when he realized he wasn't breathing enough.

"You touch a lot," were the next words that came out with his exhalation, unexpected even to himself. But why shouldn't he ask questions about what made him curious? It was uncharacteristic of him to hesitate, so he might as well just ask like he normally would.

"Why?"
 
"You touch a lot...Why?"

Ozzy couldn’t help the chuckle at that. ‘What an odd question,’ he thought, glancing down at the curly haired man. Especially after the lesson on the secret life of bees, and he didn’t answer right away, for fear that he might reveal the true nature of his feelings. It was a few paces before he came to something that might explain without giving himself away.

“You’re a clever boy Fraser Pryce,” he said with a smirk as he led them out of the woods and towards the kingdom road. The same road where he had been deserted the day before. “I’m sure you know there was a time before words...sure there were various throaty sounds but how often do you think those grunts were misinterpreted, confused for something else. If I whacked you, you’d know I was angry. Even if I spoke in a soft tone...smile on my face, you’d know I was cross…

“When you were a babe, you knew your mother loved you before you understood those words. And do you know how? Because she held you, carried you on her hip while she worked in her garden..much as you know about plants I’m sure she had one to rival The Crown’s,” he added with a grin as he slipped off his gloves and tucked them into his pockets.

The road was within their sights, stretching as far as the eye could see from east to west. There were stagecoaches with guards and market carts dotted the landscape, but there were very few travellers on foot. He wasn’t much concerned about them drawing any undue attention, so long as they avoided any caravans and Ozzy could see known.

“It was said that after I was found that Rever and all the viccars took turns holding me...that my feet did not touch the ground for weeks. I could not yet speak so they didn’t know what language I might understand, but they knew I would understand the warmth of their bosom. Gentle hands rubbing my back. I did not know those women but I knew that I was loved and when I was finally allowed to be with the other children I was hugged and jostled like the rest. I knew I belonged, even with my ruddy skin and ginger hair. They were my kin...so I guess that’s your answer. I can talk about camaraderie and kinship but they are just words that one can dismiss, but can one dismiss a hug? A jovial slap to the back? A gentle hand to soothe an aching heart?

“I touch because I care Doc, but if you’d prefer I didn’t...well I guess I’ll have to find another way,” Ozzy said finally.

The road was upon them now and he steered them due west. They were making excellent time and Ozzy told him so. “You’ve done well keeping up. We shall be resting by midday if we keep this pace.”
 
Fraser silently absorbed the words from the surprisingly eloquent warrior, mulling over the meaning of them. An understanding of love and care beyond language? Was that all it was? His tactile experience with Amadeo hadn't been anything to do with love, even if it had been some type of affection, however meaningless. What sort of man cared for another, enough to give the sort of loving touch he'd learned in infancy, without knowing them even a day? He was either a great man or a fool - there was no middle ground.

Or, Fray mused, could both be true at once?

"You're not my mother, and I'm not your infant," he blurted unthinkingly. He didn't feel like he was upset, but his words managed to sound very much like he was.

"Why do these things when you have plenty of words to tell people, and actions to prove your friendship? You've done more than enough for me. I understand you... care. It's not necessary to... to... caress everyone who matters to you."

Fraser clamped his jaw shut, not understanding why he was ranting about this.

"You're a very kind man," he added in a gentler tone after a period of tense silence. "I just... never expected... you. Any of this. But especially you. I'm not angry. I'm... disoriented, and very exhausted."
 
“Fair enough,” was all Ozzy could say to Fraser’s obvious displeasure. He made a show of tucking his hands into his pockets and walked on a few paces with his jaw clenched tight. His lips formed a tight line and he fought to maintain the forgiving pace he’d set for Fraser’s sake.

If he didn’t think he needed him, Ozzy may have left the ungrateful nuisance right where he stood. He was even beginning to think that perhaps that need had been clouded by something else...something more intimate than their married fates.

Those cursed lip…
Quick always teased him for what she called his ‘savior complex’. “Always looking for wounded animals to save, but not everybody deserves to be rescued.” Perhaps Fraser was once such animal, only pretending to be fragile to lure in his prey.

Ozzy could feel his blood beginning to boil, but they were coming up on a market cart pulled to the side of the road and he wished not to make a scene. He fought the urge to offer his assistance to the balding man attending to the broken wheel, keeping his eyes on the cobbled road beneath his boots.

“You’re right, I’m not your mother and you are far from an infant,” he said once they’d passed the cart, his voice low and dark eyes down cast. “But you’re not as clever as you think Fraser Pryce. You say you’re exhausted...disoriented. If not for me you’d be far worse and I’m starting to understand how you came to be in this position. Dropped off in the middle of nowhere and left for dead. Quick was right,” he said shaking his head, his voice steadily rising as he lost the grip he held on his temper. “Maybe I should have left you there...ungrateful little shit. But now I’m stuck with you. At least until we get to my friends. Once there you can find your way elsewhere because I doubt you’ll be a welcomed sight in Brynsland again…No wonder you don’t have any friends if this is the way you speak to those who have shown you nothing but kindness,” he said and dropped the boy’s bag at his feet. “You best keep up,” he added as an afterthought as resumed his usual pace.

With his shorter, thinner legs, Fraser would have to jog to keep up and Ozzy didn’t look back to see if he followed. He cared, of course, but what could he do after being so thoroughly rejected. Osbourne Clifton could be many things but he would be no one’s puppy.
 
Fraser was caught entirely off guard at the sudden, drastic shift in the man's demeanour. He'd thought he'd met someone new and fascinating, but perhaps he wasn't so very different from Dr. Valentin - a man who would appear to be a generous helper of people in need, but behind closed doors would use anyone who let him and would turn on anyone who exposed him.

It was a terrible disappointment. Fraser's first instinct, borne of many years of criticism and rejection, was to curse himself for speaking at all, but he supposed in the end he was satisfied with his own conduct. He had thanked the man for the good he'd done, he had been grateful, but he just hadn't been grateful in the way Osbourne wanted. Osbourne had made quite clear that he only understood care through physicality, so of course Fraser's words would be easily forgotten once he refused affection.

He decided he was glad he'd said something to upset the man. Now he knew that Osbourne Clifton was like when denied a want, and that made him very likely a man who was dangerous in more ways than those indicated by the blades he carried. At the very least, it was clear now that Fraser couldn't continue to spend time around someone who thought he was an "ungrateful little shit" just because he didn't want to be touched all the time. There was no way they could be friends.

Fraser steeled himself against the instinct to feel hurt by someone he didn't even know. It was just another day, after all. He'd never had to face a potential assassination before, but one thing he should have been accustomed to after a lifetime of experience was angering people half the time he opened his mouth.

He took up his effects and kept on walking, staying several paces behind Osbourne and rushing to avoid being left behind entirely. The distance between them steadily grew as Fraser became more and more winded, his legs and lungs feeling like red hot pokers had been shoved through them.

No wonder you don't have any friends.

Fray clenched his jaw. It was just the sort of thing Kemp would always sneer at him.

Abruptly Fraser stopped walking. He shuffled aside just enough to get off the road and sat down hard on a fallen log, his bag tumbling from his hand and into the scrubby grass. Suddenly there was no strength left in his body, and he couldn't even seem to fill his lungs. He doubled over, ashen, pulling in rapid little gasps in an attempt to find his breath.
 
Fists jammed in his pockets still, Ozzy set a punishing pace, even by his own standards. His jaw clenched so tightly his head began to throb but still he didn’t look back.

He couldn’t turn off his ear though. He was keenly aware of the frantic slaps of Fraser’s soft bottom shoes, his rapid breaths. And as the distance grew between them, Ozzy began to feel sorry for him again.

It wasn’t the boy’s fault he was so befuddled by human contact. If Ozzy had been raised amongst people who discarded him, he too might have been unnerved by the affections of another. That didn’t excuse the sharp words the boy spoke to express his indifference but still, he didn’t have to be so hard on him.

Truth be told, Ozzy was exhausted too. Before Fraser stumbled into his vicinity, he hadn’t slept more than a few hours in days after spending a week tracking a squirrely dissenter through the wilderness. He was banged up and road weary...and anxious about what might greet him in Brynsland. Fraser’s uneasy presence had provided the perfect distraction from his worries.

Now, he had nothing. No odd questions to entertain. No easy lessons to teach. It was true Ozzy hated to be alone. The few missions he’d gone on his own had been the worst times of his life. It reminded him of the time after he left the Temple, hiding in trees and eating vermin until the slavers found him. He was embarrassed to say that he welcomed the gag and binds those men gave him if it meant he didn’t have to endure another night alone.

It was then he noticed the silence and spun on his heels to find the road alarmingly empty behind him…

Maker’s name…

There he was doubled over a furlong or so away and Ozzy fought the urge to run to his rescue.

Keep your distance...and for Maker’s sake don’t touch him

He repeated to himself over and over again as he cut the distance between them in long quick strides before coming to a halt a few paces away. Ozzy knew immediately something wasn’t right. The boy was having a fit of some kind. His breathing was short and choppy, face ashen and his lips...those lips...were a precarious shade of purple.

“I’m so sorry Fraser...I shouldn’t have left you…”

At a loss for what to do, Ozzy did the only thing he could. He dropped his left knee in the dirt, dug the fingers of his right hand into the loose gravel at the edge of the road. Head bowed, eyes closed, Ozzy began to pray.

“Ethereal Aer, Great Reviver I call to you. Hear my voice in my time of need. I ask for aid, not for myself but for this troubled young man. Bless him with your eternal wind, fill him up with your bounty. Anoint him with your almighty warmth. I call to you Zephyr, carry my prayers to your great mother.”

He repeated the prayer, over and over, all the while spinning the ring on his left index finger.
 
Fraser's vision was going a little gray at the edges. He hadn't been struck with something like this in over ten years. How had he gotten through it last time? He had been alone then, too, and determinedly so. He'd just sat alone in a quiet room and forced little gulps of air into his lungs for a very long time until things started to calm. It had seemed to last an eternity. Maybe this time, it really would be an eternity.

Then little wisps of a familiar voice were reaching him.

...Aer... Reviver... voice... troubled... bless...

Was it a prayer? Of all things. Could he ever believe in such things? Aer and Palume and the Great Mother, all of them.... All those old stories....

It was a distraction. The distraction in itself started to bring him back to the world, and gradually, a little colour returned to his cheeks, and his breaths were no longer rapid and panicky. He was finally able to breathe deeply, but he still felt terribly weak, and he'd broken out into a sweat. He raised a shaky arm, drawing a sleeve across his damp forehead.

His vision cleared, and he looked curiously at the kneeling man, still mumbling his prayers.

"I'm alright," he said in a small, wheezy voice. "It's alright. When I feel... a bit stronger... I'll write you a letter of thanks. Would you believe me then?"
 
Ozzy bit back his first response, simply shaking his head as he pressed himself up to standing. His hands went immediately back to his pockets. He started to walk away again but thought better of it.

Storming off didn’t help the first time…

“You're not my mother, and I'm not your infant," he said, trying his best not to mimic Fraser’s near grating tone. “Why do these things when you have plenty of words to tell people, and actions to prove your friendship? You've done more than enough for me. I understand you... care. It's not necessary to caress everyone who matters to you. You're a very kind man. I just... never expected... you. Any of this. But especially you. I'm not angry. I'm... disoriented, and very exhausted,” Ozzy said, using every inflection and intimation Fraser had.

“Those were your words Fraser and not a thanks among them,” he said in as even a tone as he could muster. “Look kid I get it, you’re used to getting the shit end of the stick...and that’s not fair but you can’t go around kicking everybody else because you feel bad. You don’t like to be touched...I get that too. That’s all you had to say. You asked me why I touch a lot, so I told you and your response is to tell me that I’m wrong for being me. Sounds a lot like how the Jacoby’s treat you doesn’t it?”

Ozzy let that last bit settle for a few moments before he picked up the boy’s bag again, and slung it over his shoulder. “I shouldn’t have called you names, that was unfair of me and for that I apologize but you are not the victim here Fraser Pryce. And you have a lot to learn about people or this world will eat you alive. Now get up and dust yourself off. We’ve still got ground to cover.”
 
Fraser stared hard at the ground for several long breaths with damp eyes rimmed with dark hollows. His head felt stuffed with cotton, and it was almost impossible to think through all of it. He drew himself up and forced himself to stand on shaky legs, feeling half numb as he stumbled back to the road, continuing to follow Osbourne blindly. He didn't remember where they were going or why.

He couldn't have said whether it was a few minutes or hours later, but he finally realized what the man had been saying, and why he was upset, and how his own unintentionally vicious words had come across.

"I suspect the world has already eaten me alive," he said wearily, filling the long silence.

"It's digested me and shat me out, and still I am somehow walking. I suppose it's hard to feel thankful for that, but that's not your fault. I had intended gratitude, and I see I've failed at it. I feared you were not so very kind a man after all if you expected your own variety of 'payment' in exchange for helping me. But perhaps I... misjudged? These things are so confusing to me. My mother always taught me that kindness isn't a transaction, and anyone who expects fanfare for a good act isn't so good after all. To her, thank-yous and sorries were affectations, even weakness. How can I accept the one person I ever loved was wrong?"

He heaved a sigh and combed his still sweat-damp hair back with his fingers, leaving it untidily sticking up in several directions.

"That's one of the many things I am afraid of. I might as well just admit to that instead of pretending strength and then... snapping at an uncommonly kind person for no reason. I'm afraid of... the world, myself, and you, and... I couldn't sleep even a single hour last night because you were touching me, and I'm afraid that now I've told you that you'll be upset again."
 
Ozzy kept his eyes forward as he listened to Fraser’s explanation. It changed nothing of his hurt feelings but the hard line of his lips did soften a bit.

“I don’t believe I asked for fanfare...or even a simple thank you,” Ozzy recalled as easily as he had Fraser’s coarse words. “I have been adopted into a noble house. My adopted father is a distant cousin of The Crown. I am well fed and want for nothing. I am court educated and will be appointed leader of an organization that only answers to The Crown. What could the illegitimate son of a backwater chancellor possibly offer me that I do not have…”

Those lip…

“You will find that you’re mother may well have been wrong...though I’m sure she had her reason to believe such things. I have not always been so privileged Fraser and I know well how hard life can be. If I slapped away the hands that reached to pull me up I’d probably be nothing but a derelict. Does that mean I float through the world believing all I meet are holy and good? Absolutely not! I wait for people to prove they are shit before I treat them as such...and I don’t walk around feeling sorry for myself either. There is a middle ground that you must find Fraser Pryce, I promise life will get easier when you do.”

Ozzy paused long enough to press Fraser bag into his chest and slipped his hands back into his pockets. “And I’ll not dump you off on my friends...if you talk to Lucan like you have me, he’ll likely bake you into one of his meat pies,” he offered with a snort. “I’ll see you back to Brynsland and secure you safe passage to the place of your choosing.”
 
Feeling sorry for himself - was that what he'd been doing? Perhaps so. It wasn't his usual habit. Fraser's way of things was to accept whatever happened and move on with his life. But since this near-death experience had stripped him raw, and he'd been unable to get any rest, everything was so much harder to accept, not in the least because he didn't know what he was moving onto anymore.

The thought that had struck him just before his panic attack was that, if he actually wrote a book as he'd always wanted to, no one was going to read it. Maybe if he did better at being a person who didn't annoy and alienate everyone he met, he could have a chance, but not at this rate. He had a lot to figure out - himself, his purpose.

"Thank you," he said at last, deciding that was a reasonable start at being a real human. "I can't imagine where I'd go. But I'll think on it."

After another long silence, he spoke up again: "What's to be done about Kemp?"
 
Ozzy nodded his acceptance of his gratitude but said nothing of the rest. It was not up to him to tell the boy where to go, or what to do. Despite their tiff, he would rather Fraser remain with...for a time at least. For all his advice, he couldn’t imagine Fraser would be ready to put it into practice anytime soon. He was prepared to let all conversation drop at this point but then Fraser asked of his wretched half-brother, and a low growl rumbled out of his chest.

“He’ll probably suffer an unfortunate accident not long after my return...how severe, I can not say,” he offered with a shrug, and finally chanced a glance down at the young man. “I’ll keep him alive long enough to find who he’s in league with, he could not have orchestrated this alone. There will be others who need dealt with. As far as I can tell, there are only three...perhaps four who I can truly trust. It will take time. But know this Fraser Pryce, before too long, the Jacoby’s will be planning a funeral. The question is whether or not you will attend.”

Finally, Ozzy could see the packed earth that separated a grove of fruit trees. He could smell the kiln fire, see the smoke bellow in the distance. At the end of the road lay the home of Averey Inman and Lucan Brecker. The bastard son of the former First Knight and his baker friend. More than friends really, and Ozzy hoped that Fraser would keep any crass comments to himself. What he said about the pies may have been jest but Lucan was quite protective of his gentle giant and did not take kindly to badging from anyone, let alone a whelp like Fraser Pryce. He might not put him in pie, but he would not hesitate to toss him out.
 
Fraser grunted vaguely. The idea of his half-brother dying didn't give him any pleasure, even if it was just. Perhaps he could at least take comfort in knowing he was nothing like Kemp.

"I can't see returning home at all," he said in a distant, musing tone. "If Kemp would do such a thing, I couldn't trust any of them. Except perhaps my father. He wasn't really a father to me at all, but he did always look out for me, in his own way, even if it was only out of guilt. I should like to tell him the truth about his son, and that may be the greatest reason not to go. For once I'll truly mind my tongue. The knowledge could only hurt him, and he's in very poor health. There may be two funerals before too long."

Fraser's eyes and nose were now picking up on unmistakable signs of civilization, and his steps quickened. How he longed to be near a comforting hearth, to smell food cooking, to be anywhere that was home for someone. Simply the pleasure of sitting in a comfortable chair seemed like the finest thing he could wish for at the moment.

"Are we close now?" he asked. "Your friends...? Is there anything I should know? Any local customs?"
 
“Utter a word of any what has befallen you to anyone and you’ll find yourself in the dungeons,” he warned, but Fraser surely heard it as a threat and Ozzy did nothing to soften it. “It would do you well to commit that to memory before we encounter the public.”

He noticed Fraser’s pace quicken and smirked a little. The prospect of warmth and a soft place to sleep had lightened Ozzy’s own steps and he couldn’t say that he blamed him. There was pastry in the air as the came to the path marked by a sign emblazoned with a knife driven into the center of a beautifully decorated tiered cake.

“Knives and Cakes” was the name of their little shop, and unlike most artisans, Lucan and Averey did not sell their goods at any market. At first Ozzy wondered how they sustained themselves, then he tasted the pies and understood why Lucan made weekly deliveries to the nobility of Brynsland and beyond. And Averey sharpened every blade in every village east of Summoner’s Isle when he wasn’t taking commission from Royal Guardsmen across Boudineer. They could probably live in a proper house in any walled city, but the men preferred to keep to themselves. And rightly so, two bachelors living together would surely draw unwanted attention especially when they weren’t shy about their affections for each other.

“There is something you should know...I don’t want you to...well be you,” Ozzy said as they passed the sign, and turned to face Fraser. “Lucan and Averey...their relationship is...uhhh...they...are two men who live together and have for many years. Neither have been married, so do not ask. They are in love...with each other and do not hide such feelings so you best avert your eyes if you intend to be offended by such things.”
 
Fraser wrenched his eyes away from the fascinating and intriguing sign to give Osbourne an incredulous look.

I don't want you to... well, be you.

He didn't expect that, of all things, from someone who'd just been so upset about being criticized for being himself. A simple "watch your mouth", maybe...

"Well, if anything, I might be offended by your hyp-....," he began, and then trailed off as Osbourne's next words registered.

"Wait, sorry...?"

He stopped walking and stared up at Osbourne, for once making firm eye contact. As much as it unsettled him, he needed to make absolutely sure that this was for real, that he wasn't misunderstand anything.

"Do you mean to tell me... they are... together, as a husband and a wife would be?" he asked hesitantly. His cheeks coloured as a flood of embarrassment washed through his insides and rose up his neck and face. Was there something obvious he had been missing for a very long time? Certainly he knew men might bugger each other when they could get away with it, but...

He gulped and hesitated before speaking again, more worried than ever about offending or saying something simply stupid. There was so much that couldn't be learned from books.

"I know some things... are illegal. Are they not... here? Or am I just failing to understand...? I just want to understand."
 
Ozzy laughed despite his cross emotions. He could not help himself with Fraser’s obvious confusion at what he’d just learned. “In some places...perhaps where you’re from but the church has less sway in Brynsland so people tend to live and let live. It’s that way in most of the big cities...surprising how much freedom comes when you don’t have to depend on Maker’s clergy to provide,” Ozzy said, with a shrug before nudging Fraser with his elbow to get him moving again. “And I’d advise you keep the husband and wife talk to yourself. There is no husband at this home, nor is there a wife. They are simply two men who love each other and wish to share a quiet life together. Treat them as you would any other, the only special about them is their living arrangement.”

The house was in sight by then and Ozzy’s was beginning to respond to all the aromas in the air. There was charred meat mingled cloying smell of molten metal and the earthly smell of browned butter. There were meat pies on the fire and Ozzy hoped that Lucan would be willing to share the first batch. The animals were out to pasture, a few head of cattle and a couple majestic mares grazed in a field just beyond the house while chickens ran wild under their hooves. Ozzy envied their idyllic life, it was the life he wished to have when he married all those years ago but when his wife and child perished, he gave up on that dream.

“Ahoy there, friend,” Ozzy shouted to the wide figure lumbering towards them, clad in a smithy’s apron with a long sword loose in his grip. Though his face was heavily bearded, Ozzy watched as his once scowling lips curled into a smile that made him seem almost boyish.

“Ahoy friend,” the man bellowed back before he hung the sword on the wall outside his shop.

“That’s Averey Inman, the blacksmith,” Ozzy informed Fraser, though he barely glanced in his direction as both the big men spread their arms to greet each other.

Averey wrapped Ozzy in a bear hug, lifting the man a few inches off the ground before Ozzy shoved him away. As they exchanged pleasantries, Ozzy let go of the more formal diction he’d been using with Fraser and slipped into what sounded like a bastardization of the Kingdom Tongue.

“What brings yer high falutin arse to the sticks,” Avery said between laughs and jostles of Ozzy’s broad shoulders.

“You know the story friend...if I told you I’d have to kill you and I don’t want no enemies with Birdie.”

“He hear you call ‘em that you good as dead already!”
 
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