(no subject)
Title: Blue Tier Colors
Author: tobi_wankenobi
Rating: R overall for violence and sex and swearing and stuff.
Pairings: future Ryan/Brendon and Jon/Spencer.
Summary: Fantasy. It was a weird night before Ryan exploded. Then things just went downhill. The boys from Panic find out that there's more to them than anyone could ever have imagined.
Warnings: fantasy violence, ugly monsters. Bleh.
Disclaimer: I don't own Panic at the Disco. If you recognize it, it probably ain't mine.
Author's note: This is going to be a ride, I think. I'm a D&D/WoW/LARP nerd, so the "classes" in this fic might be familiar to some of you. Other than that, have fun! Concrit is lovely, but any feedback is appreciated.
Brendon isn't entirely sure of where he is. All the same, however, a creeping sense of familiarity tingles on the edge of his thought, like he's been here before, knows this place. It's not a bad place to be by any stretch of the imagination, with lush, pale, green grass beneath his bare feet and the smell of living water on the breeze. There is a strikingly blue sea with a narrow beach of pure white sand as far as his eyes can see.
Over his shoulder is a thick copse, foliage that he knows but can't identify and trees that he's never seen but has.
Beyond this forest wall something as familiar as home is calling to him and he goes toward that call, feet moving as though the idea is theirs alone. Through the dense forest, Brendon moves with the surety of someone who knows the terrain, has no doubt of his destination. The view he eventually finds, breaking the forest's edge, should take his breath away: rolling green hills and to the east one long silver strand of river dipping in and out of view all the way out to the horizon. To the west, smooth white stone forms the walls of a sprawling city, banners of silver and deep blue at its gates, whipping proudly in the wind. It's beautiful but Brendon doesn't stop because the call is coming from that city and he needs to reach the source now.
Through the gates, the guards greeting him as though they know him well, Brendon makes his way through the crowded market street beyond pushing past eager vendors and shoppers of all sorts and temperaments. A hearty greeting catches his attention, and while Brendon doesn't hear the name that is called, it's a large, muscled fellow who is definitely speaking to him. It occurs to Brendon that he knows this man, but he can't imagine how, so he waves and shouts some excuse as he hurries on.
The building Brendon finally ducks into has the quiet air of a holy place. He moves through a large open room, toward a narrow staircase set into the white stone floor and down, down, down to where the air is cool and damp and the way is lit by torches rather than sunlight. That strange silent call is more insistent here, and Brendon takes the stairs two at a time until the narrow corridor opens wide on a huge underground chamber with a wide, shallow pool right at its center.
It's a beautiful room, and Brendon would take the time to admire the ornate relief carved into the stone walls, the elaborate mosaic under the calm clear water of the pool, but there is a tall thin man draped in long, rich silk robes, his back turned to Brendon. From behind the posture and dress lends something regal to this man's appearance but he turns and smiles and Brendon's shocked (and yet somehow still not really) to see that this striking figure is just Ryan. Just Ryan Ross, his dearest friend, with a strange and secretive smile on his face.
"It's almost time," Ryan says, beckoning Brendon forward. Brendon goes, taking in the sight of him with something like awe; there's something radiant about him, something brighter in his eyes and a melody in his voice. It's his Ryan, but different. Stronger, more beautiful, like everything Brendon's ever found attractive about the boy is impossibly better than he'd thought. "I need to you wake up, Brendon."
And so Brendon does.
***
Brendon shuffles out into the living area of the tour bus, rubbing his eyes and puzzling over the strange, vivid dream he's only just awoken from. It feels as though the chill air from the imagined cavern has settled into his bones and he shivers, hugs his midsection and promises himself that he'll get a drink and go cover up in his bunk.
Only Ryan's out here, huddled on the couch with his knees pulled up and his face buried in his arms and the sight of him makes Brendon stop in his tracks. He thinks of the dream and dream-Ryan ('I need you to wake up,') and calls his friend's name quietly, hesitantly.
"Ryan?"
The narrow boy on the sofa startles at Brendon's voice and looks up with his brown eyes wide. Brendon thinks for a moment that perhaps they're brighter in hue, but that has to be the remnants of the dream.
"Oh!" Ryan straightens himself up a bit. "Brendon. Sorry... Did I wake you? I was just... I couldn't-," Ryan makes a vague gesture with his hands and shrugs. "I feel terrible," he concludes. "Come see if I have a fever?" He turns his face up toward Brendon, eyes closed and waits.
Brendon brushes the back of his hand obligingly over Ryan's forehead, brows knitting in concern. "You do feel warm," he says, pushing Ryan's bangs back. "You want some water?" He resumes his earlier trek, into the kitchenette for two plastic cups filled with ice cold water and brings them back with him, holds one out to Ryan. "How long have you been feeling bad?"
Before Ryan can answer though, Brendon hears sliding curtains and soft, clumsy footsteps and looks up to see Spencer and Jon, odd looks on their sleepy faces, standing in the doorway to the bunk area.
"Hey, guys," Brendon says, sitting back from Ryan a bit and watching them into the room. It's weird but no sooner have they crossed the threshold than something seems to... click in his chest, like the satisfied feeling of popping the last puzzle piece into place only intense and remarkably physical. He doesn't understand it, so he doesn't comment on it. "How's it that we're all up at... What the hell time is it?"
"Weird dream," Spencer groans, sitting on Ryan's other side and scrubbing his hands over his face.
"You too?" Jon sits down Indian style, on the floor at Ryan's feet. "I had one about you," he says, pointing to Ryan with an amused sort of accusatory look on his face. "It wasn't bad weird, though. Just... Some medieval looking city and Ryan... You were in this big white room wi-," John is interrupted by Spencer, voicing the same confused thoughts Brendon is experiencing.
"Seriously," he says, looking a Jon a little owl-eyed. "This is uh... Well... I just had that dream! Ryan told me it was almost time-"
"And that he needed you to wake up," Brendon finishes, looking confusedly at Ryan, as though he can explain why he's been traipsing through his friends' dreams all night. "You were wearing these robes and you looked... Like... Different."
Ryan looks even more baffled than Brendon feels. "You all had dreams about me? I don't know, guys..."
"No," Brendon clarifies. "We all had the same dream about you."
Unfortunately that's the last thing any of them get to say before Ryan explodes in a flash of bright white light. Brendon doesn't even have the time to be frightened for his friend or himself before Ryan's light smothers out all else.
***
"You think it's dead?" The voice that wakes Brendon is shrill and excited. "It looks like those others."
Brendon groans as full wakefulness begins to strike. His body aches like a nightmare, his head is pounding, and over the shadowy shoulder of some silhouetted figure, the sun cuts at his vision like knives.
"Nope. Ain't dead," answers a deeper, gruffer voice. Brendon feels something large and solid nudging at his side and looks for the source.
The something turns out to be a large scaly foot which Brendon follows up a scaly leg and a thick scaly torso. He has to shield his eyes, but as the silhouette becomes clearer, Brendon realizes he's looking up a pointed snout into to the beady yellow eyes of some large green scaled humanoid creature. He lets loose with a scream that he would never admit to under normal circumstances and scrabbles back over the thick carpet of pale green grass he's lying on.
"I think that's what he was talkin' about," says the green fellow, surprisingly enough, owner of the shrill voice that had first woken Brendon. He puts one big ugly foot at the small of Brendon's back as he tries to scramble away, pushing him down firmly and holding him in place before he can flee.
"Well, grab it," says a stout little brown creature with a piggish face, mean black eyes, and a low gravelly voice. "And put it with the others."
It's nearly humiliating, but the big lizard looking guy plucks Brendon up without much trouble, tucking him securely under his arm like a load of firewood and squeezing him so tightly that it forces a, 'whuff,' of air from Brendon. Arms trapped at his sides, Brendon fights frantically against his captor, kicking and squirming and yelling obscenities but the two pay him little mind, carrying on a conversation that Brendon eventually slumps and quietens enough to listen to.
"What's he want with it anyway," from the green skinned man carrying Brendon like a package. "It's all funny lookin'. Bet it would taste good. But now, he don't even eat these."
No one's ever actually brandished Brendon at anyone, but the lizard man turns and waves him for the little pig's inspection and Brendon cries out a bit, wriggling against the strong arm around him.
"Eh," the pig waves Brendon away and Brendon sighs and hangs limp in his assailant's grip. "It's something special, I know that. You'd've been around longer and you'd know. He's been looking for these a long time now."
Brendon tunes the rest out, too overwhelmed to take in anymore just now. The way he's hanging he's got a good look at the ground, so he stares blankly at the undergrowth, trying to process the idea of a couple of Lord of the Rings rejects talking about having him for dinner. Only it's not working quite well enough for him so he twists a little, taking in an eerily familiar forest.
"Oh my god," he says. There's no mistaking it, the foreign vegetation, the strange living sounds of the forest. He knows this place. He had been here just the night before in a dream.
His mind is reeling. He takes it in sequence after that, finding Ryan on the couch, sick. The discovery of the shared dream. Ryan had... Oh, god, Brendon hopes Ryan is ok. From what he can tell he's being taken to others like him. His friends? He wonders if they're even here with him, or if this is some strange hell. Maybe he's dead. Maybe the white explosion had been death, a bus crash or something. So, maybe he's dead and this is hell because really it's not as outlandish an idea when Brendon adds giant green lizard men and pig-like little goblins into the equation.
Brendon isn't pulled out of his reverie until the sounds around him change drastically, loud voices and the clang of hammers against metal. Acrid smoke stings his eyes and burns his throat and Brendon cranes his neck around so that he can see the encampment he's being carried through.
He sort of wishes he hadn't, though. The beings here are nightmarish. Each ugly face is worse than the last, mean looking creatures of all sorts and Brendon could even swear that he spots a satyr in the crowd and further away, a giant. He curls in on himself again, unable to look anymore. It's all just too unreal.
"Drop him. Hold his arms," says the pig and a big clawed hand closes around both of Brendon's arms at the elbow before the ironlock arm around him lets go and Brendon falls to the hard packed dirt.
Brendon feels like a rag doll, but there's no real comparison in strength between him and his captor, so he lays face down in the dirt while his hands and feet are tied and a dirty strip of rag is knotted tightly in his mouth. Once satisfied that he's secure, the pig has his green strong arm 'put it away where it goes,' and Brendon is carted off by the rope around his ankles and loaded into the back of a large cart. He lands on top of a lumpy, squirmy pile, to the sound of several muffled cries of pain and discomfort and answers back with one of his own. Once he's left alone it takes Brendon a moment to sort himself and the others in the wagon out, but a flash of relief hits him when he sees Ryan, bound and gagged and pissed off looking but alive and in one piece. Jon's there and Spencer's underneath him, trying his level best to shove Brendon off and Brendon obliges, trying to find some way to lay without crushing one of his friends. They're all breathing heavily by the time each man has a clear spot to himself but no one seems to be injured as far as Brendon can tell, and Ryan's alive, thank god. He just hopes they can all stay that way.
After some time, though, he realizes that no one seems to want to bother them and for god only knows how many hours, Brendon's world is only the dim interior of the wagon and the sound of innumerable hoofed feet hitting the ground outside. Occasionally he'll hear a snatch of conversation in some ugly, guttural tongue, but he passes a good deal of the time in a frightened haze and doesn't notice much at all.
Except Ryan, curled miserably not too far away. Their eyes meet once or twice but Ryan's anxious expression seems to last him all day long.
After a whole day of being jostled in the back of a slow moving wagon, Brendon realizes that his fear has evaporated into a very distinct boredom and an acute discomfort. Beside him, squirmy Ryan is clearly dealing with the same issues and there's a pathetic look on his face when he meets Brendon's eyes that makes him scoot a little closer, so their bodies are touching and Ryan drops his head onto Brendon's shoulder, heaves a great, exhausted sigh and settles in.
***
Brendon is awoken from a sleep he wouldn't have believed he could fall into sometime in the pitch black of very early morning. Outside of their traveling prison wages a battle that he can't see, fierce by the sounds of it. Brendon shares a moment of panic with the three of them and all four sort of instinctively choose to squash together in the middle all at once.
The sounds from outside the wagon are almost too much for Brendon to take. Unintelligible battle cries, the ragged screams of dying creatures far too close to their little wagon. Ominously, somewhere in the distance Brendon hears heavy footfalls that make the wood beneath him tremble. Closer, closer the crashing sound comes until everything Brendon can see shakes and creaks and it sounds like thunder in his ears. There's a sound, like the snapping of a cord and a terrible bellow and the four of them let out frightened shouts as something heavy slams into their wagon from the side, tipping it onto two wheels for one endless second before allowing it to come crashing back to the ground, jarring the prisoners inside. Afraid of what all the commotion might mean for them, the boys huddle together and wait it out anxiously.
Cool dawn light is beginning to creep into the little wagon before the sounds of battle begin to die down. The prisoners exchange anxious looks with one another, terrified all over again. Brendon doesn't know who it is that's fighting their captors, but he hopes to god that there's a whole lot of them. And that they're friendly.
The curtain opens, quite suddenly, right beside Brendon and he catches a glimpse of long pale fingers and a pointed nose and the sound of a rich, deep voice saying, "Here they are! All is well, my lords, we've got you."
Then the cart is moving again, quickly, and Brendon doesn't mind at all because this time it's taking them to safety rather than some unknown doom. They ride for what feels like a long time, not stopping until well after the last ringing cries of battle have faded away and then there's a tall graceful man in the cart with them with a perfect, pale face and ice blue eyes, hair the color of spun silver and a long shining dagger to match.
Brendon's eyes widen and they all move close again now that they've gotten a look at their rescuer. He's pale as death, with sharp features and a smattering of some thick black substance that Brendon thinks might very well be blood on his clothing. Brendon lets out with a strangled cry and Ryan draws back, fearful, when the stranger leans toward him with his blade.
"I'm going to untie you," the man (Brendon thinks he's a man, at least. His ears have an odd point to them that makes Brendon think of Tolkien.) says, placing a large hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Calm down, my lord and lean forward."
Good as his word, the strange looking man cuts the rope around Ryan's wrists and ankles and tugs the gag down over his chin.
"Are you hurt," he wants to know, and Ryan shakes his head numbly, rubbing distractedly at his aching wrists. "All right. And you, sir," he says to Brendon, cuts him free while Ryan starts on Spencer. "Are you well," the stranger asks and Brendon nods his head.
"I just don't..." He trails off, looking from his friends to their rescuer, his expression vividly confused. "Where the hell are we?"
His question isn't answered immediately. Things are the quietest they've been since Brendon's capture while the rest of his band mates are freed and the strange silver-haired man has a cursory look over all of them. He pulls out a silver flask that makes Brendon forget momentarily that he'd even had a question at all because he's pretty sure there's liquid in there of some sort and a drink sounds pretty amazing right now.
"Here," he says, passing the flask to Ryan who takes it without question and turns it up. He doesn't keep it long, there are four of them to one flask, so he passes it to Brendon after a moment and the flask makes it's way down the line.
It tastes like water to Brendon, good, cold, clean water and he leans back against the wall of their wagon after he's passed it to Spencer, savoring the cool swallow for a moment.
"Wow," Ryan says, suddenly and Brendon raises his eyebrows. "That stuff, it--,"
"Oh my god," Brendon interrupts, because now he feels it too, like that sip is spreading busily through his body, waking him up and pushing away the aches and cramps of captivity and hunger. "That's incredible," he says with an amazed looking smile.
The strange man takes a sip from the flask as well before he puts it away and sits on his heels in front of the four of them. "Now," he says once everyone has settled, "your question, lord. Welcome back to Cerroneth. She and her people," here he bows as if to indicate himself," have been waiting for you for a very long time. My name is Albion, personal bodyguard to the Lady Ilyah. And now, to you."
Silence follows Albion's grand declaration. Brendon realizes that his mouth is open, so he closes it, clears his throat and exchanges nonplussed looks with his friends. "Uh," he says.
"Sorry," and it's Jon, hands up as if he can stop the load of confusion being heaped on them. "Albion? Just... What?"
Albion's smile warms up his whole countenance and, suddenly, he's not nearly as terrifying as when he and his dagger had first entered the wagon.
"They had warned me," he says, still smiling, "that you would likely have no memories of your pasts. Fear not. You'll be taken care of, and your memories restored once we reach Clianthia."
"Clianthia," Spencer repeats, and scrubs a hand wearily across his eyes. "I dunno, but could you, like, throw us a bone or something? Please?"
Albion looks confused by Spencer's turn of phrase. "A bone, my lord?"
"A hint?" Judging by Spencer's facial expression, Brendon thinks he's either about to laugh or cry. Perhaps both. "I'm sorry, it's just... Look, one minute we're all on our bus and Ryan, like, exploded," Spencer pauses here, letting all of them absorb the novelty of it all right along with him. "Ok? Ryan explodes and, BAM, there's monsters? I mean, do you see why I'm feeling confused by this?"
"I understand," Albion says, sounding as though he really does. "Unfortunately, we haven't the time to spare for such a tale. In case you didn't realize the demons abducted you for a reason. The four of you are the most wanted men in the land. We must hope that we can reach the safety of Clianthia's walls before all the demons of the underworld come raining down upon our heads." Albion pulls back one of the dirty curtains as he says this, looking toward the sky, then tucks away the flask with its marvelous little elixir and straightens. "I can promise information to you, but only once we reach the city."
"How do we know that we can trust you, though?" Brendon's voice is a little higher than normal and his words stop Albion on his way out of the wagon. "I heard the... things that captured me talking. There's something special about us, right? How do we know we can trust you?"
"I suppose you don't," he says, completely without venom. "But I'm taking you to Clianthia one way or another." He gives Brendon a look that brooks no argument and soon the wagon is moving at a quick clip.
Despite the action-packed day, their first moment alone and free with each other is a quiet one. No one seems to know what to say after the day's events, but Brendon isn't really surprised. He's having trouble processing all of this, too. "Well," he finally says. "I guess I'd rather be kidnapped by that guy than those other ones. Might as well trust him?"
Brendon gets three listless nods in answer and sighs quietly to himself. He feels every bit as out of sorts as they look so Brendon doesn't try to talk anymore, just slouches a bit where he sits and tries to think his way through the maze forming in his head.
If nothing else, he knows at least that he has a city called Clianthia in his future. He doesn't know if it's going to be a good thing or bad, but it's the only certainty he's got now that every thing's gone topsy turvy, so he thinks about that and doesn't call Ryan out when he feels the thin fingers of his frightened friend curling around his own.
Onward!
Author: tobi_wankenobi
Rating: R overall for violence and sex and swearing and stuff.
Pairings: future Ryan/Brendon and Jon/Spencer.
Summary: Fantasy. It was a weird night before Ryan exploded. Then things just went downhill. The boys from Panic find out that there's more to them than anyone could ever have imagined.
Warnings: fantasy violence, ugly monsters. Bleh.
Disclaimer: I don't own Panic at the Disco. If you recognize it, it probably ain't mine.
Author's note: This is going to be a ride, I think. I'm a D&D/WoW/LARP nerd, so the "classes" in this fic might be familiar to some of you. Other than that, have fun! Concrit is lovely, but any feedback is appreciated.
Brendon isn't entirely sure of where he is. All the same, however, a creeping sense of familiarity tingles on the edge of his thought, like he's been here before, knows this place. It's not a bad place to be by any stretch of the imagination, with lush, pale, green grass beneath his bare feet and the smell of living water on the breeze. There is a strikingly blue sea with a narrow beach of pure white sand as far as his eyes can see.
Over his shoulder is a thick copse, foliage that he knows but can't identify and trees that he's never seen but has.
Beyond this forest wall something as familiar as home is calling to him and he goes toward that call, feet moving as though the idea is theirs alone. Through the dense forest, Brendon moves with the surety of someone who knows the terrain, has no doubt of his destination. The view he eventually finds, breaking the forest's edge, should take his breath away: rolling green hills and to the east one long silver strand of river dipping in and out of view all the way out to the horizon. To the west, smooth white stone forms the walls of a sprawling city, banners of silver and deep blue at its gates, whipping proudly in the wind. It's beautiful but Brendon doesn't stop because the call is coming from that city and he needs to reach the source now.
Through the gates, the guards greeting him as though they know him well, Brendon makes his way through the crowded market street beyond pushing past eager vendors and shoppers of all sorts and temperaments. A hearty greeting catches his attention, and while Brendon doesn't hear the name that is called, it's a large, muscled fellow who is definitely speaking to him. It occurs to Brendon that he knows this man, but he can't imagine how, so he waves and shouts some excuse as he hurries on.
The building Brendon finally ducks into has the quiet air of a holy place. He moves through a large open room, toward a narrow staircase set into the white stone floor and down, down, down to where the air is cool and damp and the way is lit by torches rather than sunlight. That strange silent call is more insistent here, and Brendon takes the stairs two at a time until the narrow corridor opens wide on a huge underground chamber with a wide, shallow pool right at its center.
It's a beautiful room, and Brendon would take the time to admire the ornate relief carved into the stone walls, the elaborate mosaic under the calm clear water of the pool, but there is a tall thin man draped in long, rich silk robes, his back turned to Brendon. From behind the posture and dress lends something regal to this man's appearance but he turns and smiles and Brendon's shocked (and yet somehow still not really) to see that this striking figure is just Ryan. Just Ryan Ross, his dearest friend, with a strange and secretive smile on his face.
"It's almost time," Ryan says, beckoning Brendon forward. Brendon goes, taking in the sight of him with something like awe; there's something radiant about him, something brighter in his eyes and a melody in his voice. It's his Ryan, but different. Stronger, more beautiful, like everything Brendon's ever found attractive about the boy is impossibly better than he'd thought. "I need to you wake up, Brendon."
And so Brendon does.
***
Brendon shuffles out into the living area of the tour bus, rubbing his eyes and puzzling over the strange, vivid dream he's only just awoken from. It feels as though the chill air from the imagined cavern has settled into his bones and he shivers, hugs his midsection and promises himself that he'll get a drink and go cover up in his bunk.
Only Ryan's out here, huddled on the couch with his knees pulled up and his face buried in his arms and the sight of him makes Brendon stop in his tracks. He thinks of the dream and dream-Ryan ('I need you to wake up,') and calls his friend's name quietly, hesitantly.
"Ryan?"
The narrow boy on the sofa startles at Brendon's voice and looks up with his brown eyes wide. Brendon thinks for a moment that perhaps they're brighter in hue, but that has to be the remnants of the dream.
"Oh!" Ryan straightens himself up a bit. "Brendon. Sorry... Did I wake you? I was just... I couldn't-," Ryan makes a vague gesture with his hands and shrugs. "I feel terrible," he concludes. "Come see if I have a fever?" He turns his face up toward Brendon, eyes closed and waits.
Brendon brushes the back of his hand obligingly over Ryan's forehead, brows knitting in concern. "You do feel warm," he says, pushing Ryan's bangs back. "You want some water?" He resumes his earlier trek, into the kitchenette for two plastic cups filled with ice cold water and brings them back with him, holds one out to Ryan. "How long have you been feeling bad?"
Before Ryan can answer though, Brendon hears sliding curtains and soft, clumsy footsteps and looks up to see Spencer and Jon, odd looks on their sleepy faces, standing in the doorway to the bunk area.
"Hey, guys," Brendon says, sitting back from Ryan a bit and watching them into the room. It's weird but no sooner have they crossed the threshold than something seems to... click in his chest, like the satisfied feeling of popping the last puzzle piece into place only intense and remarkably physical. He doesn't understand it, so he doesn't comment on it. "How's it that we're all up at... What the hell time is it?"
"Weird dream," Spencer groans, sitting on Ryan's other side and scrubbing his hands over his face.
"You too?" Jon sits down Indian style, on the floor at Ryan's feet. "I had one about you," he says, pointing to Ryan with an amused sort of accusatory look on his face. "It wasn't bad weird, though. Just... Some medieval looking city and Ryan... You were in this big white room wi-," John is interrupted by Spencer, voicing the same confused thoughts Brendon is experiencing.
"Seriously," he says, looking a Jon a little owl-eyed. "This is uh... Well... I just had that dream! Ryan told me it was almost time-"
"And that he needed you to wake up," Brendon finishes, looking confusedly at Ryan, as though he can explain why he's been traipsing through his friends' dreams all night. "You were wearing these robes and you looked... Like... Different."
Ryan looks even more baffled than Brendon feels. "You all had dreams about me? I don't know, guys..."
"No," Brendon clarifies. "We all had the same dream about you."
Unfortunately that's the last thing any of them get to say before Ryan explodes in a flash of bright white light. Brendon doesn't even have the time to be frightened for his friend or himself before Ryan's light smothers out all else.
***
"You think it's dead?" The voice that wakes Brendon is shrill and excited. "It looks like those others."
Brendon groans as full wakefulness begins to strike. His body aches like a nightmare, his head is pounding, and over the shadowy shoulder of some silhouetted figure, the sun cuts at his vision like knives.
"Nope. Ain't dead," answers a deeper, gruffer voice. Brendon feels something large and solid nudging at his side and looks for the source.
The something turns out to be a large scaly foot which Brendon follows up a scaly leg and a thick scaly torso. He has to shield his eyes, but as the silhouette becomes clearer, Brendon realizes he's looking up a pointed snout into to the beady yellow eyes of some large green scaled humanoid creature. He lets loose with a scream that he would never admit to under normal circumstances and scrabbles back over the thick carpet of pale green grass he's lying on.
"I think that's what he was talkin' about," says the green fellow, surprisingly enough, owner of the shrill voice that had first woken Brendon. He puts one big ugly foot at the small of Brendon's back as he tries to scramble away, pushing him down firmly and holding him in place before he can flee.
"Well, grab it," says a stout little brown creature with a piggish face, mean black eyes, and a low gravelly voice. "And put it with the others."
It's nearly humiliating, but the big lizard looking guy plucks Brendon up without much trouble, tucking him securely under his arm like a load of firewood and squeezing him so tightly that it forces a, 'whuff,' of air from Brendon. Arms trapped at his sides, Brendon fights frantically against his captor, kicking and squirming and yelling obscenities but the two pay him little mind, carrying on a conversation that Brendon eventually slumps and quietens enough to listen to.
"What's he want with it anyway," from the green skinned man carrying Brendon like a package. "It's all funny lookin'. Bet it would taste good. But now, he don't even eat these."
No one's ever actually brandished Brendon at anyone, but the lizard man turns and waves him for the little pig's inspection and Brendon cries out a bit, wriggling against the strong arm around him.
"Eh," the pig waves Brendon away and Brendon sighs and hangs limp in his assailant's grip. "It's something special, I know that. You'd've been around longer and you'd know. He's been looking for these a long time now."
Brendon tunes the rest out, too overwhelmed to take in anymore just now. The way he's hanging he's got a good look at the ground, so he stares blankly at the undergrowth, trying to process the idea of a couple of Lord of the Rings rejects talking about having him for dinner. Only it's not working quite well enough for him so he twists a little, taking in an eerily familiar forest.
"Oh my god," he says. There's no mistaking it, the foreign vegetation, the strange living sounds of the forest. He knows this place. He had been here just the night before in a dream.
His mind is reeling. He takes it in sequence after that, finding Ryan on the couch, sick. The discovery of the shared dream. Ryan had... Oh, god, Brendon hopes Ryan is ok. From what he can tell he's being taken to others like him. His friends? He wonders if they're even here with him, or if this is some strange hell. Maybe he's dead. Maybe the white explosion had been death, a bus crash or something. So, maybe he's dead and this is hell because really it's not as outlandish an idea when Brendon adds giant green lizard men and pig-like little goblins into the equation.
Brendon isn't pulled out of his reverie until the sounds around him change drastically, loud voices and the clang of hammers against metal. Acrid smoke stings his eyes and burns his throat and Brendon cranes his neck around so that he can see the encampment he's being carried through.
He sort of wishes he hadn't, though. The beings here are nightmarish. Each ugly face is worse than the last, mean looking creatures of all sorts and Brendon could even swear that he spots a satyr in the crowd and further away, a giant. He curls in on himself again, unable to look anymore. It's all just too unreal.
"Drop him. Hold his arms," says the pig and a big clawed hand closes around both of Brendon's arms at the elbow before the ironlock arm around him lets go and Brendon falls to the hard packed dirt.
Brendon feels like a rag doll, but there's no real comparison in strength between him and his captor, so he lays face down in the dirt while his hands and feet are tied and a dirty strip of rag is knotted tightly in his mouth. Once satisfied that he's secure, the pig has his green strong arm 'put it away where it goes,' and Brendon is carted off by the rope around his ankles and loaded into the back of a large cart. He lands on top of a lumpy, squirmy pile, to the sound of several muffled cries of pain and discomfort and answers back with one of his own. Once he's left alone it takes Brendon a moment to sort himself and the others in the wagon out, but a flash of relief hits him when he sees Ryan, bound and gagged and pissed off looking but alive and in one piece. Jon's there and Spencer's underneath him, trying his level best to shove Brendon off and Brendon obliges, trying to find some way to lay without crushing one of his friends. They're all breathing heavily by the time each man has a clear spot to himself but no one seems to be injured as far as Brendon can tell, and Ryan's alive, thank god. He just hopes they can all stay that way.
After some time, though, he realizes that no one seems to want to bother them and for god only knows how many hours, Brendon's world is only the dim interior of the wagon and the sound of innumerable hoofed feet hitting the ground outside. Occasionally he'll hear a snatch of conversation in some ugly, guttural tongue, but he passes a good deal of the time in a frightened haze and doesn't notice much at all.
Except Ryan, curled miserably not too far away. Their eyes meet once or twice but Ryan's anxious expression seems to last him all day long.
After a whole day of being jostled in the back of a slow moving wagon, Brendon realizes that his fear has evaporated into a very distinct boredom and an acute discomfort. Beside him, squirmy Ryan is clearly dealing with the same issues and there's a pathetic look on his face when he meets Brendon's eyes that makes him scoot a little closer, so their bodies are touching and Ryan drops his head onto Brendon's shoulder, heaves a great, exhausted sigh and settles in.
***
Brendon is awoken from a sleep he wouldn't have believed he could fall into sometime in the pitch black of very early morning. Outside of their traveling prison wages a battle that he can't see, fierce by the sounds of it. Brendon shares a moment of panic with the three of them and all four sort of instinctively choose to squash together in the middle all at once.
The sounds from outside the wagon are almost too much for Brendon to take. Unintelligible battle cries, the ragged screams of dying creatures far too close to their little wagon. Ominously, somewhere in the distance Brendon hears heavy footfalls that make the wood beneath him tremble. Closer, closer the crashing sound comes until everything Brendon can see shakes and creaks and it sounds like thunder in his ears. There's a sound, like the snapping of a cord and a terrible bellow and the four of them let out frightened shouts as something heavy slams into their wagon from the side, tipping it onto two wheels for one endless second before allowing it to come crashing back to the ground, jarring the prisoners inside. Afraid of what all the commotion might mean for them, the boys huddle together and wait it out anxiously.
Cool dawn light is beginning to creep into the little wagon before the sounds of battle begin to die down. The prisoners exchange anxious looks with one another, terrified all over again. Brendon doesn't know who it is that's fighting their captors, but he hopes to god that there's a whole lot of them. And that they're friendly.
The curtain opens, quite suddenly, right beside Brendon and he catches a glimpse of long pale fingers and a pointed nose and the sound of a rich, deep voice saying, "Here they are! All is well, my lords, we've got you."
Then the cart is moving again, quickly, and Brendon doesn't mind at all because this time it's taking them to safety rather than some unknown doom. They ride for what feels like a long time, not stopping until well after the last ringing cries of battle have faded away and then there's a tall graceful man in the cart with them with a perfect, pale face and ice blue eyes, hair the color of spun silver and a long shining dagger to match.
Brendon's eyes widen and they all move close again now that they've gotten a look at their rescuer. He's pale as death, with sharp features and a smattering of some thick black substance that Brendon thinks might very well be blood on his clothing. Brendon lets out with a strangled cry and Ryan draws back, fearful, when the stranger leans toward him with his blade.
"I'm going to untie you," the man (Brendon thinks he's a man, at least. His ears have an odd point to them that makes Brendon think of Tolkien.) says, placing a large hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Calm down, my lord and lean forward."
Good as his word, the strange looking man cuts the rope around Ryan's wrists and ankles and tugs the gag down over his chin.
"Are you hurt," he wants to know, and Ryan shakes his head numbly, rubbing distractedly at his aching wrists. "All right. And you, sir," he says to Brendon, cuts him free while Ryan starts on Spencer. "Are you well," the stranger asks and Brendon nods his head.
"I just don't..." He trails off, looking from his friends to their rescuer, his expression vividly confused. "Where the hell are we?"
His question isn't answered immediately. Things are the quietest they've been since Brendon's capture while the rest of his band mates are freed and the strange silver-haired man has a cursory look over all of them. He pulls out a silver flask that makes Brendon forget momentarily that he'd even had a question at all because he's pretty sure there's liquid in there of some sort and a drink sounds pretty amazing right now.
"Here," he says, passing the flask to Ryan who takes it without question and turns it up. He doesn't keep it long, there are four of them to one flask, so he passes it to Brendon after a moment and the flask makes it's way down the line.
It tastes like water to Brendon, good, cold, clean water and he leans back against the wall of their wagon after he's passed it to Spencer, savoring the cool swallow for a moment.
"Wow," Ryan says, suddenly and Brendon raises his eyebrows. "That stuff, it--,"
"Oh my god," Brendon interrupts, because now he feels it too, like that sip is spreading busily through his body, waking him up and pushing away the aches and cramps of captivity and hunger. "That's incredible," he says with an amazed looking smile.
The strange man takes a sip from the flask as well before he puts it away and sits on his heels in front of the four of them. "Now," he says once everyone has settled, "your question, lord. Welcome back to Cerroneth. She and her people," here he bows as if to indicate himself," have been waiting for you for a very long time. My name is Albion, personal bodyguard to the Lady Ilyah. And now, to you."
Silence follows Albion's grand declaration. Brendon realizes that his mouth is open, so he closes it, clears his throat and exchanges nonplussed looks with his friends. "Uh," he says.
"Sorry," and it's Jon, hands up as if he can stop the load of confusion being heaped on them. "Albion? Just... What?"
Albion's smile warms up his whole countenance and, suddenly, he's not nearly as terrifying as when he and his dagger had first entered the wagon.
"They had warned me," he says, still smiling, "that you would likely have no memories of your pasts. Fear not. You'll be taken care of, and your memories restored once we reach Clianthia."
"Clianthia," Spencer repeats, and scrubs a hand wearily across his eyes. "I dunno, but could you, like, throw us a bone or something? Please?"
Albion looks confused by Spencer's turn of phrase. "A bone, my lord?"
"A hint?" Judging by Spencer's facial expression, Brendon thinks he's either about to laugh or cry. Perhaps both. "I'm sorry, it's just... Look, one minute we're all on our bus and Ryan, like, exploded," Spencer pauses here, letting all of them absorb the novelty of it all right along with him. "Ok? Ryan explodes and, BAM, there's monsters? I mean, do you see why I'm feeling confused by this?"
"I understand," Albion says, sounding as though he really does. "Unfortunately, we haven't the time to spare for such a tale. In case you didn't realize the demons abducted you for a reason. The four of you are the most wanted men in the land. We must hope that we can reach the safety of Clianthia's walls before all the demons of the underworld come raining down upon our heads." Albion pulls back one of the dirty curtains as he says this, looking toward the sky, then tucks away the flask with its marvelous little elixir and straightens. "I can promise information to you, but only once we reach the city."
"How do we know that we can trust you, though?" Brendon's voice is a little higher than normal and his words stop Albion on his way out of the wagon. "I heard the... things that captured me talking. There's something special about us, right? How do we know we can trust you?"
"I suppose you don't," he says, completely without venom. "But I'm taking you to Clianthia one way or another." He gives Brendon a look that brooks no argument and soon the wagon is moving at a quick clip.
Despite the action-packed day, their first moment alone and free with each other is a quiet one. No one seems to know what to say after the day's events, but Brendon isn't really surprised. He's having trouble processing all of this, too. "Well," he finally says. "I guess I'd rather be kidnapped by that guy than those other ones. Might as well trust him?"
Brendon gets three listless nods in answer and sighs quietly to himself. He feels every bit as out of sorts as they look so Brendon doesn't try to talk anymore, just slouches a bit where he sits and tries to think his way through the maze forming in his head.
If nothing else, he knows at least that he has a city called Clianthia in his future. He doesn't know if it's going to be a good thing or bad, but it's the only certainty he's got now that every thing's gone topsy turvy, so he thinks about that and doesn't call Ryan out when he feels the thin fingers of his frightened friend curling around his own.
Onward!