A.N

Well were to begin? Firstly I am sorry about the wait real life got in the way and the next thing I knew it was like 3 years later and I still hadn't gotten back to this story. So I would like to apologize for that. I am back now. It may be a little slow but I should begin updating everything regularly now. So here is the next part of the Oh Crap saga. Read and review please.

Maria handled the reins of the large Vanners that pulled her wagon with a deftness that came with long years of practice. Her thoughts on the young man who occupied one of her spare beds. She liked Erik, there was something about him that was hard not to like. Even if she couldn't – quite – put her finger on it. Still, she was worried about the Boy. She didn't like the look in his eyes. His smile never reached his eyes, and she often caught him staring into space. Just as often, it was out the door or window of her wagon. She found him gazing down at the little locket he'd been found with almost every night, a mixture of profound loss and longing on his normally passive face.

She'd also found him curled up in the corner of his cot, back straight, picking at the roughly spun fabric of his shirt. She wished she could give him something better, the clothing he'd been found in marked him as being from a well off, if not noble family. He couldn't be comfortable in clothing that was poor quality and rough, even by the standards of nomads. Yet, he never said a word about his discomfort, to the point that she was beginning to suspect that the action wasn't one of discomfort, but rather a habit born from a fastidious nature. From his bearing and demeanor she suspected he was both an officer and a gentleman. Which led her to suspect that the habit was ingrained from military dress codes and the result of the seamstress's lack of skill with a needle. However, since Philip was the one who'd saved the boy's life, Erik was his responsibility; and would be until he either left, married into the caravan. As such she Philip's decisions were law as far as Erik was concerned.

The boy was recovering from his adventure, but there was little she could do about his ankle. The severity of his other injuries, had relegated it the last of their worries in the fight for his life. By the time she'd been able to get to it. It had already started to set wrong, and despite trying there had been little she could do to fix it. One of the large city healers could possibly do something for it, but it was firmly beyond her ability to fix. Had he belonged to the Caravan, they would have funded an examination to see what could be done as soon as they reached the next large city. But he was not of the caravan and the decision fell to Philip, and the boy was being obstinate about it. He'd taken one look at the limb and pronounced Erik a cripple and a drain upon the clan. As a result the clothing Philip had brought for Erik to wear was little more than rags and thread bear to boot.

It had taken hours of arguing but she had finally convinced her grandson to at least provide the boy with proper clothing. However, even that had a cost. Philip was animate that because Erik could never repay his family through labor the cost of clothing, bedding, food and medical care would have to come from somewhere. Philip planned to sell the boy's original clothing when they came to the capital city and use the funds to provide functional clothing and bedding. Stating that he would use any excess to fund an examination by an out clan healer.

She didn't like it, but she could see her grandson's point and Milo had ruled it an understandable request. The cloak's hem was ruined but Philip should still be able to get a good deal for it and the rest of the clothing. Particularly if he took the time to remove the ebony velvet that decorated the yoke, collar and hem. That and the silver wire embroidery would fetch a pretty penny if sold separately. The Boy's single remaining knee length riding boot, was ebony leather of the highest quality and could easily be crafted into something new. Again Philip should be able to get a silvers more out of it provided he removed the silver embroidery around the cuff and shaft, hell if the boy was smart he'd remove the eyelets as well. It would likely go a long way towards providing for Erik if Philip handled it wisely.

Hours later, after setting up camp for the night she returned to her wagon to find the boy with his nose buried in one of her books. A small gasp escaped her at the sight. For several reasons, the first being that, while she'd left the tomb within reach that morning, it was rather heavy, and given the state of his injuries she was surprised he'd even attempted to lift it. Beyond that, the majority of her surprise stemmed from cultural issues. The men of her caravan were literate, however, none of them would ever lower themselves enough to pick up a book, particularly not one on herbal remedies. Not when there were other things they could do. She'd left him with a couple of small things the young men of the caravan used to keep themselves entertained when forced to endure an extended stay in her company. They all lay where she'd left them, there placement suggesting that he had no idea what to make of them.

"I'm sorry." He said softly, turning to look at her. "I didn't mean to intrude, but I'm afraid I got bored.

She offered him a small smile, "It's quite alright, I was merely surprised you could read it, child. As well as by the fact that you hadn't perished of boredom. I'm afraid that old thing isn't very interesting."

He returned her smile, before rubbing the bridge of his nose in a manner that suggested his eyes hurt. "On the contrary, I find it to be quite fascinating. When I get home I will have to ask…someone to teach me more."

OCOCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Maria hummed, softly to herself as she mixed powdered herbs into the porridge that would soon become Erik's morning meal. The young man was, still in rather bad condition; and due to how long he'd been unconscious, he still wasn't eating large meals, or anything truly solid. It was simply easier to mix the many medications she was giving him into the porridge anyway, and so far the boy didn't seem to mind. Although the look on his face when she'd handed him the first bowl full had been priceless. He'd visibly choked in surprise and distaste at the bitter taste of the medication that had laced the broth she'd first given him; but had said nothing of the flavor. He'd finished his bowl without a single complaint, and actually gone so far as complimented her cooking.

She'd suppressed a laugh, at his rather obvious display of manners, not wishing to bruise his obvious pride and dignity. If nothing else she would say this for the boy, whoever he was his mother had raised him well. She offered him a smile and handed him the wooden bowl.

"Thank you," he said in a soft tone and shifted into a more comfortable position and began to eat.

She nodded and returned to her usual morning tasks. She generally ate along with the people who prepared the morning meal, well before the rest of the caravan was even awake. Thus providing her with more time to see to her patients, and to prepare the herbs, poultices, tinctures and the other various things she had to do as a part of her trade. At the moment she was working on grinding several types of dried herbs down into fine powders.

"Maria?" Erik's voice was soft and tentative.

She looked up, to find him watching her with intense brown eyes. "What is it child?"

"What is in this?" he enquired, gesturing at the bowl.

Her smile was sad and her tone mild when she replied "its porridge dear."

To her surprise, Erik laughed. It was deeper then she expected from such a slight man. "I remember that much," he admitted in a sad tone that contained an absurd amount of pride at that one simple fact. "What I meant was what is in it?"

Maria blinked, "in terms of what is it made of? Or are you referring to the medicine you're taking?"

"The latter, not the former." Erik replied.

"There is a mixture of poppy and willow bark, feverfew, chamomile, lavender, rosemary, comfrey, Calendula, hawthorn, Rosehips, oatstraw, horsetail, nettles, rosemary, ginger, cardamom, Dandelion leaf, raspberry, and peppermint, in that dear."

Erik was silent for a few minutes before enquiring "poppy," in a tentative tone.

"I am using a mixture of herbs on you. It seems willow bark alone is not enough to handle the amount of pain you're in." she paused, before adding, "How is your vision? I've noticed you've been squinting at things and rubbing your eyes."

He sighed, "It's a little hard to read." He confessed after a few minutes of silence.

"Still having headaches?"

He looked down, shoulders sagging and nodded.

"We'll find a way to fix that." She assured him. She didn't want to worry the boy, but his near constant headaches were beginning to alarm her. The headaches were centered in a single spot on the boy's head, near the base of his skull. To make matters worse, they started in a single place, but radiated outwards. They also came on suddenly and progressed rapidly, peaking within 60 seconds and had been known to last up to a week. They were debilitating, leaving the poor boy nauseous, dizzy and sensitive to both light and sound.*i

"Can I help you with that?" he enquired after a moment's silence.

She blinked and wondered again about the culture the boy had been raised in. Most of the Caravan's men tended to treat women as inferior. She was the exception to that convention by the nature of being both the Caravan head's mother and the Clan's healer. Erik treated her like an equal, and did so without so much as a second thought.

She considered his request for a moment before getting up and grabbing a second mortar and pestle. He was still largely immobile thanks to his various injuries. He was capable of sitting up when supported by pillows, but it would be impossible to move him to a table, his injuries were to sever. She set the supplies down and propped the boy up, so that he was a bit more secure. It took a bit of work to figure out a secure way to hold the mortar so the boy didn't hurt himself, but in the end they settled for having the boy grip the stone tool with his thighs. It was not a difficult task to teach him how to use the mortar and pestle, though it was a comical sight. Muddling didn't seem to faze him at all, though the high pitched alarmed sound that escaped his lips when she showed him the bashing movement used to break up larger chunks was amusing.

OCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Maria sighed when Daniel handed her the abandoned puppy. Tiny for his breed, he was one of a litter of seventeen. Under normal circumstances, the caravan raised an abandoned pup, however, this pup was the youngest and smallest of five litters of similar size. His mother had abandoned him due to a lack of milk. It was unfortunate but they just couldn't justify the time required to hand raise this little pup. Had he been born any other year there would have been someone available to bottle feed the little guy, but things being what they were… she was going to mix a potion with a bit of milk, it was kinder then letting the little thing waste away from hunger.

She entered her wagon, puppy in hand to find Erik squinting up at the ceiling above his bed. The book on medical herbs he'd been reading when she left, lay discarded on the floor. Judging from the state of his bedding, she suspected that he had dropped it and been unable to retrieve it himself. Not surprising given his injuries. She stifled a giggle, somehow she got the impression that he was usually far to dignified to actually pout. However, there was no other word for the expression on his face, not when he was collapsed next to the pillows that had earlier propped him up. She set the puppy down on the bed next to him, watching with something akin to sadness as the little ball of orange fluff snuggled into his side. She sighed softly at the unfair hand fate had dealt both the boy and the puppy before fluffing Erik's pillows and helping him to lean back against them with the brisk efficiency of long practice. That done she stooped and picked up the heavy book placing it next to the young man, who seemed more interested in the small dog at his side.

The idea struck her then, a chance to make two lives just a little bit better. "Shame," she said as she briskly poured a small quantity of milk into an old wineskin. "About the dog, I mean."

Erik glanced up at her. "What's wrong with the little one?" he asked softly.

She suppressed a smile at his interest. "Nothing," she replied, carefully watching her tone. She suspected Erik would not appreciate her medaling. "It's the bitch's first litter, and she doesn't have enough milk for all of her pups. She's abandoned this one."

Erik closed his eyes, "poor little thing," he whispered. "A mother should never abandon her children. Are you going to hand raise him?" he enquired nodding to the wineskin of goat's milk in her hand.

She sighed, "Under normal circumstances, but we have too many puppies this year, and no one has the time to hand raise this one." That wasn't really the problem, but it was close enough that it didn't really matter.

Caravan dogs belonged to everyone and no one. They ate what they hunted and scraps from caravan meals. They protected the caravan and lived among them, sharing the warmth of the fire and residing under the wagons for shelter. The only true concession the caravan made to the dogs was to share their food in the hard weather, and to transport the pregnant bitches and young pups in an open supply wagon. They didn't want the dogs bonding with anyone in particular because camp dogs could be dangerous when bonded to a particular person. They would lay down their lives for that person.

Dering her mother's youth, a dog had bonded tightly to a child with an abusive step-father, and torn the man's throat out trying to protect the girl. There had been little the caravan had been able to do to stop it. Caravan dogs were large and males typically reached 120-130 pounds. Powerful, independent, dominant and fiercely protective of anything they saw as their own, they would kill anything they saw as a threat. To prevent this when they hand reared the occasional pup they rotated who fed them so that the dog would not bond with any one person.

Erik gazed up at her out of his fathomless silver flecked brown eyes, and shifted the puppy closer to his hip. "I have the time," he offered.

She smiled at him, "That is a great idea." She replied, handing him the wineskin.

Erik raised an eyebrow as he took the milk from her. "You planned this." He accused in a mild tone, lifting the small puppy so that he could feed it.

"Can you blame me?" she asked, marveling at the gentle and practiced manner he held the small little creature. Her heart broke at the sight and she wondered, not for the first time if somewhere a child was missing their father.

"No, I suppose I can't." Erik replied, as he gazed down at the small bundle of fur in his arms.

Maria smiled, "what are you going to call him?" she enquired after a moment's hesitation. Most of the Caravan dogs were unnamed, but she doubted this dog would ever belong to the caravan, and she knew that should the time come when the boy found his way home there would be nothing they could do to stop the dog from following.

He gazed down at the dog for a moment running his fingers through the animal's downy orange hair, tears formed in the corner of his eyes and he blinked them away. "Yozak," he replied in a soft, lost and heartbroken tone.

OCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Yuri sat on his mother's sofa head bowed, as he mourned the recent passing of his much beloved Godfather. He didn't know what to do, didn't know how to comfort Conrad's family, his family. Wolfram blamed himself, citing the fact that Conrart would never have been dressed in such a manor if he hadn't demanded it of him. Yuri had tried everything he could think of to reassure the other man that it was not his fault. Conrart's foot had gotten stuck in the stirrup. It could have happened to anyone, at any time. Wolfram had then pointed out the fact that Conrart was a strong swimmer, and never would have drowned if it weren't for his damned heavy cloak, an article of clothing his normal habits saw him forgoing in favor of more practical military clothing. Yuri had reminded him in as gentle a manner possible that they didn't even know if Conrad had been alive when he'd hit the water.

In the end he'd resorted to taking Wolfram away from everything that reminded Wolfram of his "little big brother" and their often tremulous relationship. His father was with Wolfram. Just talking, and helping the younger man to work through his emotions. He glanced up as a small cup of sake appeared under his nose, and met Shori's concerned gaze.

"Mother called me," the Earth's Demon King informed him in a mild tone. "She said you needed me."

Yuri reached out and took the alcohol downing the little cup in one go, not even tasting it. "Conrad's dead." He said after a second staring at the little cup like it held the answers to the universe.

Shori stiffened and dropped onto the sofa beside him. "Lord Weller and I never saw eye to eye on anything." He stated after a moment. "Accept perhaps one thing, you. If he died keeping you safe, he would not have regretted it."

"It was an accident. A stupid, needless, accident!" Yuri raged, he rose to his feet and flung the delicate little cup at the far wall, taking immense pleasure in the sound it made as it shattered against the far wall. "He shouldn't have been riding that… that damn worthless beast in the first place. I have never seen such a stupid animal. It all but threw them both off that cliff." He stopped gasping for breath, tears running down the sides of his face. "We saw it happen, knew it was going to happen but none of us could do anything before it was too late. Shinou, Shori, he must have been terrified. He was always so brave. Hell, he faced everything with his head held high, and all I can remember when I try to think of him is the look of shock and alarm on his face as the ground gave way. Every time I close my eyes, I – Shori I can still hear him scream. I don't think I am ever going to forget that sound. "

He jumped when Shori's hand landed on his shoulder, in a light comforting squeeze. "I don't think the sense of loss will ever go away." He said, his tone gentle and full of compassion. "It will lessen, but you will never stop missing Conrad. In time you will be able to look back with fond memories. Conrad had a son, yes?"

Yuri inclined his head.

"Then focus on that. Keep your memories of Conrart alive so that you can share them with his child."

OCOCOCOCOCOCOCOC

Yozak started awake when Ayden scrambled into bed with him. The small boy shivered as he pressed himself closer to his chest in search of comfort more than warmth. Yozak wrapped his arm around his son's slim form and cradled his child in an embrace that was as desperate as it was comforting. It was odd how much the boy's mannerisms reminded him of his mother. Conrart had always gotten chilled easily, being entirely to fine boned and slender with a body that burned through food at such a fast rate that it was actually difficult for him to gain weight. He'd often tucked himself against Yozak's chest seeking comfort after a nigh terror when they had been small boys. Everything about Ayden's small frame reminded Yozak of his mother, even the way the boy tucked himself into a position that should have been painful, nose tucked under his shoulder and knees drawn up so tight that his body bowed with the unnatural flexibility of youth. Even the cold feet were a familiar and painful reminder of what they had both lost.

Ayden had often crawled into bed with them, sandwiching himself between the comforting bulk of both of his parent's warm bodies. Shielded from the monsters lurking in the dark by two people who would happily sacrifice themselves upon the blade of his protection. Conrart had been one of the strong and stable pillars that Ayden's world had been built around, and Yozak was at a loss. He didn't know how to help his son deal with that loss. He vaguely remembered helping Conrart through Dan Hiri's loss, he remembered his own feelings of overwhelming grief, of loss, of hopeless bewilderment and vulnerability at the loss of his own mother so many decades ago. However, he had no idea how to go about fixing this for his son. Conrart was as much a pillar of strength and courage for him as he was for their son. Conrart had existed at the center of Yozak's world since he'd ridden into Yozak's life all those years ago, a little prince upon a white (technically dun) pony.

How was he supposed to go on without him?

"Papa? Member when we used to do this with mama?" Ayden asked already more than half asleep.

Yozak looked down at his son's crown of chestnut hair and smiled, "Yes little one, I do." He replied in a gentle tone, ruffling the small boy's hair.

Ayden yawned and snuggled closer, "When's mama coming back?"

Yozak froze, he didn't want to believe Conrart was dead, was planning to go out and search for Conrart again as soon as he got the chance, he secretly had the nation's top spies searching even now. But was it right to give his son false hope? He wasn't sure, but at the same time it seemed worse to let the child believe his mother was dead, when there was no proof and he didn't believe it himself.

"I don't know, honey." He confessed after a moment of indecision. His heart broke as Ayden's face fell.

"Doesn't mama love us anymore?" the boy whimpered in a tone so soft, Yozak almost hadn't heard him.

Yozak closed his eyes against the heart rending emotional pain that welled up at that question. "Ayden," he said, in a tone that was gentle but firm. "Listen to me. Your mother loves you. That will never change. He's not coming home because he cannot. I don't know when or if he ever will be able to come home. What I do know is that if there is any way for him to come home he will find it." He paused, before adding, "And I promise you, I won't stop looking until I know for certain that there is no hope."

Heart breaking, he held his little boy as the small child shed tears of grief for a loss he was still too young to understand. Tears streamed down his own cheeks and he fought not to give way to the anger that burned in his soul at the senseless loss. He hadn't wanted this for his child, he had lost both of his parents at a young age, had stood beside his best friend when the man had lost his own father and weathered the grief that came with the loss. The last thing he wanted was for his son to live through a similar tragedy. This was a pain Ayden should never have known, not when both of his parent's shared his extended lifespan.

His son's breathing finally evened out in sleep and Yozak made a solemn vow into the slumbering child's hair as he cradled him close to his chest. He would not put himself at risk again, Ayden needed at least one parent. He'd lost his mother, Yozak was not going to place his son at risk of becoming an orphan if he could prevent it. As for Conrart, when he found his husband - and he would, one way or another – he was going to ensure Conrart was out of harm's way as well.

He was going to find his husband, and when he did he would protect his family from any other threat that might appear. He didn't care if he had to wrap them in cotton batting to do it.

If nothing else the look on Conrart's face would make the extreme reaction worth pursuing.

i if you have headaches that are anything like this please see a doctor.