lost in translation || the last kingdom

finan's revenge

Osferth had not let Finan forget about the incident with Hild for several weeks. Every time they seemingly came close to forgetting, Osferth would bring it up and everyone would collapse into laughter once again. Finan would join in, but if Osferth thought Finan was just going to let this slide, he would be sorely mistaken.

The same day it had happened, Finan had already started planning his own revenge. He knew it would take patience, a virtue he felt he was lacking in, but he could not rush this - Osferth was not stupid. He would know immediately what Finan was up to if he was suddenly being offered Gaelic lessons.

So Finan had no choice but to wait. Weeks turned into months, and eventually a whole year had passed before he found the perfect opportunity to strike.

The alehouse was busy that evening as Finan found them both a table in the far corner, the best one in his opinion. From a table across them, he could hear men speaking Gaelic interspersed with loud peals of laughter, and Osferth immediately nudged him.

"Are they Irish too?" he asked.

Finan grinned. "I think they are," he said. "We should go an' say hello. Come on, baby monk."

However, Osferth did not stand up. "I don't speak Gaelic, Finan," he said.

Fighting the smirk that threatened to rise on his face felt almost impossible, but Finan managed it somehow. "I'll tell 'em that," he said, "unless you'd like to impress them an' speak some Gaelic too."

Finan was half-expecting Osferth to shake his head and decline, but to his surprise the young man nodded, seemingly having forgotten the Latin incident. "What do I say?"

"Well, y'know, somethin' general. 'Hello, it's good to meet you', that sort of thing."

"Yes, but in Gaelic," said Osferth in a deadpan voice when Finan did not elaborate.

The Irishman smirked. "I'm gettin' there, I'm gettin' there," he said. "'Brísfaídh mé do magairlí' means 'hello, it's a pleasure to meet you'. Quite formal but y'are meetin' a stranger, after all."

He repeated it slowly several more times until Osferth had managed to pronounce it as correctly as he could manage.

"Brísfaídh mé do magairlí," Osferth said, looking pleased with himself when Finan finally decided it was up to scratch. "Shall we go and talk to them now?"

Finan laughed, patting his arm. "Patience," he said in a wise voice, as though he was a master at it himself. "You can't just greet them and leave it at that, can you?"

Osferth frowned. "I s'pose not."

"Usually," continued Finan, "they'd reply with 'téigh trasna ort féin', which means 'we are very well, thank you, how are you', or 'dun do bheal', which is a more informal version of that, I'd say."

Watching Osferth nodding along and trying to remember everything he was saying almost made Finan feel bad.

Almost.

"What should I say to that?" asked Osferth.

"Well, normally, you'd say 'good, thank you'."

"In Gaelic," he repeated, rolling his eyes. The Irishman couldn't stifle a laugh.

"Only pullin' your leg, baby monk," he grinned. "This is a bit of a long one, but you'd be expected to say 'rach thu agus a' sgoil an leathar de bhur paithar'. It means exactly what I just told you."

Osferth's eyes widened slightly at the amount he was having to learn, but Finan did not mind being patient for that much longer while he helped him practise his pronunciation, until it was nearly perfect.

Finally, Finan set down his mug of ale, grinning at the prospect of finally getting Osferth back for what he had done the previous year. "We can go over now, if you like," he said, laughing at how enthusiastic the poor bastard was in getting up.

Osferth was muttering the phrases he had learned under his breath, practising his pronunciation all the way over to the table of Irishmen.

Finan briefly greeted his fellow countrymen in Gaelic, and was received well - it was only natural, after all. Before he could lose the chance, he quickly pushed Osferth forward to divert attention from himself, having told the men there was something the young man wanted to tell them. The men looked towards him in friendly anticipation.

"Brísfaídh mé do magairlí," announced Osferth with all the confidence in the world. Finan had to look down to the ground to avoid his laughter being seen, much the same way Osferth had at the nunnery.

The men all looked at each other. Some of them were smirking, others were frowning.

"Gabh mo leithscéal?" said the man seated closest to Osferth with an amused expression. Although Finan knew that meant 'excuse me', Osferth did not. Regardless, the poor man continued on.

"Rach thu agus a' sgoil an leathar de bhur paithar," he grinned.

The man's smirk immediately fell away, to be replaced with an angry glint in his eye.

"Féachaint ar do bhéal," he said in warning, standing up to face him. Finan was about to intervene, knowing that Osferth had just been told to watch his mouth, but before he could say anything, the man had already repeated himself.

"Rach thu agus a' sgoil an leathar de bhur paithar," he said, emphasising his words a little more.

Finan knew at once that it had gone too far. As he was about to pull Osferth aside and explain to the men that it was all a large misunderstanding, the man drew his fist back and punched Osferth square in the face, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground had Finan not caught hold of him. He pulled him to one side before the man could hit him again.

"Finan!" Osferth said demandingly, roughly wiping the blood streaming from his nose. "Finan, what was that? What happened? What did I - what did he hit me for?"

Swearing profusely under his breath, Finan stood in between them, frantically explaining to the men that it had all been a joke, that Osferth did not understand a word of the language he had just spoken and that Finan himself had put him up to this. "It's not his fault," he said, his arm still shielding Osferth. "It's my fault, not his."

Another man, one who had been snickering from the beginning, spoke up. "You chose the wrong man, that's all," he said amiably. "Cathán's got a fuckin' temper on him. What's more, he's got a little sister back home."

"What's that got to do with anything?" asked Osferth irritably, his words a little muffled from his continued attempts to stem the bleeding.

"You told him first that you'd break his balls," Finan said apologetically, "and then you told him to go an' fuck his sister. Twice."

As the men seated at the table roared with laughter, Osferth glared at Finan, who felt more than a little ashamed. If looks could kill, he would have been six feet under a long time ago.

"Sorry," he added, a little feebly.

Osferth rolled his eyes and turned to leave, one hand still held under his nose. Quickly Finan apologised to the group, before he caught up with him. "I'm sorry, baby monk, really," he said, stopping him with a hand. "Here." He handed Osferth a cloth, which was taken rather reluctantly, but it did help.

"Was this your revenge, then?" Osferth asked, looking slightly less annoyed now. "You waited an awfully long time for it."

Finan shrugged. "I had to make sure you'd forget."

"It must've killed you, having to wait so long," continued Osferth, now smiling.

"It nearly did."

Osferth laughed. "So, we're even. What do we do now?"

Finan stopped him in his tracks, looking more serious than he had ever looked before as he posed his own question.

"D'you reckon Sihtric needs a Gaelic lesson?"