DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of 100% FICTION and contains descriptions of explicit sexual acts between 2 consenting teenage boys. This story is based 100% off of my IMAGINATION and does NOT reflect the views of the celebrities mentioned. If this type of content offends you or if it is illegal for you to read this type of material, please don't.
Enjoy.
What Happened to the Green Fairies? By Danimpa
Chapter 34
Earldom of Cornwall, England June, 1398
I'm not entirely sure what happened next. I think someone wrenched me away from Matt's body and led me back to the Celts where I was supposed to pass on the orders that now came from Johannes.
I have absolutely no idea how I managed to get through that night, how I kept standing and yelling orders while my brother was dead. I barely remember it.
When it was all over and we'd won someone took me to my chambers and sent me in.
I stood, completely motionless, completely impassive until I felt a pair of strong arms lock around my waist.
I didn't understand why Brendon would want to help me when he'd made it clear that he was leaving me, but at the moment I didn't have enough brain capacity to ponder it. I let him embrace me, collapsed against him almost, sobbing hard while I felt my world fall apart around me.
He slowly backed me up against the bed, lowered me onto it and got in next to me, pulling up the sheets and blankets and wrapping his arms around me again.
Not even being with him more intimately would console me and I think we both knew that even if he didn't know what had happened.
That other place he could usually take me to seemed farther away than ever before.
Over the next five days I only left my chamber once, to stagger down the hallways and give Agatha Matt's message.
We'd both broken down crying at the same time and I'd found myself sobbing in the arms of a servant, my brother's girl.
I'd neglected dinner that night. To be perfectly honest I had all the nights. There just wasn't a point in trying to keep myself healthy when I knew that I had nothing left to live for.
I avoided Jacqueline for all costs, made sure she never entered my chambers for any reason. Even just seeing her brought the thought of what I was losing that much closer and that made me sick.
On the sixth day I went to speak to my father.
He wasn't in his study this time, was in his bedchamber instead since his injuries seemed to only have gotten worse.
The usually so large man looked small under his sheets and blankets. His formerly black hair had a generous amount of white and grey in it that I'd never noticed before. His face was sunken and more wrinkled than I'd ever seen it. "George," he greeted, his voice weak and cracking.
"Father," I returned, bending my head slightly in greeting.
"What do you come for now?" he questioned.
"I can't marry her," I answered. "Please let me get out of it, but I can't. It'll kill me."
His face fell. "You must and you will," he groaned out. "We cannot afford to insult the Upper Lorrainers any more than you can afford to go without an heir for much longer. And I doubt your silliness will kill you."
"I can't live without him," I muttered.
"You can," he returned. "Your blood must go on, even if your body is forced to go with a dead spirit."
"Was that what happened to you after Matt's mother died?" I questioned, bitterness residing in my voice by then.
"I have done my duty to the bloodline," he muttered. "You have cost me my darling daughter and the son I loved. You are the son I need and if you don't do your duty you're trampling on their memories."
"They would understand," I whispered.
"You need to pay for all you've been given, George. An heir for Cornwall and one for Ross." His eyes got their hard look again, icy blue shade drilling through me. "I will not let you fail or refuse me."
I hitched in a breath. "Is the heart not sometimes more important than the blood it pumps through our bodies?"
He shook his head weakly. "It never is, son. The blood is everything."
And that was all I was. I was defined by blood rather than mind and emotions, would never be judged on my gifts and curses or my abilities or what I went through in life.
Nothing but a breeding bull.
And finally, for the first time in my life, that was all I could see myself as as well.
In myself I was absolutely worthless. My bloodline, my family, the number of children I could produce was all there was to me.
I left Father's bedchamber feeling even emptier than I had before.
Brendon was still there when I returned to my chambers, huddled down on a chair while he squinted nearsightedly into a book, apparently reading. He slammed the book shut upon my entry, blinking for a few moments before managing to focus his eyes on me. "You look bad," he stated.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, not wanting to talk about it.
He sighed. "Will you at least eat? I'll have something sent up here."
I shook my head again.
"Ryan..." he sighed, sad look on his face. "You're wasting away."
"You knew I would," I returned, a hard edge to my voice.
"Don't pin this on me," he growled. "She has no place in any happy ending you and I could've had."
"I know," I muttered, suddenly losing my anger towards him. I couldn't blame him for trying to save himself. "Let's not do this, not tonight."
He sighed but nodded, reaching out to push a long, brown lock of hair out of my face. Then he leaned in, capturing my lips with his own while his hands settled on my chest, pushing me backwards, out of the study and into my bedchamber where I was gently lowered onto the bed. "Tonight is for last everythings," he muttered.
I nodded, raising my head up to meet his lips after he'd gotten situated on top of me.
He took control, pushing his tongue into my mouth and starting to caress my own with it while his hands ran up and down my sides, gripping onto me every now and then. Then he ground down against me, extracting a weak moan from my throat.
I barely had time to realise what was happening before he had our clothes off and leaned down to kiss me again.
"I still love you," he whispered into my mouth. "Always and no matter what. Please remember that."
Tears were gathering at my eyes, the first soon slipping out of the edge.
He hesitated, looked down at me in concern. "Do you want this?"
Want him to leave? Want my life to fall apart? No.
This? "Yes," I answered.
He gulped and moved his mouth a little to kiss away the stray tears before he pushed into me.
I let out a gasp, revelling in the feeling of fulfilment as it coursed through me, uniting our bodies like so many times before.
His thrusts were long and deep, hitting home and sending sparks through me even as I felt his tears hit my face and mingle with my own on my cheeks.
But that night he couldn't take me away, couldn't bring me the horizon and beyond as he'd so often been able to before. It wasn't all love; it was bittersweet. It was goodbye. That realization shot through me, hurting every fibre of my being.
I never wanted it to end, because afterwards we'd fall asleep and the next morning I'd wake up alone.
But there's no postponing of the inevitable.
We let go simultaneously, he with a moan and myself with a soft scream.
When we cuddled up to each other to sleep, we were both still crying, both still broken.
Somehow, though, I fell asleep immediately.
I was wandering the familiar hallways of the castle in which I grew up. I was searching for something but I didn't know what.
Entering the dining hall, I suddenly knew, looking at the family seated there.
I knew everything about the frail man seated at the head of the table, picking at his food.
I knew about his wife, about his sons, blonde George of Cornwall and brunette Ryan of Ross.
I knew that every wrinkle on his face and every grey hair had it's own story to tell, knew why he looked like an ancient, wizened wreck of a hunched over man although he was only thirty.
I knew that he'd made his sacrifice, that he'd woken up alone one morning and married his betrothed and had slowly withered away from that day on.
I knew that his spirit had died on the day when he'd learned that his former lover had been burnt at the stake by the church after having been discovered while bedding another man.
I knew that he couldn't bring himself to care for the sons he'd never wanted, that he was the cold, unloving father he'd grown up with himself.
I knew that all he felt for his wife was contempt, that bedding her made him sick to the very core of his being.
I knew that he was all alone, a bitter man, old beyond his years.
I knew that he'd forgotten how to love, and that nobody in his life loved him.
I knew that every trace there'd ever been of a good man in him was gone.
I knew that he lived only for his bloodline, that he despised himself and wished only for death to finally embrace him.
I knew, looking at his sickly frame and sunken cheeks and empty eyes, at the way his twisted hands shook when he held his knife and fork without using them to eat that his time was up.
I knew that he wouldn't wake up the next morning.
I knew that I was a lost cause.
I knew that it was all hopeless and that this truly would be the end of us.