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.
I hope no one is disappointed. Enjoy! :)
What Happened to the Green Fairies? By Danimpa
Chapter 29
Earldom of Salisbury, England May, 1398
"Ryan of Ross, huh?" Frederick asked with a sadistic smile as he started circling me, giving the morning star a small swing as if just to show of the ease with which he carried it. "Should've known you were just a good for nothing Scottish Celt."
"Cúis-bhúirt a dhéanamh de neach-dúbhlain," I stated lowly. "It won't work."
"What now?" he asked, quickly ridding himself of the nervous look that had crossed over his face. "Hoping that summoning your druids will help you?"
I allowed myself a small smile.
It was no secret that Celts, while abhorred by the English, frightened them.
If that was something I could play to my advantage, then I had nothing against it even despite the fact that I considered myself more English than Gaelic.
"And Ryan," he added. "Is that not a girls' name?"
I rolled my eyes. The taunting was getting ridiculous. Many Gaelic names could be used for both males and females. Mine was predominantly male, though. "There are many Celts in Britain," I stated slowly. "And many of mixed blood. It shouldn't frighten you as it does." I smiled slightly, not a happy smile, though. A determined one, as the anger that had fueled the duel rose in me again. "You've even shared your bed with one."
"And that is the only thing you barbarians are good for," he returned, still circling me.
"If so, you shouldn't have had the need to force yourself upon one, oh great, pure blooded Englishman," I added, an edge to my voice now as the anger grew to heights I'd never experienced it at before.
"Badly trained dogs only answer to other dogs," he growled harshly.
"Angasbore," I muttered through teeth that were now clenched.
"If you wish to mock me, could you at least do it in a proper language?" he requested harshly, eyes narrowing.
"Do not display your ignorance so clearly, Salisbury," I answered, minding my footwork as I kept my part of the circular movements going. I was waiting for him to lash out first.
And finally he did, taking a sudden step forward to give his weapon a testing swing at me.
I stepped out of the way of the first mace quickly, deflecting the blow of the second one with the edge of my shield.
He swung again, harder this time, and due to my complete lack of experience with this weapon, I for a moment had no idea what I should do.
I couldn't parry, I couldn't really do a lot at all. I wound up using my shield again, wondering for a moment how long the wood of it would be able to withstand the blows.
The blow send sparks of pain up my arm and into my shoulder, but the force of it had made the spikes of his maces dig into my shield, and I had a moment while he wrenched them free.
Mustering all power in my arm, I raised my own morning star and gave it a swing.
In my eyes it barely moved, and he easily got the shield up in front of him, making my maces bounce almost pitifully off.
What he lacked in brain power, he possessed in physical strength.
For once in my life it worried me that my situation was the opposite.
He'd managed to get his weapon free and was swinging at me again.
Once more raising my shield was all I could do, and again his spikes got stuck.
This time, though, he changed his grip of the handle of his weapon with a sadistic smile, and then moved his arm in a way that completely wrenched the shield away from me, and I stood, completely bare and unprotected while he was fumbling with getting his morning star free again.
I had a single moment to save myself, a single moment where I could use both hands to lift my weapon and launch at him. And I did, made a powerful swing that impressed even myself.
But he was quick enough to raise my own, now released, shield, and my spikes dug into it, getting stuck as his had before.
That same smile played evilly on his lips as he did another hand movement.
My morning star left my hand and flew through the air to where Frederick was tossing my shield.
There was nothing left to protect me, only a mere chain mail, and everybody knows that those only offer marginal protection.
His morning star flew towards me and I tried desperately to jump out of the way, but the first mace caught the back of my head and I felt about three spikes cutting through the skin and flesh and scraping meanly at my skull while the other one bit into my right shoulder, probably shattering, or at least breaking, the bones there.
White-hot pain shot through me and dizziness overtook me quickly and the moment the weapon released its painful grasp, I fell to the ground with a cry.
He moved to stand above me, still grinned as he raised the weapon again.
I could see the crimson colour of my own blood glinting on some of the spikes, could see my own death closing in on me as he took aim, obviously to kill this time.
The sky opened and the rain finally set in, hard from the first moment as it pounded down on us, making the smell of rust immediately rise from our chain mail.
I wasn't ready to die, especially without having inflicted anything on my opponent at all. I wasn't ready to leave Brendon alone in a world that hated everything he was.
Outlawed, half-blood, disliking of girls.
I couldn't do it, but I also couldn't prevent it.
I didn't want Frederick's face and the ugly morning star to be the last things I saw before I died, though, and as the dizziness grew stronger and the blow came closer and my hair and clothes got soaked from rain and mud, I turned my face to look at my brother.
He wasn't there, though, wasn't at the spot I'd last seen him in, the spot where he was supposed to remain throughout the duel.
Looking around a bit more, I also realised that my morning star had been released from my shield and was nowhere to be found.
I started wondering where that next blow was at, why it wasn't there yet, and then I heard a loud, blood-curdling scream and as quickly as I could without endangering myself with passing out, I turned my head back to its original angle and looked back up.
Frederick was still facing me, but with empty eyes now and a look of terror etched onto his face. As he fell I could see the cause.
My morning star was stuck in his head so deep thatgooey mass and bone splinters were spilling out along with his blood.
Matt, blank expression on his face, let go of the handle and turned around, picking a dagger out of his boot to send it flying into the back of the fleeing Philip who fell to the ground without any sound except for the dull 'thump' of a lifeless body hitting the mud. Without a word my brother picked me up in his arms and turned to the priest. "It's been two weeks since my last confession," he said quickly. "Since then I've deliberately broken the rules of engagement and killed two noble men."
The priest stutteringly tried to say something, but no words actually came out. He was frightened, pale as a sheet.
"Since this is now a matter between myself and God, you are under the obligation of keeping your mouth shut, Father," Matt added coldly.
"Uhm... oh... well..." the priest started, then appeared to finally get a grip. "Set your own penance."
Matt nodded and turned around, starting to walk. "I only need to do one penance," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Ryan. But I'd rather steal your honour than let the filth of the Earth steal your life."
I managed a dim smile to let him know that what was done was done.
And in all honesty I wasn't that opposed to it.
"We'll figure out a story to feed everyone once we get back," he muttered. "Right now I think Brendon needs to know that you're alright before he hurts himself."
I managed a nod but cringed at how much that movement suddenly seemed to hurt. I was still bleeding, I could see my brother's shirt getting soaked.
But then I couldn't see anything anymore and I let myself fall into unconsciousness, hoping that my battered body would be able to repair itself.
I woke up with a bandage on head and shoulder and someone's arms around me.
Those were the first things that registered. Next thing was the pain from beneath those bandages and I groaned out loud and then felt the arms around me stir.
"You're awake," someone stated and I immediately recognised the voice. Brendon.
I let out a confirmative sound and snuggled closer to him.
He pressed a soft kiss against my cheek and I gave a small smile through the still insistant pain.
I was alive. I was with Brendon. Who cared about pain?
"What did Matt tell people?" I asked with a raggedy voice as I put the arm I could actually move around him.
"He turned the story around," he informed me. "Said that you were winning and Philip interfered, which gave Matt the right to interfere as well."
I tried to nod but had to give up. My head hurt too much. Instead I mumbled out a 'good'. The next moment I felt him nod against me.
"How are you feeling?" he asked after a moment.
"Awful," I answered truthfully. "But it doesn't matter. I'm still here. With you."
He didn't say anything for another moment. "I love you," he finally choked out and I could hear that he was crying again. "I think I owe Matthew everything."
I smiled again. "We both do."
I was still tired, though. Extensive loss of blood tends to do that to a person.
A moment later I fell back asleep.
This time I was awakened by the loud slamming of a door.
I groaned, but actually opened my eyes to look up at Matt who'd just entered, looking slightly out of breath.
"The priest couldn't keep his bloody mouth shut," my brother informed. "Brendon, take Ryan and meet me by the horses. I'll get Eleanor and the men."
With that he left and Brendon quickly got up, pulling a shirt on to go with the breeches he'd worn in bed before sitting me up and getting me properly dressed as well, all the way down to boots and a cloak.
Then he sweeped me into his arms and quickly got out of the room, heading for the servants' quarters where our exit hopefully would go a bit more unnoticed.
Ten minutes or so later we were by the horses.
Bloodloss and an injured head still made me too weak to ride one on my own, so i suppose you could say it's quite lucky that I'm small and Brendon's not a lot bigger.
He helped me mount and then got up behind me, hands grasping the reins on either side of me as we quickly rode with the rest of our company into the forest.
The plan was to stay off the roads until we hit our own territory and to simply get as much of a head start as we could.
That didn't work too well, though.
Within less than an hour of our started ride, arrows were zooming down between us and I saw the first of our men fall off his horse, arrow embedded in his chest under the light of the moon.
Matt got to our side, holding the reins of Eleanor's horse in his left hand as she pulled her with him. "You three get two or three men with you and get out of here. The rest of us will hold them off."
I was about to say no, that I couldn't leave my brother in that fight, but Brendon had already agreed and Matt was tying Eleanor's reins onto our horse.
My sister had yet to say a word.
Brendon summoned the men and we set a quicker pace, riding through the night as quickly as we could.
A few minutes later some more of the enemies had caught up with our small group and broke out of the woods in front of us.
Luckily there were no archers.
The three soldiers we had with us rode in front of us to protect us from the five opposers and unsheathed their swords before thundering forward.
The two groups clashed together and for a moment it was a mess cries and the metallic clinging of swords and horses fleeing and bodies falling to the ground.
Then we were alone.
All of our men had fallen and one enemy was left, his horse having fled, though.
I felt the breath catch in my throat.
We could outrun him, but that would mean straying from our course and none of us knew these woods well enough to do that without getting completely lost.
I was too injured to do anything.
Brendon did, though.
I'd never noticed him strapping my own sword belt on before we left, but it was hanging around his hip now, my sword laying gently against his thigh.
He quickly jumped off the horse and I grabbed the reins with my left hand, trying desperately to keep my balance despite exhaustion and dizziness as I watched him cross the ground to the remaining enemy.
Training with Matt for a great deal of time had made him a decent fencer, but I was still so worried I felt like my heart was going to thump out of my chest when the swords clashed together.
It was strike, block, feint and another strike, almost too fast for me to comprehend.
The full moon glistened in the metal of the blades and the enemy's chain mail as they stepped back to circle each other.
For some reason it bothered me greatly that it was too dark for me to see Brendon's face, to read his blank expression and find out how bad he himself thought it was.
Then they both stroke again and the glistening chain mail was the only reason I could tell the difference between the two. They were locked for a while, both pushing against each other for dominance.
Then there was a feit and the swords slipped and I heard a loud yelp.
I recognised the voice.
Brendon had taken a blow. Whereto I couldn't tell, but he was no longer unharmed.
The fighting went on, though, even if Brendon was limping now and not nearly as quick as before.
Another srike, parry and then a series of complicated striking patterns and the sword was knocked out of his hands, falling feet away.
The enemy closed in and was about to give the last strike.
I heard someone scream, and only when I realised that my mouth was open did it appear to me that it was my own voice.
Brendon whipped around to look at me, still worried for my safety above his own, and the blade nearly caught his torso.
He was quicker than that, though. Brendon let himself fall to the ground and reached into his boot and in a blur I saw him get back up, duck under the sword and stab something through the chainmail and into the left side of the enemy's chest.
Then it dawned to me.
The dagger I'd given him, the one he always carried.
Finally it served the purpose it had been made for.
Cúis-bhúirt a dhéanamh de neach-dúbhlain: - 'to taunt your enemy'.
Angasbore: - 'pitiful wretch'.