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. *** Rights to Catallus' Song V to its rightful owners

What Happened to the Green Fairies?

By Danimpa

Chapter 13

Earldom of Cornwall, England and Duchy of Upper Lorraine, France
October, 1397

I curled up against Brendon's side and chest habitually, still fighting to regain my breath after the exertion we'd just put outselves through.

His hand buried itself in my hair before he turned onto his side, facing me fully, still that unfathomable look in his eyes that he'd worn so often lately. "Go to sleep," he muttered. "You have to be up early tomorrow."

I sighed. "I know, but I don't want to waste this time sleeping."

He chuckled sightly, stretching a bit to kiss my forehead.

"I don't want to go," I muttered a moment later.

"I don't want you to go either," he returned softly. "But the choice you have can barely be considered a choice at all."

I nodded mutely.

It had never been said, but it was obvious that no matter how important the continuation of the line was, I'd be stripped of title and inheritance for defying my father on this one instance.

And no matter how little I cared for those thing I wasn't ready to leave my whole life behind.

His arms slowly went around me, pulling me close while he looked at me as though trying to take in every last detail.

"I promise I won't change there," I muttered. "I won't be someone else when I come back, okay?"

He nodded, a small bit of relief seeming to set over his face, but somehow it only added to that familiar expression I'd never been able to figure out. His mouth opened slightly and a hesitant look went over his face. "Ryan, I love you," he suddenly croaked out, speaking so quickly that I could barely make it out.

I was dumbfounded, my mouth dropping open and my eyes widening. I was rendered almost mute. I blinked a couple of time. "Er, thanks," I answered, immediately wishing I hadn't been able to speak at all.

It was so obviously not what he'd hoped for which was easily visible in the way he rolled over to lay on his back again, staring up at the ceiling.

And suddenly I could see tears in his eyes. Strong Brendon, who never showed emotional weakness. And he was practically crying.

It tore at me, deeply, but I had no idea of what to do. I reached out a hand, gently running it through his short hair while I bit down on my lip. "I..." I had no idea what I was supposed to say, how to make it better. Well, of course there was the obvious way, but I didn't want to lie to him. "I want to say it back," I finally muttered. "But I've no idea what that word means, Bren." I grabbed onto his face, raising it up so he was looking me in the eye again. "I know what it's like to love my brother, but that's that. You've seen my family, you know that Matt's the only person I've ever loved, the only person who's ever loved me. I just... I don't know how to translate that to what we have." I sighed, shaking my head lightly. "What I do know is that I care about you deeply, more than anybody else, but I..." Once again I shook my head. "I don't know enough about what it should be like to tell anybody that I love them."

He took a deep breath, nodding slightly before he leaned in and placed a light kiss on my lips. "I can live with that," he muttered although he still looked hurt.

I sent him a small, shaky smile before slowly kissing each of his cheeks, erasing the tears from his light skin before I snuggled back into his arms, my ear against his chest in a way where I could hear and feel his every heartbeat. And never had anything been more calming and soothing.

I fell asleep the next moment.


I woke up to knocks on the door the next morning, the red beams of the early morning sun creeping inside through the gaps of the heavy curtains over my windows.

"Half an hour, little brother," came Matt's familiar voice.

I groaned slightly, removed Brendon's arms from around me and got up, walking into the dressing room to find some good travelling clothes.

I was in the process of buttoning my shirt when I heard footsteps behind me and I looked up to see the familiar face with the choppy, dark hair and the deep brown eyes.

"I'm sorry about last night," he muttered. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Don't be," I answered with a small smile. "I'm sorry I couldn't say it back."

His hand went to my face, thumb lightly gracing over my jaw. He didn't speak again, but simply leaned in and caught my lips in a kiss, lightly nibbling at my lower lip.

How on Earth was I going to last two weeks without him? How had I lasted before him? I'd lived a half-life, that's how, always looking for immediate pleasure rather than something lasting. And no matter how much it must have been bothering the both of us that I hadn't been able to return his admission, those words had been exactly what I'd needed to hear. That somebody who wasn't my brother or sister loved me, that I was worth something for myself and not just for the blood in my veins and the heirs I was expected to produce.

Slowly he pressed his body closer to mine, in a way gently pinning me against the wall.

I grinned crookedly, suddenly realising that none of us had gotten as far as to put on breeches yet. Then I slowly opened my mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss as I hooked my arms around his neck before lifting myself up, supported by the wall and his body against mine and his arms around me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, slowly grinding against him.

He smiled into the kiss, his tongue shaking a bit in my mouth before he ground back, causing me to let out a moan as his whole body pushed closer to mine to help keep me in place against the wall before he moved his arms from my waist to hook them beneath my thighs instead. "Ready?" he muttered.

I nodded and let out a gasp at the entry, my eyes rolling back as he nailed my spot at the first try.

My hand went to his hair for some sort of support, something to keep me secure because I felt like I was falling, not only to the floor, but falling off the face of the Earth.

He tightened his grip on my thighs, kissed me lightly, and pulled most of the way out before plunging in again.

My head fell back against the wall, another moan snaking out of my throat as the pleasure increased with his every thrust while the rhythm was built up.

He leaned in to kiss me again, his breathing hard and laboured as he kept on moving, slamming into me again and again.

I was very grateful for the tapestry behind me, for not being knocked repeatedly into the bare stone wall behind it, but for simply hitting right into the softness of the thick, weaved fabric that seemed to shape itself after my back as I arched back into it, loud, rather random sounds spilling out of my mouth.

As he started getting worn out, Brendon slowly placed his chin on my shoulder, panting into my ear and then moaning out as I felt him release into me.

I whimpered lightly when his knees buckled and we both fell to the floor. And I wasn't done yet. I looked down at him where he'd landed beneath me, pouting slightly I'm sure, before I started bouncing, bringing his member ramming against that spot again.

He shakily reached out, still breathing hard, and grabbed onto my length, tugging silghtly before he managed to build up a pace that matched my own.

And finally I felt the tingling sensation gathering in my stomach as I kept raising myself off of him before falling back down. My toes started to curl as they seemed to have a habit of and I gave off a long, drawn-out moan as I finally let go into his hand, managing to pull off and drop to the carpeted floor next to him.

He reached out a hand, grabbed onto my own and slowly started moving his thumb in circles over the skin while my breathing and my heartrate slowly returned to normal. "You have to dress," he finally muttered. "You'll be leaving in a moment."

I nodded regretfully. I hated the way I always seemed to have to be the one to leave. I rolled onto my side and kissed him deeply before getting up off the floor and reaching for the clothes I'd abandoned upon his entry. Then I quickly pulled on my breeches, finished buttoning the shirt, put on a doublet and swept a warmer autumn cloak over my shoulders, the bright red wool of it contrasting sharply against the beige and brown earth tones of the rest of my clothes. Finally I pulled on boots and weapon belt, making sure the sheath of my sword was attached properly. Then I turned around to look at him again, sending a meek smile.

He smiled back. It didn't reach his eyes, though, but he quickly leaned in to kiss me again, his own clothes in place as well by then. He ran a hand slowly through my hair before settling it under my chin, his thumb rubbing lightly at the lower part of my cheek. His gaze was sad, apprehensive, as he simply stood there, looking at me, his eyes flowing over with that one emotion, which I now knew the name of but still didn't understand. "I love you," he whispered again, a choked quality to his voice.

I closed my eyes briefly as I leaned into his touch, the tenderness of it all soothing me to no end. I opened my eyes again and gazed back into his. "You're my whole world," I muttered back honestly, having deemed it an acceptable substitute for these words that I couldn't say.

He smiled slightly, leaned in again to kiss me once more, a chaste round of lips on lips and nothing more before he let me go.

As if on cue there was another knock on my door.

"Ryan, are you ready?" Matt asked.

"Yes," I answered, looking at Brendon again with eyes that I was sure said the exact opposite thing. Then I pressed my lips against his one last time and waited as he picked up my riding bow and the quiver of arrows and strapped both on me while I put on the handpiece on my own. Then I grabbed his hand, pressing the decoritive one of my rings into it, the one he'd actually stolen months ago. "I'll miss you. But remember that I won't change the way I see you," I told him as I went out the door, shutting it behind me and forcing myself not to look back as I fell into step next to Matt.


I was off the horse for the first time in hours, my legs feeling weak and shaky after the long ride and not much helped by the rocking motions of the surface I was on.

I looked out over the channal, swaying slightly to follow the motions of the small ferry as I watched the lights from English occupied Calais ahead before turning around slightly to watch Dover become smaller and smaller behind me.

Night had set in but by paying a little extra we'd managed to convince the ferryman to take us over the channal that night instead of waiting for the morning. This way we could find a nice inn in Calais and ride out first thing in the morning.

I glanced sadly at the houses of Dover that were ever getting smaller. England was behind me, Brendon was behind me and it saddened me to a mad extent. I'd grown so content with always having him there with me that I felt incredibly empty without him. And not just physically. It hurt.

And I worried about him, worried so much about what Father might do now that I wasn't around to throw a childish tantrum if my tiniest whim on this area wasn't abided to. My father was too proud a man to openly hurt someone employed to him, but I had no idea what could happen behind shut doors. Or how Brendon would do now that he was almost forced to socialize with the other servants.

My mind wandered back to his words from the previous night and again that morning. Perhaps I did return it. Perhaps I should've said it back. Suddenly I was scared, scared out of my mind that I'd never get the chance to find it in me to return those feelings completely, scared I'd never get the chance to say it back.

I jumped at the hand that was suddenly placed on my shoulder before turning slightly to meet Matt's deep blue eyes.

"You miss him, don't you?" he asked with a small sigh.

I nodded. "And I worry about him," I added. "Who knows what Father will do when I'm not around?"

He shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry, little brother, but there is nothing we can do. Neither of us can protect him right now. You know I'd do it for you, but you're still my first priority."

Again I nodded. A hand suddenly seemed to clench at my guts, twisting them around until the agony was close to unbearable.

"Ryan..." Matt muttered softly, sadly, squeezing my shoulder before pulling me in for a hug.

I clung back to him helplessly, my face in his shoulder while I slowly managed to regain control of my posture, managed to keep myself from starting to cry again. I'd done that too much lately anyway, let myself become too vulnerable.

"Agatha promised to keep an eye on him," he informed me.

"She's a woman," I muttered into his cloak. "A kitchen girl." I took a deep breath. "Matt, I know you care about her, probably just as much as I do Brendon, but she has no power to prevent anything from happening to him."

"I know she doesn't, but if anything does happen, we'll at least know what," he replied back, almost harshly, but then I supposed I'd have to face the harsh realities of the matter: I was moving further away from him with each passing second and it was all out of my grasp.

I had even less power to prevent anything from happening to him than Matt's Agatha did, because she, at least, was going to be there. I was completely helpless in the matter.

With another deep breath I slowly released myself from my brother's grip, sending him a shaky, fake smile.

He reached out a hand, ruffled my hair slightly and turned to leave again.

I gazed after him, realising suddenly just how close Calais had come and turned around quickly, nearly having to squint my eyes to catch sight of Dover by now. Another shaky breath and I tore myself away from the last glimpses of England, going back to my horse to get ready to leave the ferry.


We arrived on the eve of the third day, cold and weary, having been delayed by both English and French patrols who'd held us back on the way. The fact that we were English got us past our countrymen and a letter with the seal of Upper Lorraine as well as my fluent French granted us clear passage from them as well.

Seemed that despite the war we needn't have brought the twelve soldiers, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

The estate towered up before us, clearly marking the distinct differences between an earldom and a duchy, reminding me again how political this whole thing was, how Father hoped that through marrying his heir to the eldest daughter of a French duke, he'd further his descendants' chances of ascending from earls to dukes themselves. It also cleared out the differences between the rough, cold and practical English arcitecture and the beautiful, much more decorative of the French.

We thundered into the courtyard and left the horses in the care of our soldiers and the local stable boys. Then Matt and I made our way to the entrance.

Servants pushed the high doors open for us and appointed us quarters in which to freshen up after the journey.

I reemerged an hour later, feeling refreshed after a hot bath and wearing the clothes that had been laid out for me, a crimson houppelande over a soft white shirt and a matching red chaperon as well as a pair of black breeches and a pair of pointy shoes.

Matt met up with me outside my quarters, dressed up as well and ready for show and soon after we were joined by a herald who led us to the great hall.

Once more doors were opened in front of us and we stepped in, Matt, as tradition demanded, on my right side.

And there they stood, the Upper Lorrainers, put on display like my own family had so resently been, a tall, powerful blonde man in the middle, looking to be in his late thirties and whom I assumed was Duke Charles himself. On his right was a woman with deep chestnut hair who looked my age or even slightly younger. His second wife, I guessed, Duchess Margaret, the young stepmother of my betrothed. She had an infant in her arms, a young boy it seemed. On the Duke's left was a slim, pretty girl of about fifteen, with nearly straight, ghostly blonde hair and dark hazel eyes. That must be her, I reasoned. Jacqueline of Upper Lorraine, the girl I was supposed to marry.

"Lord George ze Younger of Cornwall and Master Good," the herald announced in heavily accented English before stepping back.

The duke stepped forth and offered a calloused hand to Matt, who looked like he was about to laugh.

It wasn't the first time somebody had made that mistake, especially people who'd met our father. As said before, Matt was his spitting image while I shared practically no features with either one of them.

"Pardon me, milord," Matt said quickly. "Let me introduce you to my protegé, Lord George." He quickly threw his head in my direction and the attention was changed onto me.

Oh how I wished Matt would've just played along. Could've saved me a load of trouble.

The duke, rather than looking embarrassed simply laughed, loudly and in a booming, jolly way. "Then you must pardon ME, George. I haven't seen you since you were un petit garcon." The 'George' was pronounced in a way that was undeniably French.

"Forget it," I quickly said, returning his laugh with a small smile as I grasped and shaked his hand. "It's a common mistake."

The booming laughter started up again. "Well, he sure must be a relative of yours, the resemblance to your old pere is magnifique."

"He is," I returned, holding back a laugh at how fluently he mixed our two languages.

"You're a man of few words, are you not, George?" he asked.

"I suppose so, milord," I answered, allowing myself a small smile.

"Then it is lucky that I speak for deux hommes, is it not?"

I simply nodded, still a small smile on my lips. My mind was elsewhere.

"And call me Charles," he added. "We are, after all, une famille."

Once again I nodded. "If you wish, Charles," I answered.

"Now let me introduce you to ma belle fille." He guided me up to the young girl. "Ta fiancée, Jacqueline."

I bowed as custom demanded, but couldn't bring myself to return her smile as she courtsied, apparently happy to see me. Too happy. "Milady," I muttered, grasping her small, soft hand and pressing a light kiss to her knuckles. Curse manners.

"C'est une plaisir, George," she answered, a light blush spreading over her cheeks as I momentarily wondered if she even spoke English at all.

"And this," the duke added, pointing at the elder, albeit far from old, woman. "Is mon épouse, Margaret, et mon fils, Louis."

I nodded, bowed again to the duchess and repeated the hand-kiss as well while she courtsied the best that she could while holding the infant.

Up close her face was very youthful. Yes, most definitely even younger than I. Although that was far from uncommon.

"And now let me not forget my manières," Duke Charles thundered again. "You two must be starving."


Reference links:
Catullus V

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