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.
What Happened to the Green Fairies?
By Danimpa
Chapter 20
Earldom of Cornwall, England
November, 1397
I woke up slowly, painfully and became quickly aware of a hand holding my own tightly.
For a moment I allowed myself to hope, but no. The hand was too soft; the fingers were too short. And there was more than just that one ring there was supposed to be.
I slowly opened my eyes, already prepared for the disappointment as I met Eleanor's sad blue eyes.
"Brother," she breathed, sounding so relieved and so sad at the same time. She almost sounded like somebody had died.
Well, I suppose I'd come pretty close.
I wanted to say something, anything, but my throat was too dry and I couldn't get a single word out, only strangled sounds.
She grew teary-eyed and gave my hand a squeeze that was so small that I was sure she was for some reason afraid I'd fall apart if she applied too much pressure. "Don't try to speak, dear one," she whispered, raising her free hand to wipe away tears. "The doctors said you'd die overnight," she added. "I'm just so glad you're still here."
I wasn't sure if I were, but neither could nor would I tell her that.
I couldn't move my body, I realised. My whole torso was wrapped up in tight bandages and I had a leg and an arm both in splints.
Seemed my bones had gone awfully frail from the lack of food.
"Do you want something to drink?" she asked.
I did and I didn't. I was awfully thirsty but I figured that the less I gave my body to work with, the quicker it would all be over. I settled on not giving any sign either way.
She sighed, her eyes tearing over again, but she reached for the goblet that stood next to her with what looked like plain, simple water in it and leaned closer to me, lifting my head with one hand while she held the container against my chapped lips, tipping it so that the contents ran slowly and smoothly into my mouth.
Half of it missed and the rest was hard to get down.
I'd never known swallowing to hurt like that.
"You should eat too," she told me. "I'll have someone fetch some soup in a moment."
I shook my head as forcefully as I could, and this time the tears escaped her eyes.
"Brother," she whimpered. "I can't bear to see you destroying yourself over some commoner. He's not worth a mere look from you."
That angered me, but I still couldn't speak, so I simply shook my head again, sending her a hard look.
She broke down crying, hiding her face in her hands as her strong shoulders shook. "I don't want to bury my brother," she got out in between sobs, still not looking at me. "Don't do this to me, sweeting."
Tears nearly reached my own eyes, but I couldn't explain to her that I just didn't have the will nor the strength anymore; that the only way everything would stop hurting would be if I ceased to be.
Suddenly the door opened and Matt came in, a lost look on his strong face.
I let my eyes fall to his gloved hands.
He had the dagger. And the ring. "I found him," he muttered. "He wouldn't take it and he asked me to give this back to you." He tried to give me back the items, but with the arm that I could still control I pushed them away, I didn't want them, didn't even want to look at them.
The tears escaped my eyes that time, burning trails down my cheeks.
I couldn't do it anymore, I just couldn't.
"Ryan, don't do this," Matt begged, voice choked.
I couldn't look at his eyes, he was too sad.
How could he be so sad over something as pathetic as myself?
Finally I closed my eyes, intent on going back to sleep. Secretly hoping that I wouldn't wake up this time.
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When I woke back up someone else was in the room with me.
It was night and neither Matt nor Eleanor was there, which I found odd.
But he was there, and I was sure I was delirious, that I was seeing things that weren't real.
Or perhaps purgatory was about showing me the things I could've had but was too stupid to hold onto.
"Matthew told me I was killing you," he muttered, still keeping his distance. "I didn't believe him. Had to see for myself."
It was him.
I felt my lips tuck into a small smile. They were so dry that they split from that movement, sending additional pain through me to mix with the one coming from everywhere else in my body.
"How did this happen?" he asked.
For the first time in weeks I actually wanted to speak, but I couldn't. I tried, though, opened my mouth and tried to force an explanation out, but as always it only became incoherent sounds.
He sighed. "I'll be back in a bit."
I whimpered out, trying to tell him not to leave.
He did, though.
I watching his back as he went through the door, tears starting to fall painfully down my cheeks again. I couldn't stand to see him walk away because in my muddled mind that seemed to have gone nearly as weak as my body it meant that he wouldn't return no matter how much he said he would.
He came back inside about five minutes later and came closer this time, sat down on Eleanor's chair next to my bed. "This looks like someone's bloody dead bed, you know," he told me, suddenly sounding incredibly sad.
It was, but I had no voice to tell him so.
All I could do was to keep looking at him, keep looking and hoping that he wouldn't evaporate right before my eyes.
I needed him so, so much and it was with apprehension that I raised my hand to reach for him, the limb shaking from a mixture of perpetual weariness, everlasting cold and fear of rejection.
He looked for it for a moment, seeming uncertain, and I was about to pull it back, tears already stinging my cheeks again, when he finally reached out and grabbed it, holding it securely between his two warm ones. "God, you're cold," he stated after a moment.
I nodded, shuddering beneath the sheets and blankets. Somehow the contrast between his warmth and my cold just made me feel even colder.
Suddenly he got off the chair and whipped the layers of fabric covering the bed and myself away. A look of shock went over his face and his mouth dropped open before he hurriedly placed it all back on me, tucking it tightly around me. "Bloody murder, Ryan," he finally got out. "You're so small, it's like you're almost completely... gone?"
I bit my split lip slightly. I had tried to be completely gone. At least I didn't have to do that with him around.
Suddenly one of his hands let go of mine and his face buried in it, his shoulders starting to shake.
Everybody was crying around me lately.
I squeezed his hand slightly and opened my mouth again, trying my best at cooing noises. In my own opinion they came out pretty well.
"I can't believe you're doing this," he finally stated, looking back up with teary eyes. "I just... This isn't like you."
"He gave up, Brendon."
I looked up quickly. I hadn't even heard the door open, but there Matt and Agatha stood, Matt carrying another goblet of water and Agatha a small steaming bowl of what I could only guess was soup.
Brendon turned around too, looking up at the newcomers with a shaky smile that quickly turned into a frown.
Well, apparently getting them was what he'd been doing in those minutes he'd been gone.
"He's eaten one lump of bread since you left, and it was a small one, mind you. One," Matt added, a sudden harshness to his voice as his old enmity towards Brendon seemed to resurface.
I sent my brother a hard look. I didn't want him being mad at Brendon, not when he'd finally come back.
Matt ignored my unspoken request, though, eyes narrowing. "And you're probably too late now. The doctors have him dead by the end of the week." He sighed slightly. "But you wouldn't know, you never stay long enough to have to pick him up after you're through with him."
I was actually there, but at the moment nobody seemed to remember.
"You definitely don't seem to be doing such a bloody good job of it yourself," Brendon returned quickly, his hand tightening a bit around my own.
My brother sighed and shook his head. "He didn't want me to," he explained meekly, sounding like a hurt child.
"Well, I'm not letting him die over this," the smaller of the two insisted stubbornly. "I'm staying. For now. Until he's fine again."
I whimpered slightly.
He couldn't do that, couldn't patch me back up and leave again.
Matt apparently agreed. "If you're going to leave anyway, I suggest you do it now and let my brother die in peace," he told him harshly, his eyes looking just about capable of killing.
"Just give me the bloody soup," Brendon muttered, avoiding the demand.
Agatha quickly gave him the bowl and a spoon before stepping back again, remaining silent.
He let go of my hand to take the bowl in one hand and the spoon in the other before he dipped the spoon, got a bit up. Then he blew on it lightly to make the temperature more pleasant and held it out to me.
I clamped my mouth shut and turned my head away. If we was just going to leave again I was taking no part in getting me back on my feet, none at all. Then he would just have to watch me die for all I cared.
He sighed. "Ryan..."
I just shook my head, tears starting to make their way into my eyes again. I had no real desire to eat anyway; I'd forgotten how hunger felt long ago.
He pushed the spoon further down, letting the hot metal probe against my lips.
I shook my head wildly again, making the contents fall off the spoon and spill down over me, luckily not warm enough to burn at my skin.
My tears were flowing freely again by then.
Why couldn't he just understand that I did not want to live without him?
"Force-feeding won't work," Matt stated dryly, yet sadly. "Trust me, we've tried. We've tried everything."
"What the bloody hell am I expected to do then?" Brendon asked in frustration, throwing the spoon at my brother before getting off the chair, retrieving it and getting ready to try again.
The older of the two sighed and shook his head slightly. "You know that already."
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