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 15

Duchy of Upper Lorraine, France
October 1397

The autumn sun was in zenith, shining coldly down on us as it signalled that it was just after noon.

The chain mail weighed me down as much as always, if not more, given that this was a borrowed one, not the custom made lighter one I had back home.

But what was I supposed to have done? The duke had asked me to join him for some fencing. Not exactly an 'offer' one just downright denies.

The sword, too, was much too heavy and the rough gloves were hurting my hands. Nothing new there, either.

There were multiple reasons why I'd never liked fencing. One of them being how I always knew I was going to lose. Especially then.

I mean, the duke was a well-known knight and soldier. He'd returned from the crusades the previous summer with scars to show for his battles but with limbs and life still intact. Impressive. And most definitely scary for someone as scrawny and talentless at fencing as I.

"George, are you ready?" he asked, placing his helmet on.

I nodded, swallowing something, and bowed ceremoniously.

He repeated my move before lashing out against me quickly, causing me to jump back.

The blade had been mere inches from actually hitting home in my side and with the force behind the stroke I was quite sure that even the dull practice sword would have bitten through the chain mail and into my flesh.

I flinched at the mere thought of it and for a moment imagined what he'd do if he knew that I'd even touched his daughter. Or she'd touched me. Whatever.

He lashed out again and this time I was quick enough to bring my own sword up to block him, cringing as they clung together with so much force that I thought for a short second that my arms had been torn out of their sockets.

I managed to lead my mind away from the pain inflicted by the impact, though, and was the one to attack this time, lashing out against his legs this time, only to send him into an impressive jump over the moving blade.

Before I even had time to react further, his sword was suddenly against my throat, seemingly out of nowhere.

I held up my hands quickly, sending him a forced smile as I let my own sword drop out of my hands.

He laughed, and once again it sounded like thunder from a clear sky, but still rather pleasant. "I've heard, George, that your talents with la épée are greatly surpassed by those with an English long-bow."

"I should definitely hope so," I answered, sending my fallen blade a look that spoke volumes of how badly it had served me.

"Let me see, then," he said, smiling good-naturedly for a moment before a serious look crossed over his face. "I need to know if you're fit to protect ma fille, do I not?"

"I suppose so," I muttered, holding back a groan at the mere mentioning of her.

"A good archer is not to be underestimated, George," he replied then, patting my shoulder lightly. "You Britons are winning la guerre with those long-bows of yours."

I smiled lightly. "Nobody has won or lost the war yet, Charles," I replied. "My father wishes me knighted. I won't get there with archery skills."

"Notre Dame, Maria, needs archers to fight the heathens for her cause as well," he told me, suddenly passionately. "We all serve la même finalité, whichever way we are made to serve."

I kept from laughing at him, at how ridiculous I found his religious speech. I was never going to fight a single battle for the church. There were only a few people and only one cause I'd ever seriously fight for. Oddly enough I wouldn't list myself under the people I'd do anything to protect anymore. There were boundaries.

"Is it not right, George?" he probed on, blonde eyebrows raised expectantly as he ripped me back out of my ponderings.

"Certainly," I answered, lying him straight in the face.

But what he didn't know couldn't offend him, right?

"Garcon!" he yelled at a nearby servant. "Le équipement!"

"Immédiatement, monsieur," the boy yelled back. A pretty boy, I noted before tearing gaze and thoughts away.

I might still feel desire, but I'd given up my freedom to in any way act upon it.

"Let me show you notre excellente archery pitch," he said jovially, placing a hand on my shoulder to more or less push me with him in that direction.

"Pardon me, Charles," I muttered before loosening myself from his grasp. Then I reached behind me and spent a few minutes unclasping the buckles of the chain mail, in the process realising that the oddest things were what made me miss Brendon. Finally tossing the heavy, metallic piece of armour at some servant I followed the duke's lead to the pitch.


Of course I'd been seated next to Jacqueline at supper. What else could've been expected?

And once again, her interest in sparking up a conversation was also completely expected. She just wouldn't leave me alone.

The topic of the conversation turned out to be an odd one, though.

"You have une fille in England, do you not?" she suddenly asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

I nearly choked on the bit of bread I'd been swallowing. "What?" I asked incredulously.

"Alison told me zat zat was why you would not kiss moi," she muttered, lowering her voice a bit.

"Alison?" I asked, still shocked by the initial question, still generally confused and overall incapable of forming a proper sentence.

"Alison du May," she answered. "La maitresse de mon pére."

"Your father's mistress?" I repeated, quickly collecting myself. "What business do you have with her?"

"She raised me," came the answer. She was almost glaring at me by then. "Ma mére died bearing me. Pére called for Alison une mois ultérieur." She paused, exaggerating her point. "She is ma mére for all zat matters."

"She is you father's scarlet woman," I objected, keeping the volume down.

"Is your English fille a scarlet woman, zen?" she returned, greenish brown eyes narrowing.

"My English... girl." I swallowed harshly. "If I even had one, would be my own business."

"Ma mére is my own business as well," she mumbled, raising a delicate eyebrow lightly as if challenging me to keep up the argument.

I nodded, accepting that that subject would just have to be left alone. Then I went back to my food, picking at it. I was no longer hungry even after a full day of exercise. By God, all I wanted was to have Brendon by my side, safe, happy, far away from this nagging girl. Things were never really that simple, though, and I lived in the real world.

"How is she zen?" Jacqueline asked a few moments later.

"Who?" I asked, taking my turn to raise the eyebrow that I could proudly say was at least as perfectly shaped as hers. There were a few good things that came with inheriting my mother's fine, slightly feminine features.

"Your English fille," she answered, pouting her lips slightly.

I sighed, breathing in deeply.

She seemed to have her mind set so heavily on my having a girl back home that no truth would convince her otherwise. And this lie could possibly be far less damaging than the truth. Having mistresses was widely accepted in society. Having a beautiful boy hidden away in my chambers back in England was not.

"What do you want to know?" I asked dejectedly, quietly admitting defeat.

"What does she look like?" my betrothed inquired, that eyebrow raising again as she let her lips shape into a pout once more.

I sighed again, closing my eyes briefly. "Dark hair," I answered, opening my eyes again to meet hers. "Dark eyes, fair skin, strong features. Beautiful."

She took a deep breath. "Do you love her?"

Saying 'yes' could possibly take her off my case, could possibly do so many things.

But I couldn't, not yet.

"I might," I answered with a nonchalant shrug. "I may not. To be honest with you I'm not sure. "He..." I covered the wrong word up with a light clearing of my throat. "She is incredibly dear to me, though."

"What is her name?" she asked on.

"That's not for you know," I answered softly, trying to make up for the harsh words. "What does the name matter anyway?"

She shrugged. Then she went back to eating for a while.

I tried too, but I was reaching the point where I had a distinct feeling that I wouldn't be able to keep to keep anything down.

"Do you have any enfants?" she suddenly decided to ask on.

"Children? No," I answered, trying to keep the laugh out of my voice. Where on Earth would I have gotten children? As far as I knew there had to be a woman involved for that.

"You sound... disgusted, I zink ze word is," she observed, looking at me curiously.

"The last thing I want is a bastard child," I explained, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. I did not like that conversation one bit.

Her eyes narrowed again. "I love Alison's fils, John, more than I ever could Louis," she hissed. "Zere's nozing wrong with 'bastard children'."

"I concur," I said. "But after seeing how Matt is treated, seeing Father dismiss any authority he could've had time after time while everybody knows that he would be a better earl, a better husband and a better man than I given any sort of a chance..." I paused slightly, thinking. "I don't want more of my blood to go through that."

She nodded, finally seeming pacified and in agreement. "Je comprendes," she muttered lowly before once again going back to her food.

I nodded back, feeling, hoping, that this subject must be about empty.

"You should eat," she stated.

I looked down at my full plate, playing a bit more with the food, twirling it around my fork as I tried hard to dismiss my manners for once. I'd get sick if I ate it.

When did it become impossible for me to function properly without him around?

"I don't feel well," I finally muttered, exhaling deeply. "I can't eat right now."

"You are not malade, are you?" she inquired, sudden worry in her voice.

I shook my head. "I'm sure it's just the journey," I assured her softly.

"You are triste," she stated, equally as softly as she reached down beneath the table and squeezed my thigh in a manner I was sure was meant to be reassuring.

I just didn't want her touch, didn't want her around, didn't want her at all. All I wanted was Brendon. And once again that hand reached out and twisted my intestines and I was a hair's breadth from crying.

Suddenly the duke stood at the end of the table, the opposite one from where I was seated, and looked around, slowly and surely gathering the attention of us all. "Tomorrow, in the honour of our esteemed invités, we will have a hunt," he announced, looking warmly out at all of us. "I know you have your own annual one back in Cornwall," he added. "I participated once or twice in my youth, but with an archer as grande as George at notre château, it is too much too great an opportunity to pass up." He smiled. "View it as practice."

I smiled, suddenly much more at ease. Of course I'd have to ride, which I still disliked with a passion, but at least I'd get to shoot actual animals, get the rush of a real hunt.

That would have to be what it would take to get Brendon off my mind. And Jacqueline most of all, my betrothed and all the problems and uncomfortable conversations she presented me with. For a few short hours I'd be able to free my mind.

And for the first time in days a genuine smile spread over my face.

The hand, which I'd forgotten was still on my thigh, squeezed again.

I looked up and met Jacqueline's eyes, eyes that were much too green to be comforting to me. "What?" I asked, immediately realising just how rude I'd sounded. "Pardonnes moi," I added, hoping to make the word sting less with a French apology.

"C'est rien," she muttered back, smiling and flushing slightly.

I'd had no idea speaking in French would affect her that much. I'd have to remember not to do it again.

"George, have you ever killed?" she asked, eyes wide in excitement now.

"Animals?" I raised an eyebrow. "More times than I can count."

"Hommes?" she inquired, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"Yes," I answered lowly, dropping my gaze to the table. Killing that man was not something I was proud of. It'd had to be done and I'd done it, but I took no pride in it.

"What for?" she asked on.

"Keeping me from what I wanted," I answered steadily, watching as she suddenly shrank back in fear from the fire that must've been lit in my eyes.

Right at that moment she was keeping me from what I wanted and I was sure she had a hunch.


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