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 8

Earldom of Cornwall, England
August, 1397

All my life I'd counted on Matt to look out for me and to save me. So what could I do when my older brother was suddenly the bad guy?

I decided to talk to him. After all, talking was something I was good at. I could talk my way out of almost everything.

I found him in his own chambers. Walking there, I must admit, was rather painful.

He looked up upon my entry. "Ryan?" he asked, eyebrows raising.

"Matt," I returned, leaning back against the undecorated stone wall, a stark contrast to the nice colours of the tapestries on my own.

He sighed. "I know you can't see it right now, little brother, but this is for the best."

I huffed. "What is it that you can't take? The fact that I'm receiving and from someone below my own rank?"

He flinched slightly, apparently not comfortable with that thought. "It's the fact that you always come back hurt in one way or another." His gaze sharpened upon me. "It's the fact that he's controlling you, and nobody is to control my little brother."

"Yet you don't mind doing it yourself," I muttered bitterly.

"One day you'll thank me," he stated, sounding like he seriously did believe that I would.

I shook my head. "I won't. You warned me that Father would take away my freedom prematurely. Yet you're the one who wound up doing that," I muttered hopelessly.

"What is this?" he asked suddenly, throwing up his hands. "Do you have feelings for him?"

"No," I answered. "But I like being with him and you have no right to take that away from me."

He shook his head lightly. "Find yourself a new toy," he advised.

Once again I felt that helpless anger rise in me and I grinded my teeth painfully against each other. "I don't want a new toy," I muttered through still clenched teeth. "I want him."

He sighed. "He'll destroy you, Ryan."

I shook my head. "He won't. He was for a period, I can admit that. But we fixed it. It's good now."

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, the warm blue of his eyes piercing into the honey-brown of my own. "You are my brother and my protegé and my full responsibility," he told me seriously. "I'd die before I let anything happen to you, you know that right?"

I nodded, looking down. "But I'm also a grown man," I protested softly. "I appreciate everything you've ever done for me and everything you'll keep doing, but I need to make my own decisions once in a while."

"Yes," he answered. "But this shouldn't be one of those."

I rolled my eyes. "I don't need two fathers," I muttered.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, but you don't always grasp the reality of a situation. I have to be an adult for the both of us." He took a deep breath. "I just can't compromise you, Ryan. My whole life has been focused on you and you know that if you died I'd loose every purpose I've ever had."

I nodded, breathing in deeply as well. "Can I at least see him?" I asked pleadingly, a slight whimper in my voice now.

He was silent for a long while, his eyes falling back shut as he apparently thought deeply. "One hour," he finally said. "I'll make the guards disappear and you'll have enough time to get some sort of closure."

I nodded again. "Thanks, brother," I muttered.


The cell door was slammed closed behind me, the sound of the lock clicking shut echoing through the small room.

The only light was provided from a tiny window almost fifteen feet up, on the ground level since everything below that tiny gap fifteen feet up was a part of the dungeons.

The coldness of the room ate at my bones, a painful, dry sort of cold that was laced with the misery and hopelessness of the people who'd resided here.

And it smelt, oh how it smelt! Against this, Brendon was a garden of flowers, seriously.

Brendon, yes.

I finally forced my eyes to look down and observe the shape of an unconscious person at my feet on the floor of the tiny cell that was badly isolated by mouldy, old straws.

He had been beaten since I last saw him, whether by Matt or one of the other men I couldn't know, but there was dried blood at several places on his face and it stained his rags as well.

I slowly crouched down next to him, running a hand through his hair, which was still slightly greasy but also stiff with blood.

How could I feel so sorry for him when I didn't have any feelings for him? IF I didn't have any feelings for him.

Slowly his eyes fluttered open and focused on mine with difficulty in the dusk of the room. He reached up a hand and I quickly grasped it in my own, squeezing lightly as I just wanted to make sure he knew I was there. "Ryan?" he croaked out.

"Yeah, Bren, it's me," I muttered, puzzling myself slightly. Where had the pet name come from? "Couldn't stay away," I added in a lightly joking voice.

I dropped down on the floor, wincing at the pain from my behind, and pulled him onto my lap.

He rested his head back against my shoulder.

"I'm sorry this had to happen," I whispered, kissing his ear in the process. "You have no idea how sorry I am."

"Hey!" he muttered. "It's not like commonors have the greatest life expectancy anyway." There was a long pause, but I didn't say anything, sensing that he wasn't done talking. "And I got to meet you, didn't I?" he finally got out, opening his eyes again to stare straight into mine.

'No feelings for him' was dissolving inside my mind as I felt tears start to gather in my eyes. I couldn't let this happen! "You did," I confirmed in a choked voice.

His free hand slowly reached up, placed itself on my cheek and guided my face down to his until he could close the gap between us, slowly moving his lips against mine.

I could taste his blood, his stale breath, but it didn't matter, only his lips carressing mine did, and his one hand in mine, and the other one on my face. These touches became the most important things to me as the rest of the world seemed to melt away.

His tongue ran lightly over my lower lip and I complied immediately, opening my mouth for him to let his tongue enter, and it did, carressing my own and gently roaming over every last detail inside as if he were trying to memorize it all.

We broke away for air, the both of us panting as his hand moved from my cheek to quickly run through my hair.

"So delicate," he muttered, apparently still fascinated by the way I looked as his eyes slowly unfocused and he fell unconscious again against me.

I could feel something wet on my cheek and I quickly raised my hand to wipe the single tear away. When was the last time I'd cried? I couldn't remember.

I shook him desperately, afraid for a moment that the beatings alone had killed him and finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he opened his eyes again and stared up at me.

I sighed in relief, quickly kissing his forehead.

"You didn't leave," he stated, his voice so low it was barely audible.

"Not yet," I answered with a small, forced smile.

He nodded, a sad look going over his face before he rested it against my shoulder again, lightly nuzzling it into the crook my neck.

I'm not sure how long we stayed seated like that, occasionally kissing but mostly just holding onto each other for what was in our minds the last time. But then, all too soon it seemed, I could hear the key in the lock and I quickly kissed him one last time before laying him back down on the floor as gently as I could, regretting that I wasn't wearing a cloak for him to have to shelter him from that bone-chilling cold.

Finally I scrambled back onto my feet, my steps still uncertain from the pain as the guard let me out.


Matt was waiting for me outside the prison and he raised his eyebrows slightly as I reappeared.

"I was wrong," I told him the moment we were face to face.

"About what?" he asked.

"About not having any feelings for him," I answered. "I do."

"Then it's all the more important we get him out of your life," my brother stated.

I shook my head slightly. "No, I don't think you're getting what I'm saying," I muttered.

Again the eyebrow flew up quizzically.

"If you do any more to hurt him than you already have I'll do something you'll most definitely regret having pushed me into." I took a deep breath. "I'm not sure what, but I can assure you that it won't be pretty."

He sighed. "Why is it so important for you to jeopardize your own safety like this?"

"I don't care about that part," I answered. "And HE'S the one who's important to me. I promise you he won't hurt me again. Just let him go."

He rolled his eyes lightly. "Little brother, you're mad," he muttered. Then he sighed again. "I'll lighten security for you for half an hour after sundown tonight. You have to take care of the rest of it yourself. And if he's too sick to run and hide on his own, then it's not my problem."

I let go of a breath I hadn't even been aware of holding and sent him a wide smile. "Thank you," I muttered.

"Ryan," he said as I turned around to leave.

I looked back at him over my shoulder.

"Don't do anything too stupid. I won't be able to save you tonight."

I nodded and left.


I think that day has got to have been one of the most aggravating ones in my life.

Half of the time I was worried Brendon had died in that cell after I'd left him, the other half was spent plotting. I needed to come up with a good plan but my intelligence seemed to have abandoned me.

By nightfall all I could really do was put on my cloak, strap my weapon belt with the one-hand sword attached to it around my waist and sneak out through the servant quarters to avoid annoying relatives and the general assortment of nobles.

When I reached the village after the second painful and aggravating ride of the day, darkness had already set in. Scattered torches and the fluttering lights from the windows of the houses lit up the alleys and shaking shadows were crawling up the walls.

Adrenaline was rushing through my blood as I reached the prison.

I pulled up the hood of my cloak, knowing how vital it was that I wasn't recognised by anyone. Then I dragged the horse into an alley, making sure my family's weapon shield on the saddle was easily visible as I tied the beast up. That should keep anybody from wanting to steal it, simply out of fear for our soldiers.

Then I made my way to the entrance, which was unguarded as Matt had promised and quickly made my way inside.

I walked down the memorised aisles, these, too, lit by only a few torches, and finally reached the door of Brendon's cell.

And immediately I could've beaten myself. The lock, the key, which I didn't have. Great thinking.

I needed to get that key.

I sighed slightly at the realisation that I'd have to go to the guard chamber and possibly fight for it. All I could really do was hope that these people were even worse swordsmen than I. Somehow I doubted it, though.

I walked back, quickly, knowing that time was not on my side and that I'd need to get this whole thing over with quickly.

Finally, after what seemed like an enternity of walking, I reached the place.

There was no noise, no men playing with a set of dice and waiting to get off work so they could go down to the inn for an ale or two. Just a single man crouched over the table, not a big one either. He was bigger than me, of course, but not frighteningly large.

Matt had definitely been thorough when he gave me that window.

Perhaps it could be done without anybody getting hurt, I reasoned and decided on simply threatening the keys out of him as I slowly dragged my sword out of its sheath, wincing at the barely audible hissing sound it made.

The man heard it though, got off his chair and whipped around, drawing his own sword in the movement. He was in fighting stance pretty much before I even hand a proper grip of my sword.

And then it came slashing down against me.

I managed to get my own blade up in front of me, blocking his attacks as I made sure the hood of the cloak was still up. Then I simply focused on my parades, feeling him out for a few moments. But I also needed to get a move on. Time was running out and I wouldn't be able to hold my own against more than one.

Finally I decided to actually go into the fight, slashing out against him to provoke an opening.

It didn't work. He sidestepped and got out of range enough to smash my sword away with his own.

The familiar throb ran through my shoulder, settling there as I changed my grip of the sword, blocking his new attack quickly before making a counterfeint of my own, thinking I saw an opening.

But apparently that opening was a feint from HIS side and suddenly the sword slashed across my upper arm, only cutting half an inch or so down, but oh how it stung.

I changed the sword into my left hand, momentarily grateful that I'd practiced with that arm so much the last time my right one had been rendered useless.

Apparently my ease at changing hands confused him slightly, which gave me just the opportunity I needed.

He was used to fighting right-handed people, I could sense. Which meant that his stroke came slightly more to the right than it should've.

And my left arm suddenly had all the space it needed.

My sword cut into his chest nicely and evenly and I put my whole strength behind pushing it in as far as it could go. My breathing was laboured and my arm stung and my behind sent jolts of pain through me every once in a while, but I'd made it and I knew I had as I observed the look of pure shock on his face, his open mouth from which a few drops of blood suddenly made their way out, rolling down his chin as he fell to the floor.

"Milord," he stuttered out, apparently having recognised me and for a moment remorse coursed through me, but I quickly shoved it away. I'd done what I needed to do, nothing more, nothing less. I shouldn't dwell on it.

He gasped out one last, rattling breath, and then he was gone. I could see it, clearly, in his eyes as his spirit abandoned the shell of his body.

It was with difficulty that I managed to get my sword out of his chest, but I finally succeeded and wiped the blood off of it with my cloak. Then I slid it back into its sheath and leaned down to get the bundle of keys out of his belt.

With the keys in hand I walked quickly back down the corridors until I, once again, was in front of the familiar cell.

With shaky hands I tried the keys, one after one, until I finally found the right one. It twisted in the lock and I could easily hear the clicking sound of the mechanism. Finally I could wrench the door open, keys forgotten in the lock as I looked around in the darkness.

Finally, after much squinting and getting used to the darkness, I saw him. Alive, awake, sitting almost upright with his back leaned against the wall and his doe-eyes locked on me.

I crouched down in front of him, put my arms around him and pulled him as close as I dared over the wounds. Then I kissed him lightly, running a hand through his hair.

"You came back," he stated.

"Of course I did," I answered with a small smile.

His hands ran lightly down my upper arms and suddenly I had to gasp as his fingers came across the gash on my right arm. "You're hurt," he muttered.

"Not as much as you," I simply stated, using Matt's trick of tearing the bottom of my shirt off and quickly tying it around the wound to stop the bleeding. It hurt to an agonizing level, but at least I wouldn't be getting lightheaded the next moment.

I bent down to kiss him again, smiling against his lips. "Let's get you out of here."


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