everything strictly to himself. Slowly, Branwen stood,
the warm Marrion breeze entered his window. She
made her way towards the bed.
“Commander,” she softly said, trying to rouse him.
“Harris,” she whispered. His eyes did not flicker as he
remained silent in his bed, his body lay twisted, to
make it easier to dress his wound. A pillow was placed
behind him, to stop him rolling onto the still
protruding arrow.
Branwen made her way to the front of him. He
was deep in slumber. Her eyes inspected his chest; she
saw he was filled with scars. A past-life haunted him.
She reached out and touched a red lumped scar just
below his left shoulder. Her wrist was suddenly caught.
She instantly looked to his eyes. The pools of
emerald green glared towards her. Her smile instantly
lit her angelic face.
“Good morning,” she greeted.
Harris seemed uneasy with her being there. “Do I
know you?” he asked in his deep, baritone voice. “I
feel like I know you.” His head was still light from his
injuries.
“Harris,” she softly said, “you need to let go of my
wrist.” Instantly he let her wrist go, holding his hand
stiff in the air. He tried to look around the room, his
eyes were hard to focus. “You will feel rather strange,
but you need to hold still. You were injured, your lung
was pierced, by an arrow,” she seemed saddened by
this, she had only met him during his sleep, but she
felt a strange connection to him. “Your knee is in need
of rest also.” She did not know how much he had
remembered.
“I’m aware of that,” he tried to sit up and gave a
call of pain, “Why?” he comically moaned, “is the
arrow still in there?” He looked to her horrified, his
mouth dropped at the sides his eyes were piercing
towards her.
Branwen began to gather a bowl and some cloths.
“Because the arrow is barbed, in order to remove it,
we have to push it through.” Harris did not look
scared at all, which shocked her. His eyes began to
relax. “It will go through your lung, but could go
through your heart,” she gently explained.
“Either way, the thing needs removing,” Harris
calmly replied. He knew that the nurses were the ones
to remove the arrows, but he also knew that removing
them would often lead to death. “Just tell me
something,” he looked towards her. “Why didn’t you
do it before?”
Branwen looked to Harris, unable to move and
completely vulnerable. She gave a sigh of deep regret.
“Your chances are slim, if we remove the arrow - and
it needs removing - there is a chance you won’t live,
you are the commander of the red army. They gave
you five days to wake and we would’ve removed it, if
you have any further orders, now is a time to give
them.”
Harris looked straight in front, he replied in a
comical tone, “If I die, I couldn’t give a shit about
what happens, those are my orders.”
Branwen replied, “Very well, get rested, I’ll fetch
my team.”
Harris panicked. “You’re leaving me?” he asked as
he again tried to sit up.
“I will be back, I can’t remove it alone,” she said
with a light laugh.
Harris shouted, “Wait!” Branwen stopped at the
door. Harris struggled for breath, “I don’t want them
to see.”
Branwen turned, she gave a look of confusion.
“Don’t want who to see?”
“Them,” he flailed his arm up. “I’ve already
established that I have no orders, can you just do it
please?”
Branwen was taken aback. She stuttered her reply,
“I can’t, not, alone, I need help.”
“Look,” he struggled for words, “What was your
name?”
“Branwen…”
“Branwen,” Harris interrupted, “I need you to do
this, please,” he begged. Branwen let go of the door
handle and walked towards him. “I don’t care about
dying, I just need you to do this, only you,” he seemed
to show a sign of panic. “Please, just do it!” he
shouted.
“Alright,” said Branwen, she rushed towards him
and tried to calm him. “But why?”
His eyes widened towards Branwen. “A
commander shows no weakness, and this could make
me cry,” he said with his mouth curled.
Branwen immediately laughed. “Apologies,” she
said, still laughing, “pride is a horrid thing.”
“I’m serious, I have only my pride left, so allow me
to keep that,” he begged, “besides, I’m Xencliff, we
don’t show pain,” his eyes seemed to glaze over,
“supposedly.”
Branwen thought, ‘Could she really do it?’ she
knew where the arrow was, and she knew she would
need to push the arrow as far towards his arm as she
could to avoid his heart, but she also knew he would
need to be held down. She thought of what she could
use to subdue him while she tried to get the arrow out,
but the supplies in the camps had ran dry.
“I don’t think I can, not without killing you,” she
sorrowfully said.
Harris softly replied, “Then kill me.” Branwen was
horrified he would say such a thing. “I’m not scared,”
he said with a tender voice. “I spent the last moments
of my life in the company of a beautiful woman, a fey,
I am more than ready, and I don’t fear death.”
His words seemed to stir her, she knew he was not
afraid to die, which frightened her. Such a handsome
young man should have been looking forward to his
life, instead, death showed nothing but mercy to him.
Branwen stood, she took some towels from a wooden
cupboard at the foot of the bed, placing them down
she made her way towards the back of him, a bowl of
water was placed to the side of her.
Having placed a wooden spoon handle in his
mouth, she warned, “Hold still, you’ll need to push
against me.”
“I know how it’s done,” he mumbled through the
spoon, “just don’t be gentle,” his brows were high. He
turned back over as Branwen carefully began to push
the arrow forward. It would not budge, Harris jolted
back, a cracking of bone was heard as it made its way
through his front ribs, Harris bit the handle as hard as
he could, whilst giving a muffled cry. His chest pushed
out; he gripped the sheets on the bed as he screamed,
breathing as fast as he could he tried to remain still.
Branwen started pushing as hard as she could. She
pushed the arrow to the side.
Sweat began to pour from his brow. Harris looked
to his chest to see the arrow making its journey out.
Blood poured from the bed and onto the floor.
Pooling blood began to cover Branwen’s shoes. Harris
carried on, screami
ng and wailing in pain, he held as
still as he could but struggled. Giving a mighty howl of
agony he saw the arrowhead under his skin, he took a
dagger which was belted to his right leg and sliced into
his flesh. With a mighty cry Harris grabbed the
arrowhead and pulled it. Branwen’s hand slipped
forward; Harris held the arrow up as she fell into the
blood on the floor.
He shouted in a high tone, “Water! Or beer, get
me something, Branwen!”
Quickly she stood from the floor and scurried to
the side to fetch some water, as she turned Harris gave
one last cry before he slammed to the bed.
“Harris!” she screamed, in a panicked voice she
called to him, “Commander!” She began shaking him,
trying desperately to wake him.
She erratically stroked his face, she tried to open
his eyes, his cheeks were now covered with the blood
from her hands. His lips were pale. “Commander,
please,” she sobbed as she desperately tried to rouse
him. Harris gave a loud snore, Branwen stood from
the bed.
With a large hole in his back and lung she knew it
needed to be dealt with and fast. She opted for the
magic of the fey, using ferns, salt and several oils she
had managed to obtain, her people’s magic would help
stop the bleeding and heal the wound. She knew his
chances would have been better if she were a Sharma
or Alchemist, but his chances increased with her being
fey.
The night lingered; Harris slept. Branwen
remained by his side, she felt unable to leave him. She
had known him for only a few moments, but in those
moments, he had shared more about himself with her,
than any other woman he knew. He was not afraid to
die.
The heat of the night brought the stench from the
battle outside, Branwen stood and closed the window.
“I know we’ve met before,” murmured Harris as
he woke. Elated, Branwen ran towards the bed, she
quickly took a glass of water from the side. Helping
him to sit up, she held the water to his lips. Instead of
drink, he drolly looked to her. “My hands work fine,”
he took the glass from her.
“Apologies,” she gave a slight laugh, “I’m used to a
different kind of soldier.”
“I can imagine,” said Harris, he gave a smile from
the corner of his mouth. “Have we fucked before?” he
blatantly asked.
Branwen stood; she was utterly disgusted as she
continued to clear away the bloodied cushions from
the back of him. “We certainly have not!” she
snapped. “I have never met you, you’re the new
commander here, I have been here a while, before
this I was in Assanin, and Sonnin, but our paths have
never crossed,” she affirmed.
Harris’s eyes narrowed as he delicately said,
“Untouched.” A smile grew as he watched her tidy the
blood-soaked linen. “You’re Sonnin fey?”
Branwen stopped clearing, she was glad to see he
had woken, and knew he was of Xencliff, they were
often abrupt in their questioning. She forgave him for
his previous comment. Her arms relaxed by her front
as she wrapped the linen around them.
“I am Sonnin fey,” she replied with pride, “but
where are you from, Commander?”
Harris’s eyes widened. “The shadows,” he replied,
“people have said I was born from war,” he held a
whimsical tone, “I could be from anywhere I like.”
Branwen slowly shook her head, her eyes
dropped. “All this talk of the dark stranger, the lone
traveller, The Wolf, The Shadow and The
Commander, I knew you were just of lost Xencliff, the
taverns alight with your name,” she said with a witty
tone, “but you’re just a man, lost.”
It seemed to wake something in Harris, he had
spent most of his short life in and out of taverns, but
he had offered the pornes of the taverns something no
one else did, ‘How could this woman, claim to know
him?’ he thought. “You know nothing of my life,
Branwen,” he said, having dropped his whimsey.
“I don’t claim to know anything, but I have sat
here, for days, wondering who you really are?” She sat
in a chair beside his bed and leant towards him,
holding her hands under her chin she waited for his
reply.
Harris raised his brows, he knew she was digging,
but he was not one to reveal much about himself. “I
will need to see my chiefs.”
Branwen sat back, she lowered her arms. “Oh,
come on,” she said with a wide smile. “I saved your
life, at least tell me about you!”
“So, you save my life, now I have to reveal
everything about myself,” he wittily said.
“Yes, that is the deal,” Branwen raised her brows, a
flirtatious smile from her plump caramel lips drew
Harris in.
Harris took a moment, he owed her a lot, he did
not want the others to see him in his time of great
need, but this woman had shown strength and
courage, he owed it to her. Awkwardly he scratched
his chin, his eyes flickered towards her.
“Fine,” he slowly said, “I’m from a small coastal
village, it’s on the Xencliff path, my mother and father
were both Xencliff, but they didn’t partake in the on
Waron, she was beautiful.” Harris found it hard to
speak. Branwen leant forward. “The rest, we can save
for another day.” His smile had died, Branwen felt
awful, knowing that such pain was entrenched in his
memory.
Branwen sat back, she crossed her legs and placed
her hands on her lap. “You don’t sound Xencliff.”
Harris raised his brows; he was impressed she had
noticed his accent was not the usual harsh overused
vowels of the Xencliff tongue. “I was young, when my
mother met Waron, I spent a lot of time, in the
Xencliff towers.”
“A palace? So how did you come to be here?”
Harris gave a satirical look towards Branwen, his
brow creased in the centre, his nose wrinkled as he
swayed his head from side to side. “Things,
happened,” he awkwardly replied, “I’m here now, and
that’s all that really matters.”
“Very well,” Branwen stood, she could not push
him any further. The constant look of pain behind his
eyes showed a hidden fear he would clearly cover up
with comedy, he would rather laugh about a situation.
Branwen continued to clear away and Harris
continued to silently rest. “What of you Sonnin fey?”
he asked as he watched her delicately glide through
the room.
Branwen continued to clean. The floor still had a
covering of dried blood. She fetched a pale of warm
water and began to pour it onto the stone floor.
“I am currently in my second service,” Harris
furrowed his brows, he tilted his head. “I plan to
return, eventually.”
Harris had a sudden moment of realisation. “I
haven’t met you,” he said with a gasp, his eyes shone
with delight, “but I did meet your mother, briefly,
Branwen Duirwud.” Branwen held her head up.
“Daughter of Queen Harelda, of Sonnin,” he slowly
said, “I met her when I travelled through towards
Ashdel, last summer I believe.”
She gave a slow head bow. “One and the same.”
“This feels strange,” he quickly said, “I have the
next in line to the Sonnin throne cleaning up my
blood from the floor.”
Branwen laughed. “I am doing my service, I’m not
the next in line, that would be my sister.” Harris still
felt awkward. “and who better to serve than my
mother’s champion of war?” Branwen stood by the
bed.
“She’s spoken of me?” he asked, feeling a hit of
overwhelming fame.
“Many times,” Branwen replied, she rolled her
eyes, “it was the main reason she wanted me in
Marrion, so I would eventually meet you.”
Harris gave a perverse smile from the corner of his
mouth. “I like your mothers thinking.”
Branwen snapped, “Not for that!” she came closer
towards him, “she has her ways, she knows what she is
doing, it’s your king I worry for.”
Harris flicked his head. “Brenin? he seems alright,
he’s a little odd but then who isn’t?” he joked.
“It’s the new girl he has, the child he found in the
camps, some concern has arisen over her health, but
apart from that he is yet to have a child of his own, it’s
all my mother seems to speak of.”
“He needs a wife first, maybe you?” he mockingly
asked, “the royals like to keep it tight.”
“That isn’t such a bad idea,” said Branwen with a
wide smile, “now rest, you’ve been through an ordeal,
we can talk more tomorrow, I’ll have something to eat
sent in.”
As Branwen began to leave Harris awkwardly
coughed. “I have a problem,” the corner of his mouth
pulled up. Branwen raised her brows. “Can you bring
a bucket?” She furrowed her brow. “I’ve been here for
almost four days, I’m yet to have a piss.” Branwen
quickly realised and fetched a bucket as fast as she
could, she left the room, hoping it was only that he