“What were you thinking?” He held his chin and
wrapped his other arm around his waist, wondering
what had possessed her to do such a thing.
Branwen felt ashamed she had risked her life, and
Harris’s too. “I don’t know, I thought I could go out
there, and tell you to get back, your body isn’t healed
yet.” Now she had had time to reflect, she realised her
plan was not that great to begin with.
Harris stopped pacing. His hands were on his hips
as he leant towards her. “You can’t be serious?” he
mocked, “you…” he struggled to find his words, “you,
came onto a battle-field,” he continued to pace, “an
active battle-field, filled with death, terror, death! Just
to have a go at me?” Branwen had a pinched
expression; she knew what she did was stupid. With
his hand on his forehead, Harris turned. “It really is
like being married.”
Branwen could not help but smile at his wit. Even
though she had nearly killed them both, he could still
make light of the situation.
“Like I said,” Branwen sheepishly said,
“apologies.” She removed the last plate of armour, her
breast plate. Underneath she wore a small cotton tunic
and black trousers.
Harris raised his brow towards her. “And what
would they do? the outer shell is nothing, if the inner
is not protected.”
“Kyla is much larger than I am, her chains didn’t
fit,” said Branwen, “I wasn’t intending on fighting, just
finding you and bringing you back.” She tried to
defend herself.
“Kyla?” he looked to Branwen from under his
brow, “she put you up to this?” His eyes began to
narrow.
Branwen shook her head. “She did nothing
wrong,” she reassured, “she was just doing as I asked.”
Before Harris could reply, Anna burst through the
door. Seeing Branwen in such a compromising
position she quickly turned. “For fuck sake, Harris!”
she barked, critically, “not her as well?”
“No, Anna,” said Harris with a sigh to his voice,
“Branwen thought it a good idea to join us at battle
today,” he satirically mocked.
Anna turned. “Branwen, I would strongly suggest
you take the day,” she looked to Branwen stood
sheepishly in the room. Anna looked back to Harris; a
grin showed from the corner of her mouth, “Harris is
about to get a formal bollocking from your
commander.”
“Lister?” Harris asked, “oh! that’s great,” he
sarcastically said as he threw his arm into the air. “That
is just wonderful.” Branwen stood silent as he left the
room, she could hear him laughing manically as he
walked across the mezzanine. Anna followed Harris,
trying her best not to laugh. Branwen was completely
dejected.
His lizard skin armour was still covered with
Atlanti blood, he passed the courtyard where he saw
Svend being taken into the stables under the arches of
the castle. He noticed a blackening to his tail. “It’s
burnt Svend’s arse,” he disapprovingly said as he made
his way to the other side of the castle towards the
quarters kept for the fey.
He and Anna made their way up the stairs. Harris
sharply turned. “He asked for me, Anna, save
yourself, go and clean up, we battle again in morning.”
Anna was bewildered, they lost many on the field
that day, but Harris’s confidence seemed to wear off
on everyone. He knew they needed to keep pushing.
He already had a rough estimate that the Atlanti would
struggle to recover their numbers, and he was hoping
that the battle of Marrion would be over, within the
turn.
The corridor seemed daunting to Harris as he
walked towards the chambers of Lister. The fey were
known to be nimble in battle, Harris provided
warriors and fighters, but the fey were the archers, the
sprightly and dexterous dancers of the dance of death.
Their fighting skills were formidable, and Lister was
one of the best commanders they had.
Knocking on the door to Listers chambers, Harris
had a fair idea of what was in store for him. They were
both the same rank, Harris was not the sort to back
down, ever. The door slowly opened; a small fey
woman peered towards him.
“Commander,” she greeted; she had a broad smile
to her large pouting lips. She gave a curtsy as she
opened the door. Harris tightly smiled at her. Stepping
inside, the room was much grander than his. The
boiling air seemed to cool in the chambers, Lister
stood in the centre of the room, he too was fresh from
battle, but his armour was clean, his station had been
upon the plateau, perfectly placed there by Harris. His
long brown hair fell like coiled snakes, glowing blue
eyes and golden skin, he was perfectly clean shaven.
Appearance mattered to the fey, as much as their
manner.
Lister turned as Harris entered, Harris was a little
taller than Lister. “Harris,” he joyfully greeted. His
smile grew as he walked towards him. Lister threw an
unshielded arm around Harris. It was not the type of
greeting Harris was expecting. Lister held him tightly
by his shoulders. “I’m glad you came.” He held out
his hand, offering Harris a seat at his desk.
Harris was confused as he slowly sat, he waited for
Lister to join him. “Why am I here?”
Lister removed the breast plate of his armour, he
sat opposite. His eyes wandered towards Harris’s
lizard skin armour, even Lister only had polished steel
armour, lizard skin was saved for kings, queens, and
those who were rich beyond their means.
“Branwen,” Lister leant back in his chair and
looked to Harris. “What was she thinking?” Lister
slowly shook his head.
Harris gave a long sigh of disapproval, his eyes
rolled. “I have no idea,” he relaxed, “she wanted to
have a go at me I suppose.” He gave a cynical look
towards Lister.
Lister slightly shook his head; he did not seem
convinced. “That’s all? to shout at you?”
Harris did not want games, a warm bath and early
night seemed inviting to him. His voice was deep and
stern as he replied, “I know what you’re thinking,” his
casual attitude spoke of truth, “when I was injured,
Branwen seemed to have it stuck into her head that I
would need her to tell me what to do, at all times,
when she worked out I was on the field she tried to
follow, she believes I’m not yet ready for battle.” His
eyes seemed weary as he spoke.
Lister stood, he walked towards Harris and leant
on the desk. “I know you, Harris,” he said with a
menacing smile, “you’re a philanderer. Branwen is
one of the few untouched.” Lister stood, he slowly
walked to th
e back of Harris’s chair. “Tell me she
remains that way.”
Harris stood; he did not appreciate Lister’s attitude
towards him. He gritted his teeth, “If she is no longer,
intact,” he looked down on Lister, “don’t blame me, I
haven’t touched a hair on her head.”
Harris stepped to the side and began to leave.
“Very well,” said Lister in a deepened tone, “our
queen will want to thank you.” His attitude changed,
he seemed more grateful towards Harris. “You did
save her daughter, from her own stupidity.”
Lister walked towards a cabinet at the side of his
desk, he poured two drinks. Harris could sense the
change in attitude, immediately, he began to relax.
“Stupidity is one way of putting it,” scorned Harris.
“Well done today, by the way.” Lister turned and
handed a glass to Harris. He had no idea what was in
the glass but drank it, nonetheless. “Your tactics are
something we could use more in Sonnin, I must say
though, you had me worried there for a moment.”
Harris was confused. Lister could tell. “I thought
you’d fucked Branwen,” he laughed as he took a
drink.
Harris sat and began to drink, the sweet water was
not what he was expecting, he usually preferred
something harsher. “I would never take chastity from
anyone; besides, I know the stories of your ‘good
queen,’” he widened his eyes towards Lister, “I rather
like my balls where they are,” a sardonic smile slowly
formed.
Lister defended his queen, “She isn’t that bad.”
Unconvinced, Harris replied, “If I did anything to
Branwen, Harelda would have me strung from the
highest bower of her tree with nothing but my bollocks
to support me.” His brows raised to Lister, who could
not argue. Lister raised his brows, his mouth curled
down, he gave a short bow in agreement with Harris.
Librye had found a new obsession. The east tower
was now her playground. Each morning she would
spend in the tower, either watching the world outside,
listening to the council in her new hide, or reading
several books she would bring from Brenin’s
chambers. Her new skill of multitasking kept Mord
baffled, she had no idea where Librye was each
morning, she did, however, make the mistake of
assuming she was somewhere in the gardens.
Opening the curtain in Librye’s room, Mord
opened a window to let some air in. She had missed
the smell of the fresh spring flowers as they slowly
began to bloom. The trees showed more signs of
blossom. Librye slowly woke. “Where you off to today
then?” asked Mord.
Librye did not seem her usual self, she looked
pale, tired, and despondent. “I think I’ll stay here, just
for today.”
Mord was confused. Stepping towards the bed she
felt her head. “You’re not fevering.” She stood
upright, furrowing her brow towards Librye. “Perhaps
a day to relax would help, I’ll have something sent
from the kitchens.” As Mord left she could not help
but feel bad for Librye. Her constant need to learn
was being thwarted by Brenin. He was acting selfish,
even if he saw it as business, Librye should have been
his main priority.
A warm bath and early night were yet to be had by
Harris. Still sat at his desk he checked the numbers.
The battle ended well in their favour. His note from
the Atlanti commander was ill written, he could sense
the panic, the clear need to regain numbers. Harris
refused his note, hoping that the next battle would see
the Atlanti finished. If the Atlanti did not take the field
the next day, he planned to move in on the Atlanti
camp and take Marrion back.
Harris was not only a gifted commander, but
another gift he held was something he was born with.
Sat silently at his desk, the courtyard to the castle was
ringing with the sounds of celebration. The kitchens
had been teeming with soldiers for most of the
evening. He could hear her coming, even though her
footsteps were silent. He could hear the cotton ruffling
on her gown as she came towards his door, he heard
her lift her arm, ready to knock.
“Come in, Branwen,” he deeply said as he placed
his quill down.
The door slowly opened. Sheepishly she stepped
inside. Her voice was soft and coy, “How did you
know it was me?”
Harris sighed as he looked towards her. “I have
my own magic.” He stood and walked towards her.
Holding her shoulders he tightly smiled. Holding her
close he simply wanted to tell her he was regretful for
shouting. “Don’t ever follow me, Branwen,” he begged
her, he did not want her in his world, she was not
meant for the world he knew.
Branwen was unsure, she did not know why she
truly had followed him. “I want to know.” Her eyes
were soft, she seemed calm, and reserved. Harris’s
brows pulled down slightly his lips parted. She was
trying to tease him. “I want to know,” she repeated as
she pressed her body into his.
Harris stepped back. “Your mother!” he quickly
said. Shaking his head, he clarified, “I can’t, Branwen,
more important to me, than life,” he smirked.
Branwen lowered her head, she looked to him
from under her brow. “My mother,” Branwen kept
her playfulness, “does not need to know.”
Harris took a deep breath, it was difficult for him,
it was rare he would refuse such advances. Branwen
was different though; she was the woman he had spent
more time with than any. He had a different kind of
respect for her, and it frightened him to take it further.
His feelings confused him.
“You really want to know?” his eyes narrowed as
he waited for her reply.
She replied with a whisper, “Yes.” Branwen leant
to kiss him. Harris leant back, her frustration was
growing with Harris, he had been with so many, surely
it should not be difficult to take another.
“Please sit,” he moved away from her, making his
way behind the desk, he almost cowered, “I need to
explain something to you.” His deep voice only
fuelled her passion more, she took his instruction and
sat. “You are one of few, in Xencliff, the untouched
are the sacred,” he explained; his words were quick,
his hands were shaking, Branwen noticed his hands,
she thought it was sweet he would show such concern.
He slowly sat opposite her. “They are often put to the
taverns, but before they are, they are, ‘worked’,” his
explaining seemed to confuse her. “The well-trained
men of Xencliff, spend days and nights, ensuring that
they are ready, keeping them intact, they pleasure
them.” She watched his
lips, every word he said
seemed to draw her spirit closer. “I was young when I
moved to the palace. I like to learn, I was taught by a
man called Devon, I gained my name in the taverns,
through respect, and pleasure, the greatest ever
known, to any woman.”
Branwen sat back, her flirting stopped. “You don’t
need to explain, I am already convinced.” She was
aggravated, she simply wanted the lesson he had
offered to teach.
He slowly shook his head. “I have a different kind
of passion for you, Branwen,” he admitted, “I have
never had a friend.” It was a sad fact, one that not
many knew. “I have soldiers, chiefs, commanders,
servers but no one I can call a friend. I don’t want to
lose that with you,” he pleaded. Branwen felt utterly
despondent as she stood. Harris too, stood. “This has
not been easy,” he begged her. “Branwen, please, I
would give all of that up now, just so I could call you
my friend.”
His pouring of emotion triggered her heart. “I
struggle to believe that, but if that is how you wish for
this to be, then fine,” she softly agreed.
It was hard for Harris, so extremely hard, since the
day he had seen her, in her angelic form he had
thought of that very act. Writhing passion was all he
wanted to give her, but the respect he had for her
reached far beyond friendship, he did not know what
emotion he was feeling, it was new to Harris. It
frightened him, and The Commander feared nothing.
His bath and early night were interrupted by
thoughts of Branwen and her offer to accept. He knew
things would be too difficult, Branwen was the
daughter of a queen, she was destined to marry
someone of superior breeding, her chastity was sacred
to her. Harris was only a commander, the son of a
queen, but with no right to any throne. He needed
Branwen, as his only friend.
The hot Marrion morning brought battle. Branwen
remained in Harris’s chamber; it would be the most
difficult battle so far. Little did she know, it would also
be one of the longest. She left his chambers to look
from the mezzanine towards the courtyard, not much
movement could be seen. A few were leaving towards
the field. She had promised herself she would not
leave.