A E Johnson

by alice johnson

  “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,

  your mother terrifies me, she could take the one thing

  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.