The Boundless Reach of Amour
WARNING TO READERS: This story involves an intimate relationship between two siblings, set in a fictional but historically inspired time. The focus is on their love for each other, and if you're only interested in the plot and world-building, you might still enjoy their romantic connection. It's a dramatic tale with stakes high enough to threaten their very lives.
This is a work of fiction, and all characters are age eighteen or older.
--- LOVE HAS NO BOUNDARIES ---
The rolling green hills were silent except for the calming breeze that brushed past the lush plant life. Maeve's silent tears rivered down her face, marking the earth beneath her feet. "Please don't go," she begged, having repeated this plea countless times in her nightmares. Morning was near, and the landscape would soon be filled with the golden light of the sun.
Her brother, ever stoic, wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her brow. She felt so small in his grasp, yet incredibly secure. The thought of his departure ript through her body, the pain overwhelming. "I'm sorry," Cillian said, his voice full of emotion and hard to control. His leather armor creaked as he reached for the locks framing her face, her golden tresses cascading like silk.
Maeve backed away and struggled to release the pins that held her hair in check. "Don't leave me," she begged, resolutely maintaining eye contact with him. So many years ago, they had played together, racing across these fields, filled with laughter. Cillian had been much smaller then, younger by a year. Now he was a grown man, tall and muscular, following in the footsteps of his father. "Don't go fight in a war for a lord you've never met," she pleaded, her voice shaken. "You'll die."
Cillian's expression revealed his uneasiness. "I can't stay. If I do, they'll call me a deserter and sentence me to death. And if I die, who will protect you?" He extended his hand to wipe away her tears, but she shrank back in trepidation, fearing her world would shatter. The despair in her eyes left no room for misunderstanding. One man had captured her heart, and that man was Cillian, her brother. A man of the verdant islands always defended them regardless of the odds. But could he downgrade his love for his sister? "You'll find another man to marry," he offered.
"No," Maeve asserted defiantly, her voice steady though tinged with desperation. She inhaled deeply, preparing herself for the words she knew would leave her emotionally bare. She had never dared to reveal her feelings before, for fear of the consequences. "The only person I'd marry is you."
The intense shock crossed Cillian's face. "I...," he began, hesitated, but Maeve interrupted him. She trembled with fear, aware that her words could shatter their bond. It was forbidden for siblings to match in love. The gods themselves would disapprove. "No," she said firmly, relaxing her stance. "I'll follow you. Wherever you go, I will be there."
And Cillian saw it in her eyes - the request that had never crossed her lips. Although shocked, he realized her words bared her soul. Although he had never considered it before, he understood and chose to consider this undeniable love. "I'll protect you. Together, we'll face whatever danger comes our way."
Maeve released a sigh of relief when he acknowledged her feelings, falling in his arms. Finally, his steady presence had answered her unspoken dreams. "I'll never let anyone hurt you." he reassured her.
"Together forever," she promised. While the landscape would change around them, their love remained implacable. Oceans or mountains, they would conquer them all under the watchful eye of their faith.
And so they embarked on an adventure, an unconventional but passionate journey of love and family, fighting for their union and their place in the world.
There's a moment of silence, peace, and calm. It's interrupted by the loud yell of Sir Oisin, Cillian's commander, who's calling from a faraway hill that it's time for the men to collect their belongings and head towards the ships. It's a harsh reminder that the peaceful moments are short-lived.
Cillian's eyes stay locked on hers as he steps back. For just one instant, before he turns his head, she sees it. A look worth more than a thousand words. There's no doubt in her mind. Her younger brother, forced by fate to become a warrior, loves her deeply.
And then he's gone. As Maeve kneels down, she knows with certainty that he'll never come back.
--- 2 ---
The ship, an enormous creature of the blue sea, has a crew of 200 soldiers and a group of almost 50 sailors. It's surrounded by several more warships sporting the same emblem – a graceful deer draped in trefoil designs. Like a school of fish, they navigate the rough seas, the heavy salt wind ruffling each man's hair and stinging his eyes. Each young lad appears to wear a mask of either worry, remorse, fear, or seasickness. None of them look comfortable; their faces are all taut with anxiety, sweat dripping down their foreheads. By dawn tomorrow, they'll reach land and meet their enemy.
Cillian recognises only a few of the other men. The son of the miller from his village. The younger brother of his friend Bain, whom he'd shared stories and laughs with on countless nights. But they're all cannon fodder. They're men lacking riches, property, or status. Second sons of commoners; they're not trained for war and won't gain from the conflict. They're sacrifices, created by necessity. If Cillian's father was still alive, he would've been allowed to stay, as he was the eldest son to the once renowned Sir Kieran, a seasoned warrior who perished fighting beside their lord before the sun set on his fortieth year. With him gone, Cillian is drafted, required to spill blood for his homeland, as he's unmarried and childless.
The ship bobs in the choppy waves as it shimmies with the sea, and Cillian watches as men from his home village lose the copper coins in their pouches to expert sailors in a dice game for higher stakes than they can afford. It perplexes him for a moment before the mournful realisation settles in; the men don't care because they don't expect to make it past this week. A melancholy imposed by fate – but there's no point mourning it. Soon these same ships will carry the bodies of fallen kinsmen back to the emerald isles to be buried on home soil - and those men will be deemed the lucky ones, as most will be left behind to rot on the fields and provide sustenance for the carrion birds.
"You hungry?" the roly-poly man with reddened cheeks asks, holding out a basket lined with waxed cloth. Cillian discerns that he's part of the ship's crew, based on his attire. The uniforms of the soldiers and sailors are similar in many ways, with identical colours and similar patterns adorning both sets. However, the sailors have a patch on their breasts and richer material on their doublets while the soldiers have leather on their linen.
The aroma of mutton fills Cillian's nostrils, and his mouth waters right away. With nothing to distract him but the disturbing thoughts of what he'll face and the others beyond the horizon, the meal offers a pleasant diversion - so he expresses his gratitude sincerely and grabs a portion. Cillian digs into the meal like a ravenous wolf, yet savours every bite.
"It's unusual to see someone like you," the rotund man says, and Cillian cocks an eyebrow. The stout man continues, "Most of these men are skinny, or so stricken with fear that they can't appear to figure out which end of the sword to plunge into someone." The sailor glances around before adding another portion of food to Cillian's hand and winking. "Survive the ordeal out there, my new friend. Win fame in combat, and maybe someday there'll be tales about your courageous feats!" And then he bows before striding away.
Contemplating the man's words, Cillian inspected the other men around the ship's deck. It was true that not many of them appeared to be fighters, yet he wasn't the only one who towered above them with a muscular frame. Perhaps Colm was trying to make him feel more confident about his chances of survival compared to the others. In reality, he would probably perish on the battlefield just as quickly as the rest and likely wouldn't manage to spill a single drop of blood from an enemy with his blade. Fortunately, his father had taught him the art of combat when he was younger. Although he assumed there would be a significant difference between dueling someone one-on-one and being in the middle of a chaotic melee, the sounds of clashing steel ringing all around. He could only pray that the enemy forces were equally inexperienced.
It wasn't long before Cillian finished his meal. Sir Oisin, clad in decorative armor and a stern expression, arrived from across the ship's deck, striding purposefully. Wearing a green cloak that swept behind him and wielding a sword with a golden pommel that glittered in the setting sunlight, he called out, "Cillian of Ibher?" Cillian snapped to attention and stood with his back straight and his right hand on his heart in response.
Sir Oisin's expression was unreadable. "Your brother wishes to see you below deck, in the lowest sleeping quarters. He seems to be seasick. Tell him that if he throws up down there, he'll have to clean it up himself, okay?"
Confused but hesitant to question the order, Cillian nodded and proceeded below deck, the deck creaking as the ship navigated through turbulent waves. Down several flights of stairs, he arrived at a narrow hallway. There, on the left side of the lower level, in the dim light filtering through the cannon maw above them, lay an individual curled up on the floor, huddled under a thick blanket, his arms tightly wrapped around his knees in agony. Cillian approached him cautiously.
"Did you call for me?" Cillian inquired tentatively. "Are you hungry?" When there was no response from the bundle at his feet, he crouched down to get closer. And suddenly, the blanket was thrown over his head - the little creature that had been concealed underneath immediately burrowed its face into Cillian's shoulder as if he was providing refuge from the horrors of the world. Almost involuntarily, he hesitated before asking, "Maeve!? What are you doing here? Are you out of your mind!?"
"Ssshh!" she hissed, fearing they would be discovered. "If they catch me here, I'll be thrown overboard. Keep quiet until we can make our escape!" Maeve relaxed slightly against him, hugging him tightly like a baby possum to its mother. "I'm not allowing you to die," she declared. "I won't let you go."
Cillian's face drained of color upon hearing her words. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, louder with each passing moment. Maeve! What an impulsive, brave, endearing, devious, irresistible sister she was. She never stopped surprising him; even in these dire circumstances when she had snuck onto a ship full of soldiers bound for battle. Even if they managed to escape, they would be in a foreign land with people who would see them as the enemy and would have no qualms against cutting them down. And remaining on the ship would not be an option, as the commander's right-hand man carried a long parchment with the names of all the soldiers aboard. If anyone was missing from that list, the ship would be searched until they were discovered. This was not the first battle of the senseless war, and there had been many foolish attempts to desert already. Soldiers were prepared to deal with deserters.
As he was about to speak, voices could be heard down the hallway. Maeve tugged him even further into the darkness, and the thick wool blanket enveloped both of them, concealing them completely as they lay on the floor. Her tiny frame contrasted sharply against his large physique, making it hard to believe they shared the same parents - their eyes and facial features, however, were strikingly similar. Her golden hair tickled his nose with every exhalation, and even though he appeared to be made of stone, his arms were tentatively wrapped around her, shielding her from the dangers of the world. And despite her timid kiss on his neck, the helplessness she displayed was somehow endearing.
Despite the potential danger, Cillian was grateful for her presence. Although their situation was grave, Maeve's loyalty and love brought some solace to his heart and gave him the strength to face the challenges that lay ahead.
The sailors' conversation was loud, harsh, and almost angry. "Why don't you quit, man?" one of them demanded. "Taking stuff from soldiers about to die is evil enough to curse you for eternity."
His companion laughed dismissively. "What good are coins when the dead have them?" he yelled, then lowered his voice so no one else could hear. "They're toast. And I need to take care of my family, you know? I got four little ones to feed."
Their thick accents made it clear they were from farther north than Cillian and Maeve, possibly around Loch Ullan. Even though most people in these parts were poor, they had built fortresses every couple of miles, just as strong as those of the southern nobles. Stone upon stone, well-fitted together, creating solid walls with connecting passages - and Cillian thought to himself that if the war was fought on their home soil, their chances of winning would have been much higher.
Cillian and Maeve held their breath as the two men searched through the soldiers' belongings. One of them was grumbling the entire time, but he still seemed to be helping his friend steal whatever valuables they could find before throwing them into a bag. Their voices were so close that they might discover Cillian and Maeve's hiding spot at any second, but luckily, they showed no interest in the beds or other items along the wall. In less than a minute, they had found enough money, and they went back up deck, knowing that getting caught stealing would lead to death.
Once their footsteps faded away, Maeve exhaled and pulled back the blanket. She and her brother looked at each other in the dark. Cillian's eyebrows showed he was concerned, but his eyes shone with enjoyment - and he raised one arm to gently touch Maeve's cheek with his fingertips. "This is crazy, even for you," she said. "But I'm here with you in this life and the next." Then she paused. "And speaking of crazy..." Quickly, her lips were on Cillian's. It was a gentle kiss at first, Maeve making sure to keep it slow in case her brother pushed her away. But when they broke apart, they saw each other in the dark room on the orlop deck, and it was as if they were under a spell. They kissed again, this time more forcefully, their tongues touching before their lips parted. Their hands wrapped around each other's faces, enjoying the feel of their skin.
"I've never wanted anything so badly as I want you," Maeve whispered against Cillian's forehead. Cillian was still trying to process their situation, so she went on. "But I didn't come here just to die after sharing a passionate moment. We're going to escape. That means I need a disguise." She leaned back and touched his linen shirt nervously. "I need a soldier's uniform - something that covers a lot of skin but isn't too tight, revealing my curves. And definitely with a hood."
Cillian thought carefully about her words. The 200 men who were with Sir Oisin were gathered quickly, with little planning involved. Because they needed to get more men to the battle as soon as possible, these men were all essentially strangers to the commander. That gave Maeve a chance to blend in if she appeared boyish enough. But their faces didn't deceive anyone - Maeve was too beautiful, and her curves and short stature didn't help sell the disguise.
"I'm not sure that's gonna work, dear sister," Cillian said, looking troubled. "But I can't think of a better plan. I'll go find you something." With that, he got up and left, telling Maeve to stay quiet. "How did you manage to get on board anyway?"
She beamed mischievously. "I smuggled in a crate of lemons."
"He's still unwell, right?" Art remarked while seated with a group of fellow soldiers, taking swigs from their ale bottles. Some soldiers were already dozing off, and the hour was getting late. However, Cillian was beside a bed covered in thick blankets, where Maeve hid herself. Despite her efforts to appear a soldier, her lush lips and voluptuous figure betrayed her attempts.
"Leave him alone," Cillian said firmly. "He's anxious with this being his first time on a ship of this size. I'm surprised you guys seem so calm."
Art snickered, furrowing his bushy eyebrows. "What's the point of stressing over things when the gods will ultimately decide our fate? Either we live or die." He threw away his beer tankard and glowered at Cillian. "But I see right through you, lad."
Cillian swallowed hard, unsure how to respond. Art wasn't a captain's relative, like the other soldiers. He was often brash and impulsive but had won the admiration of several comrades. He excelled with a sword in hand, and the scar across his cheek was a testament to his prowess - claiming it was from a duel. Cillian suddenly felt his concerned emotions rise.
"What do you mean?" Cillian asked cautiously, trying to sound nonchalant.
"I know what you're up to," Art said piercingly, his eyes like daggers aiming at Cillian. "I don't care if you're gay, but don't lie to us about that frail guy under the blanket. You tower over him! It's obvious!"
Despite the shock, Cillian remained mute for a moment, but Art interpreted his silence in acceptance. "Keep it on the down low. I'm not poaching any relationships, but we don't need more trouble at a moment like this. And I'm not going to have my sleep interrupted," Art cautioned before drifting to sleep. The other soldiers whispered quietly for a few more minutes but eventually settled down.
Cillian snuggled beside Maeve, under the same blanket, holding one arm around her slender frame, hoping to offer her comfort. She snuggled into Cillian's neck and sighed in relief when she sensed his heartbeat slowing down. Despite the imminent danger, there was a moment of peace, and they just snuggled up to each other, thankful for the respite.
No words were exchanged. None dared. Over a dozen men lay around, and it wouldn't have taken much for a pair of keen ears to hear their conversation. They had purposefully chosen a dark corner to blend with the shadow.
The silence lingered. Sleep was elusive. The room was warm. Too warm. But Cillian dared not remove her garments for fear of exposing her true identity. Cillian commanded her gently to rest, explaining that they would need their strength for the next day. She obliged, but her eyes continued to observe the scene intently, like an attentive cat. Only her forehead and eyes were visible through the blanket's hem. The creaking of rope and wood rhythmed with ocean waves - comforting sounds for one, yet a source of stress for another. Cillian listened carefully, adding the steady snores of the unaware men. [paraphrased]
"If he's ill, then he is," Art observed, sitting with other soldiers and consuming their final drinks before what could be their last days. Numerous men had already dozed off, and the hour had become late. But Cillian remained next to a concealed Maeve under a heavy blanket, impersonating a fellow soldier. Her voluptuous lips and plump frame could not be fully hidden.
"Leave him," Cillian commanded curtly. "It's his first time on such a colossal ship, and his stomach aches with the impending miseries of tomorrow. It's only natural for him to feel nervous so late in the night."
Art snorted with disbelief, eyeing Cillian furiously. "What's so hard about being honest?" he inquired. "Either we're successful or fail. The gods will decide our fates. But I can tell you're covering something up."
Cillian's stomach turned with uncertainty. Art was related to the ship's captain by blood, twice removed - yet he boasted bravery and managed to ingratiate himself among several soldiers. His distinctive scar across the cheek was from a claimed sword duel victory, and a confident aura surrounded him. He was also older than most of the men.
"What are you talking about?" Cillian inquired cautiously, attempting to appear composed.
"No need to play the fool," Art stated, glaring at Cillian without mercy. "And don't try to hide your true relationship. You're giant compared to that small one. It's obvious!"
Lacking any response, Cillian remained quiet for a while, his shock paralyzing him. But Art interpreted his silence as agreement and sighed, entering his own sleeping quarters. "Better to remain quiet. Everyone deserves happiness, but we don't want any extra drama. Our comfort is paramount," he warned before slumbering. The other soldiers chatted softly for a short while before drifting off.
Cillian lay beside Maeve under the same blanket, embracing her thin figure, hoping his gesture would ease her worries. She nuzzled against Cillian's neck and inhaled deeply, feeling his heartbeat become more mellow. Their perilous journey was just starting, but for now, they enjoyed a few quiet moments to themselves.
There was no need for communication. There was a certain understanding between them. A dozen men slept around them, so silence was a necessity. Planning their hiding spot in the darkest corner of the room helped them blend with the shadows.
The minutes crept by. Sleeping was not easy. The room was warm and cozy. A bit too warm for comfort. Cillian learned to contain his impulses, leaving his sister's clothing intact out of fear of disclosing her gender. Cillian advised her to be at peace as they needed their strength for imminent challenges. "Get some rest now. We'll need all our energy," he counseled.
She showed him a cautious nod, yet her eyes remained observant as she watched everything around them. Only her forehead and eyes were visible through the hem of the blanket. The tearing sound of ropes and ship wood combined with the gentle lapping of ocean waves created a comforting tune - soothing to some, yet frustrating for others. Cillian listened, along with the steady snoring of their more pious companions. [end of paraphrase]
Maeve must have been out of her mind to think this plan could work. There would be thousands of men wearing their own colors when they reached land, and it was anyone's guess how many foes they'd face. Where could they even go? Maeve was stunning. Smart, full of life - a great spinner and an even better singer. Why would she do something so crazy? She could've had a comfortable life back on the islands. I looked at my sister, cradled in my arms, with some of her golden curls poking out from under the hood she wore. She had to love me so much to put herself in such danger. I had to find a way to protect her, not just from her own foolishness, but also from the knights in the blue tabards of Aquitania who'd kill her just to curry favor with their king. And also from their own kin. Having a woman on a warship was no laughing matter for the superstitious soldiers; her mere presence could invite disaster.
Maeve eventually fell asleep. It was just before the crack of dawn when Cillian too succumbed to sleep; but before he drifted off completely, his heart swelled with a desperate ache. In a few hours, he might never hold her again. Could the gods be merciful at daybreak?
--- 4 ---
The bells rang through the air like the war cry of a ancient beast reluctantly waking up. Then came the commands, shrieked by those of higher rank on deck: "Landfall in five minutes! Gather your belongings and prepare!"
The entire crew leapt up instantly - any lingering sleepiness vanquished by the adrenaline surging through their veins due to the impending conflict. Maeve - still dressed in heavy clothing that masked her femininity - kept her head down as she followed her brother out of the room, surrounded by other soldiers in the same heavy garb. They fastened their standard military-issued longswords to their belts, the blade uncomfortably long for Maeve's petite frame - but its thrusting power was necessary against the armored Aquitannians, where ordinary swords often proved ineffective.
It was a beautiful morning, warm and bright; and the salty breeze felt delightful after a night spent cooped up in the dark, surrounded by the damp cots, the air thick with the stench of sweat. Ahead of them lay land, not unlike the verdant islands they called home: lush flora, and just beyond the shore were forests untouched by time. Thick branches entwined to form impenetrable canopies overhead, blocking out most light and giving them an ominous look. The leaves on the trees were a captivating blend of vivid hues - green, yellow, orange, and red - dispersed across the entire forest like jewels on a royal sceptre. Despite the lovely vista before them, neither sibling could enjoy it, as they were on edge and focused only on finding a chance to escape.
Other men from the viridian islands were already rowing supplies ashore from the other ships in the fleet, and Cillian and Maeve, along with Art and a few others who'd gathered around the audacious youth, started loading dried fish and other food supplies onto the pinnaces, serving as the ship's tender craft.
"Hurry, lads! You're not dead yet!" Sir Oisin's voice boomed from his command deck high above them. The look on his face was grim - determined and resolute as stone. "Get the supplies ashore and stay alert." One of his delegates marked names off from a list as they took their seats in the rowing boats, and Maeve simply tagged along with Cillian, thankfully without arousing suspicion. It was one thing to sneak past the ranks - but quite another to remain on board when summoned to battle, even though that would have been a more desirable outcome. All they could hope for was a lucky break to turn their fate around.
When they'd loaded as much cargo as the vessel could possibly carry, threatening to capsize her, Sir Oisin at last gave the command for the rowers to set course for shore, allowing the soldiers aboard to disembark with some semblance of organization. The orders were clear: carry the supplies a mile inland until reaching a vantage point on the other side of the woods. "Lose our supplies now, and our fate is doomed," their leader warned. "Supplies won't arrive for many days."
The voyage to shore was arduous with the extra weight. Still, Maeve was not someone to give up so easily, and although her slender arms were straining from rowing so vigorously, she pushed the oars with all her might, driving them deeper into the water to hasten their arrival. The soldiers hardly paid her any attention, for whenever someone would try to talk to her, mostly urging her to row faster, Cillian would intervene. He was convincing, seemingly so; or perhaps it was his deep voice and towering stature that made the soldiers ignore him.
Upon reaching the shore, birds welcomed them - seagulls, primarily - drawn to the food scent; their screeches and singing sounds only amplifying the confusion stirring within the young soldiers. The beaches were rocky - coarse sand with large pebbles everywhere, many of which were sharp and painful to walk upon, even in heavy boots. As they brought their loads further inland, lay them down on the mossy ground, both Cillian and Maeve were overwhelmed by the physical exhaustion as well as the heavy tension within. Standing there, exhausted by both the weight they carried and the overwhelming atmosphere, Maeve surveyed her surroundings in disbelief. It seemed as if they'd entered another world entirely. Reminiscent of the forests where she'd grown up, but much darker - a dense, threatening forest with an abundance of plants and looming trees resembling an infinite labyrinth eager to swallow anyone unaware.
"Look," Art pointed out, gesturing towards the horizon with a gloved hand. There, on the other side of the valley, stood what appeared to be a large, white structure with a wall that looked high even from so far away. A fortress in white limestone, encircled by what Maeve would soon recognize as people - thousands of them. An army. Every last one of them carrying foldable steel and dressed for war. "Those bastards will kill us if we don't kill them first," Art groused, and the grim reality of their circumstance seemed to dampen his mood.
Everywhere, watchful eyes searched for potential deserters. "Deserters will be killed on sight," a grizzled soldier informed them all, one of few on horseback. Horses were a rarity on the emerald isles, even amongst the nobility. And even if Cillian and Maeve could ran away somehow, where would they go? They didn't speak the language here or any other language besides the one common among the isles. Their only solution was to find a way back home somehow.
Cillian leaned towards Maeve, whispering into her ear. "When the opportunity presents itself, we need to find a place to hide. Then, maybe after the injured and dead are being transported back to the shore, we could sneak onto one of the vessels." It wasn't a foolproof plan, dependent on both luck and patience, but their choices were limited.
A meager meal of stale bread and water was distributed, and it became evident that everyone around them was on edge - even Art - while they waited for the trumpets of war to sound. Time passed slowly; once Maeve and Cillian had eaten all the bread they could tolerate, they sat down leaning against a crate, trying not to stand out. Fortunately, Lady Luck was on their side, as Art approached Cillian to hand him another piece of stale bread when he abruptly froze in his steps.
"How's your small partner?" he questioned, the tension in his voice making it clear his inquiry was more than casual curiosity. Cillian and the young man exchanged a moment of silence, and he noticed how Art was surreptitiously reaching for his weapon. "She's not a man, you know?" Art snapped, withdrawing his weapon.
With one swift motion, Cillian gripped his estoc, and, before Maeve or anyone else could react, he rushed forward, ready to protect his little sister against any and all aggression. "Back off!" he roared, his swords raised.
"What is this ruckus!" Oisin boomed, appearing suddenly by their side. "Lower your arms and explain yourselves!" His displeasure was evident, and Maeve tensed instinctively as he grabbed Art's collar. "Pointing your sword at kin? What on earth were you thinking?"
The air was heavy as Cillian and Art stared at each other for a few, tense seconds. This was it. The moment when Maeve's identity would be disclosed. What would be her punishment then? At best, they'd angrily send her home, and only Cillian would face repercussions. At worst...he couldn't even bear to contemplate that. It was too painful to imagine.
Art clicked his heels together and bowed to the commander with an apologetic expression, never taking his gaze off the young man who protected Maeve behind him. "I'm sorry, cousin. It was just a minor disagreement. I'm just a bit on edge, that's all," he explained.
"You two need to act like soldiers," Oisin responded, fixated on Cillian. "Both of you will talk to me after the battle, if we survive," and then he walked away without saying anything else, his heavy boots making loud noises against the hard ground.
A heavy silence followed. Art broke it by speaking, "You're a fool. But I won't be the one to lead you to your grave. So keep Maeve out of sight, and don't do anything reckless. It'll be bad enough having so many enemies around that we shouldn't fight each other, don't you think?" Then he grunted, sat back down in the mud, and his face remained cold and unchanged.
Maeve was finally able to breathe again. She fought hard to maintain her calm expression, her face pale from fear and the numbness creeping through her bones despite the warm weather. She felt trapped, being held hostage by a man who could've exposed her identity at any moment if he'd wanted to. Now, he just sat there, looking ahead into the distance, waiting for something to happen, and she realized that if he didn't show any mercy, she could be heading to the executioner's block.
"Thank you," she whispered softly.
Art looked up at her, let out a sharp breath through his nose. His expression softened a little as he gazed out across the valley again, and Cillian's muscles also relaxed. Without thinking, Cillian wrapped his arm over Maeve's waist once more, pulling her close. No one seemed to care. They probably thought there was nothing odd about it, especially since Art had taken them off the hook. And the fact that they had more important things to worry about made it more likely.
--- 5 ---
The number of soldiers and the amount of supplies increased rapidly over the next hour. This improved morale significantly. Cillian thought these men were fools, though. They were just boys with little to no combat experience facing droves of mounted knights with years of training under their belts.
Trees were cut down, their edges sharpened with axes to create a barricade to block a mounted charge. One tree almost hit a noble on his horse, causing his horse to panic, kicking its hooves and catapulting towards the chaos. The horseman, lacking military training, couldn't control it, and soon the confusion spread. Horses were neighing, soldiers were in disarray, and angry orders were being shouted.
"This could be our chance," Cillian whispered, his urgency clear in his voice. "Maybe we can escape." He scanned the area, trying to determine how many people would be watching them if they escaped into the woods. He prayed not many were. Holding Maeve's hand, he headed towards a group of trees and, when no one was paying attention to them, they both ran into the woods.
"Stop!" someone yelled from behind them, and they'd already put some distance between themselves and the war camp. "Don't move!" Cillian sped up, but it was difficult on his end of the terrain with the tree roots and uneven ground. Maeve stumbled, her trousers' hem tripped her, and she fell to the ground, sending a jolt of pain down her whole body. Cillian turned around to find Maeve lying on the muddy earth.
"Stay there, boy," a soldier barked, raising his weapon at them. He was approaching fast, and it was a race against time for them to get away.
"No!" Maeve screamed frantically, exposing her girlish voice. Her face was filled with fear. "Please, sir," she begged as she struggled to stand up from the incident. Her legs were visibly shaking.
The soldier looked at her, then at Cillian, then back to Maeve. "Go," he said quietly, his eyes filled with concern, but his weapon was still pointed at them.
Cillian and Maeve escaped from the guardsmen, not heading towards the beach where they could get spotted but rather through the forest. They surged forward through the dense roots, high grass, and trees, heading eastwards where the sun shone brightly through the canopies. All they could hear was the sound of birds chirping, leaves crunching, and heavy breathing. Maeve thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye a few times, but it seemed to be nothing as no other soldier, from their allies or enemies, came after them.
"I.. I can't run anymore," Maeve panted a few minutes later, her chest heaving with exhaustion.
Cillian paused and looked at her with concern, frowning slightly. He walked towards her through the woods, lifting her up with one arm as if picking up a small child, and continuing to walk.
"Where are we going?" she inquired after a while. "We're in enemy territory with no food or shelter. What could we possibly do?"
Cillian came to a stop and thought for a moment. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "But we need to do something, and going back to the ships would only put us in more danger. Not many people may help strangers in this situation. Maybe there's a village nearby the shore. We could steal a fishing boat from someone and sail home."
Maeve let out a deep sigh and rested her head on his chest, looking at the horizon ahead of them through the thick trees. The birds had stopped singing, and only their breaths and the sound of their feet crunching against the forest floor were audible. "We can't sail back to the Viridian Isles in a fishing boat, Cillian," she remarked. "It would be almost impossible, even for experienced sailors."
The young man looked thoughtful. "Maybe we could pay someone to sail us home on a merchant vessel?"
"Cillian," Maeve answered, "we have no money, nor do we have a way to communicate with these people. Additionally, trade between our people and the Aquitannians has ceased. How do you expect to convince someone to take us aboard for free and sail us to a country they consider the enemy?"
Not knowing what to say, Cillian continued walking through the woods, carrying her with ease. He held her as if she were a delicate, beautiful but fragile flower - precious and lovely. "I'm not sure," he said, sounding defeated. "But I will not give up until you are safe back home. You shouldn't have come here with me."
Her body tensed at his words. "No, you're wrong," she insisted, looking into his eyes. "We're meant to be together, Cillian. Purely and simply. If we're to die, we do so together." She embraced him tightly and laid her face against his chest, inhaling his masculine scent mixed with sweat from their run. "Cillian," she began again, her voice shy and unsure. "Will you tell me that you love me like a lover would?"
Cillian hesitated, then paused in his journey through the forest. He put Maeve down softly on a mossy rock and sat down next to her, their gazes locked. She looked innocent yet wanton, pleading for the words she desired.
"Maeve," he said softly, his voice full of emotion. "Maeve, my dear sister, now is not the time for-" [Cillian was interrupted by Maeve, who seemed to flinch at his previous answer.]"No, no, I mean.." Maeve blushed and fumbled for the right words. "Not like you love your sister. Like two people in love." She swallowed, her voice barely audible. "You remember how our father used to tell our mother every day that he loved her? The way their eyes lit up? That's what I want from you."
Cillian glanced at her, uncertain. He looked at her with ardent emotions but his words didn't match these feelings. "Maeve," he began slowly, "my dear sister, I-" [Lost in thought, Cillian paused, caught between his feelings and his commitment to Maeve's request. His eyes met hers, and in that moment, he realized he loved her as a lover would.]
"I love you, Maeve," he finally said, and she smiled up at him, happiness radiating from her eyes.
She spoke up once more, her voice firm. "We could be dead within the hour," she declared. "This might be my final opportunity to express my feelings. The desires I've always had." The tiniest hint of sadness was detectable in her tone. A sound that shattered his heart. "Cillian, tell me you love me too, then prove it with your actions - if only for a moment. Death might be lurking around every corner, my dear brother. Kiss me, claim me as yours, and turn me into a real woman!" The longing in her eyes was undeniable now. She craved him; needed to feel his body against hers, free from any obstruction. Two souls joining as one; destined to remain unseparated. "Will you have me?"
Cillian quieted his inner voice. It questioned the sanity of Love in such a critical situation. Their very survival depended on conserving their strength. And both being unmarried and siblings - wouldn't that aggravate the Gods? Yet Cillian couldn't help but struggle to fight it off.
"It would be a privilege to make you my woman, Maeve," he whispered softly. "If that's what you desire..." His voice carried undertones of lust, making her toes curl in her boots. "I love you, my beloved sister. Not just as a sibling but something even greater," Cillian said while taking her hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "But wouldn't it be wiser if we first found a safe spot? Then we can do whatever you wish, without any dangers looming over us."
The golden-haired maiden took a deep breath. "Wise? Yes, but I don't want to postpone it that long," she replied, bright-eyed with anticipation. "Besides, I'd rather die with the knowledge that your seed had been planted within me. Let death come whenever it pleases, but while there's still time, I want to show you how much you mean to me. Give me permission to call myself your wife, not just your sister, but yours completely!"
Cillian gulped, and while keeping her gaze, he nodded. The forest around them appeared calm and secluded, a place unaffected by the passage of time, with only the two siblings present - accompanied by a light breeze tossing the foliage as it brushed against their skin as they began to undress each other. His actions careful, every belt strap undone and every braided cord loosened. When Maeve was completely naked, her cheeks flushed suggesting the identity of her blush, she stood there fidgeting with her fingers.
"Is it enough?" she inquired. Cillian couldn't help but let out a brief chuckle. He had such devotion for his sister - the exquisite woman he had always adored. Her smaller breasts didn't detract from her beauty, and her puffy nipples seemed to draw him towards them. He took her hands into his, kissing each knuckle before embracing her.
"Sister dearest, you are everything I hoped for," he complimented. She was far more beautiful than the sunrise, both within and out. He peppered her with a few more kisses before his tongue slipped into her mouth. Their kiss was unhurried, sensual - each touch and nibble increased their desire. Maeve released soft moans that caused goosebumps down his spine.
His hands roamed her body freely - exploring its curves, its lusciousness, and its allure. Lying her down on their undone garments, like a makeshift bed on the forest ground, he caressed her belly until reaching her delicate mons, teasing her gently before sliding a finger inside her moist folds. Maeve spread her legs wider, granting him better access, and when she started panting heavily - her chest heaving to the rhythm of Cillian's motions - she begged him between soft whimpers for him to take her. "Make love to me," she pleaded, still stunned by the intensity of her affection. "Take me now." Her emerald eyes searched his, begging him to end her unbearable longing - and at last, he moved towards her, their lips uniting while he guided himself to her entrance, rubbing his manhood against her sensitive bud before penetrating her.
"Ah... Yes... "she murmured, as his girth stretched her open. She held him tightly by the waist with both arms, holding him there so powerfully that it even surprised her. Then she looked up at him submissively. The smile on Maeve's face was warm and genuine. "I'm yours now, forever and always..." she breathed, softly and hoarsely. A shimmer of gold passed over their bare bodies; the sun had briefly found its way through the leaves above them to light up the ground where the two siblings were entangled.
"I hope we can make it back to the emerald islands undamaged," Cillian murmured, but Maeve silenced him.
"Be quiet now. Just focus on how this feels, being with me this way." Then she kissed him deeply again - with a sensual intensity that made him sink even further into her pleasure as he continued to make love to his beloved sister. Their merging made obscene noises, the moisture of Maeve's flowing dew seeping onto their clothes as Cillian moved inside her, pushing her closer and closer to an intense climax. One that she had been waiting an eternity for.
Beyond the horizon, the battle may have already started. Maybe hundreds of Aquitainian knights, riding horses and dressed in shiny armor, were unleashing terror on the siblings' relatives. While the two lovers were still kissing, they ignored the world around them. This was a moment sweeter than anything she had ever experienced, and she purred at the feeling of her brother's body pressed against hers. She wrapped her arms around him tightly - a desperate young girl, every fiber of her being set aflame by her love for her younger brother. She whimpered his name loudly, echoing through the trees, and it became clear that Cillian was about to ejaculate inside her. The young woman smiled happily when he started moving faster, more urgently. Seeing him lose control drove Maeve wild.
"Put a child in me," she begged him desperately as the large man continued to thrust. "I want to be yours forever, Cillian." She closed her eyes as she yielded completely to the pleasure. As if in response, Cillian roared like an animal and ejaculated deep within his sister, triggering Maeve's climax along with his - and they rode their ecstasy together as one. Never before had Maeve felt so complete, nor so cherished. Even after the lust haze was gone, the bliss lingered on - and they lay there together for minutes among the greenery, just gazing into each other's eyes, listening to the sounds around them. Covered in sweat and leaking his fluids, they remained intertwined - Cillian on top of Maeve, her arms around him and a happy smile spreading across her lips.
Eventually, Cillian spoke up. "We should've done this earlier."
With a giggle, Maeve stroked his cheek. "I admit that you wouldn't have done it unless I took action," she confessed. "It had to be me. And it had to be now, like this. If it had happened at any other time, you'd be too careful and wary, thinking about what people would think and the risks involved. It could only have happened in a moment when life itself seems uncertain." Despite acknowledging their dire situation, the young woman seemed in high spirits.
Cillian, on the other hand, frowned. "I'm sorry. I have to figure out how to keep you safe somehow," he muttered softly.
But the blonde woman seemed less worried than before. "Surely, the gods wouldn't be cruel enough to abandon us now that I might be carrying your first child," she cooed, sounding quite positive about it. A warm glow surrounded her, radiating beauty and tenderness. In that moment, something changed within Cillian's rational and pragmatic mind. Suddenly, everything Maeve said seemed true and he couldn't help but feel optimistic.
"Perhaps you're right," Cillian admitted, looking at her with adoring eyes. He ran his hands through her messy hair, kissing her gently on the forehead.
"Mhm!"she chuckled. "I want to make love to you a thousand times more!" With those words, she claimed his lips once again for a kiss - and the young warrior felt his heart melt from the love he held for her. Maeve was his home. His guiding light and beacon through every storm. There, in the woods of distant lands, with death and danger potentially lurking everywhere - with their bodies still hot from passion, and bare - Cillian felt secure and comfortable. They were okay. He wouldn't let anything happen to his sister. They would find their way back to the emerald islands, somehow. They would age together, and have many children - like any loving couple would do. Brother and sister, sharing the deepest love. They would be content. They would survive.
Cillian and Maeve's journey together is just getting started, but it's uncertain whether I'll be able to portray their future through my writing. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed reading this tale and that it demonstrated how love is the greatest thing of all. Thank you for checking it out.
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