The Gifts We Share [A Medieval AU]

Chapter Nine - Thirst For Knowledge

When Mark was little, he had always dreamed of being a king.  He would make himself crowns out of sticks and storm around the yard, pretending that the plants were his subjects and that the family cow was his loyal steed.  Nothing could have prepared him for the fact that in reality, he is a king.

"It is a lot to take.  I understand," King Seán states, glancing at Mark. "I will not pester you anymore.  You may return to your room and rest, and we can do more tomorrow."

Mark nods, feeling numb from head to toe.  "A lot to take" is an understatement.  The metaphorical rug has been pulled out from under his feet and he isn't sure how to get back up.

Doing his best not to stumble, he stands himself up and moves towards the door of the king's study.  Flora waits by the entrance, and as soon as Mark appears she leads him upstairs to his room.  The farmer doesn't want to go back into his room.   Unanswered questions swirl around in his head, far too much for him to handle.  He needs to see his mom, he needs to train in the art of magic, he needs to find out more about his kingdom.  There are a lot of needs, and the frustrating part is that he has no solutions.

"Are you alright, sir?" Flora asks, glancing at him with concern. "You look ill."

"I'm fine," he replies.  His voice comes out higher than normal, causing him to curse silently. Come on, get your act together...

"Are you sure? I can get you something to drink if you need."

"Some tea would be lovely, Flora. Thank you," Mark states, doing his best to sound casual.

They reach his room and the servant girl goes off to get him some tea.  The farmer flops down on his bed, running his fingers through his hair.  Him, a king... It feels impossible, but maybe it's not too far fetched?

He stares at his hand, focusing on the feeling of fulfillment he had received from it when he had been with King Seán, and the warm tingling sensation that had erupted across his skin wherever the magic had touched.  He pictures it in his mind; a burning, glowing red like embers mixed with glitter, like the reflection of sun on water.

Nothing happens.  His hand remains normal and plain, causing Mark to groan in frustration. How does he channel it?   Why does he feel the surges of magic when he's close to King Seán? Why could he never feel magic before?  What can he do with this power?   What does his mother know about his origins?

The more Mark thinks, the more frustrated he becomes.  Knowing nothing has become exhausting. Is getting answers too much to ask for?  Is King Seán keeping him in the dark because he doesn't want him to know how to fight back?

The farmer pulls himself out of bed and moves to the window.  The rain outside has decreased substantially, allowing him to see out towards the horizon.  Is his kingdom that way?  Is it North, South, East, or West of here?   Mark likes to imagine that his kingdom is warmer than this one. Despite the fact that he's lived here his whole life, he's never really enjoyed the colder temperatures.

Flora enters the room and hands Mark a cup of tea before leaving once again.  He stares out the window, contemplating and sipping his hot drink.  Escape seems like a plausible option.  He's been through enough of the castle to be able to find his way to the entrance, and he has no doubt in his mind that he'll be able to outrun the guards if they have armour and he doesn't.

He moves to his desk, but stops himself before he sits down.  Telling his mother about his plans for escape is foolish. King Seán already revealed the fact that he reads the letters, so writing it down would be a silly thing to do.  Mark strokes his chin and settles himself in the chair, sipping his tea as he thinks.

Satisfied with the plan formulated in his mind, he finishes the last swallows of his drink and stands, changing into his sleeping garments and collapsing onto the bed.   A volume about the kingdom's history sits on his side table, but Mark finds that he's both too tired and too bored to stay awake much longer and read.

With a sigh, he shuts his eyes, although he doubts he will sleep.  Tomorrow, he is certain that he will be free.