The Gifts We Share [A Medieval AU]

Chapter Four - Change in Lifestyle

Mark's sleep is restless. Multiple times, he jerks awake and stares out into the darkness, his breathing ragged. His panic doesn't go away when he becomes aware of his surroundings-- If anything, it gets worse. He can't help but imagine what will happen to his mother if the king decides to execute him, and of all the life that will be wasted if he dies. He doubts, however, that screaming "I'm too young to die!" will help in any way. A king will not be persuaded by pleading and crying.

Mark wakes up for what feels like the hundredth time and runs a hand down his face, a long, low groan escaping his lips. As he pulls himself into a sitting position, a guard approaches his cell door and unlocks it. Mark watches with disinterest as the man puts him in chains once again and unlocks the cuffs around his ankles. The farmer finds that he's too exhausted to even try to fight back. He never understood the true effects of being in a dungeon, but the darkness and the lack of fresh air definitely take their toll after a while.

He follows obediently as the guard leads him upstairs and to the throne room.  Mark inhales the clean, fresh air that flows freely through the halls, the change drastic from the air in the dungeon. The early morning sunlight that fills the hall helps wake him up and take some of the anxiety from his heart, which he figures was, in small part, due to the fact that he was underground. He'd never been in a basement before, and this experience has helped him realize that he doesn't like it at all.

The doors of the throne room are opened and the guard guides Mark through. Immediately, the American locks eyes with King Seán, who sits in his throne and appears just as regal and intense as the day before.

"I would like to speak with the prisoner alone," he orders, glancing at the guards and nearby servants. "Wait outside until I call you in again."

The people in question do as he orders, leaving Mark alone with the king. The farmer shifts under the Irishman's gaze, becoming more and more nervous as seconds pass in silence.

"You told me yesterday that you're a peasant," King Seán says finally, leaning back in his throne. "I don't believe you."

"Why?" Mark asks. "I swear, I'm telling the truth."

The royal maintains his perfect poker face. "Where do you stand on the topic of magic?"

Mark stares at him, raising an eyebrow.  What kind of question is that?   "Uh..."

"Just answer the question."

"I don't believe in magic. It seems far fetched."

The king inclines his head a little, observing the farmer with a watchful eye once again. After a moment, he lifts his hand and looks at it as though he's pondering how his digits move. As Mark watches the royal, green magic starts to swirl around his hand like tendrils of smoke.

King Seán glances at the farmer, maintaining a straight face despite Mark's expression. "This is why I wanted to speak with you. You have something normal peasants don't, and I must understand how it's possible."

Marks shakes his head, utterly dumbfounded. "There's nothing special about me. All I've known is the fields."

The royal shakes his head, the magic disappearing back into his hand. "No, there's no way that's possible." He stands and approaches Mark, the surge of power growing stronger the closer he gets. "Do you feel that?"

"Yeah," Mark replies. "What is it?"

"Magic," King Seán states. "That's also the reason I'm skeptical of you. A peasant such as yourself shouldn't be able to feel it. So why can you? That's why I kept you here." The king turns on his heel and returns to the throne, the intensity of the magic decreasing the farther away he gets. He sits down and waves his hand dismissively. "I hardly care about something as trivial as stolen bread and medicine. The shopkeeper has already been repaid. No, what I care about is someone like you, who displays abilities that you should not have."

Mark nods a little and takes a deep breath. "So can I go home? My mother is sick, and there's nobody there to take care of her."

King Seán shakes his head. "I'm afraid that you can't return home yet. If there's any chance that you could be what I think you could be, I can't risk letting you roam free in my kingdom."

The American stops himself from voicing his protests. Arguing with a king never got anyone anywhere good. Still, he doesn't fully comprehend what the problem is and he doesn't understand what the king is implying. He shoves his thoughts away as King Seán speaks again.

"However, since I've decided to keep you here for reasons other than criminal offences, I will not expect you to stay in the dungeon any longer. I will provide you with a guest room that will be under surveillance by my guards. You are no longer a prisoner, but you have not yet earned the title of "welcomed guest". Now, I will let my servants and guards in once again and someone will show you to your room."

He raises his hand, the tendrils of magic once again swirling around his fingers. With a flick, he opens both doors and lets his servants and guards in again. Calling one of the servant girls over, he mutters something in her ear and gestures to Mark. She nods excitedly in response and practically skips over to the farmer, folding her hands behind her back.

"My Lord has ordered me to be your servant for the duration of your visit," she says in a thick Scottish accent. "Please follow me, sir."

Mark nods and follows the girl, who's probably only seventeen or eighteen, down the hall and up a winding flight of stairs. The American doesn't speak much, allowing the girl to explain her duties as his servant and other things of that ilk. When they reach the room at the top of the turret, Mark's jaw drops.

It's more luxurious than anything the farmer had ever dreamed of.  A large, four poster bed sits against one wall with its curtains folded back, revealing feather pillows and a thick blanket. A desk and chair, both made of glossy mahogany, await use, topped by an inkwell, parchment, and quill. While other gorgeous pieces of furniture may lie around the room, the window is Mark's favourite. From here, he can see past the borders of the kingdom and to the horizon, where every night he'll be able to watch the sun set.

"I hope you like the room, sir," the servant girl, who introduced herself as Flora on the walk up, says. "Now, my king has ordered me to get you some clothing to replace the ones you're in now."

Mark looks down at his garments, which consists of a button-up white shirt that is no longer really white, some plain brown trousers, and a pair of scuffed, worn boots. The farmer rubs the back of his neck and nods, a signal for the girl to move towards the closet. While Flora rummages around, Mark explores the room. Being in a castle, having nice things; it's all new and strange to him.

"These should suit you nicely. I'll let you get changed up," the servant says, handing Mark an armful of clothing. He smiles a little at her and she returns the gesture before exiting the room.