The Gifts We Share [A Medieval AU]

Chapter Five - Letter to Mother

Mark watches for the door to click shut before setting the clothing down and moving towards the desk, sitting in the chair and grabbing a piece of parchment.  With shaking hands, he grabs the quill and dips it into the ink.  His nervous jitters barely decrease as he starts to write.

    Dear Mother,

    I have finally gotten an opportunity to write to you, which brings me a small amount of peace in a time that has been anything but peaceful.  I am truly sorry about the events that have taken place in the past couple of days and the worry you must be feeling.  I assure you that I am alright.

    The night in the dungeon was hard.  I was so worried about you and your health that I could not rest, and when I did manage to close my eyes, I was pursued by anxious thoughts.  I met the king once before that night, and he was gracious with me but suspicious for reasons that I am unaware of.  Did you know that our king is Irish?  He has bright green hair as well, which I found a little odd, but it suited him.

    King Seán saw me again in the morning.  He told me that I can "feel" magic when I should not be able to.  I cannot pretend to understand what he means.  My abilities have made him skeptical of me, and therefor the king has decided to keep me in the castle. 

    It is not all bad, however.  He has given me my own room to stay in, and although it is guarded, it is truly spectacular.  Mother, the castle is more extravagant and lovely than anything I have ever seen before.  As well as a room and royal garments, King Seán has also provided me with a kindly servant girl, a Scotswoman named Flora.  I haven't known her for long, but she has been nothing but kind since we first met.

    I hope you are doing well and that your health is improving.  I do not know when I will be able to go home, and I am deeply sorry about that.   Do not worry about me.  I hope to hear back from you soon, and hopefully you have some insight into the mysteries relating to the magic that King Seán spoke of.

    Your loving son,

    Mark

    The farmer scribbles his address on an envelope and tucks the letter inside before setting his quill down.  With that finished, he gets up and changes into the provided garments.  It feels wonderful to be out of dirty clothing, his worn out attire replaced with those of the finest materials.  He eyes himself in the mirror as he changes, his muscles sculpted from years of working the land.  Is there really magic running though him?  Is that really possible?

    As he pulls on his tunic, Flora reenters the room.  Mark glances to the letter on the desk before looking to the servant girl, a spark of hope igniting in him.

    "The king would like to see you again, sir," she says.  "Please follow me."

    Mark nods and takes a step towards her, snatching the parchment from the surface of the desk.  She eyes him, but says nothing as she guides him into the hallway.

    "Flora?" Mark asks after an extended period of silence.

    "Aye, sir?"

    "Can you do me a favour and deliver this letter?  It's for my mother."

    The servant slows her progression, glancing at the parchment with a subtle apprehensiveness.  After reading the address, some of that nervousness disappears.  She smiles at him and tucks the letter into her apron.  "Yes, I can do that for you."

    Mark grins.  "Thank you.  She'll be glad to hear from me."

    "I'm sure she will be," Flora replies.

    The pair stops when they reach a pair of large oak doors.  The servant girl pushes one open and gestures Mark inside with a small smile, and he glances at her hesitantly in return. Sucking in a deep breath, he steps inside.

    King Seán stands on the other side of the room, flipping through an old leather-bound book.  Shelves filled with volumes of the same ilk tower over him and fill the space, remarkably well preserved after what has obviously been a lot of years.  The royal looks up as Mark enters, his expression neutral as always.  The farmer shifts in place, nervous to take another step into the library.  He's not a timid person, but something about the king changes that.

    "I thought you would have more prisoners to see today," Mark comments, his voice much quieter than he intended.

    "I have more to deal with than just prisoners," King Seán replies.  He closes the book and sets it on the nearby desk before reaching for another.  "I am sorry that I haven't given you a lot of time to rest, but it has been a long time since I've felt this level of curiosity."  He opens the book and flips through a couple pages.  "I wanted to ask you about your family." 

    Mark feels his stomach drop.  The topic of family is one that he's been avoiding for the past couple of years, and he's not keen on talking about it.  He crosses his arms over his chest.  "Why?"

    "You can find out a lot about a person if you know about their family," King Seán replies.  He observes the farmer with piercing blue eyes, waiting for an answer.

    Mark shifts from foot to foot.  "I had a brother and my parents."

    "You said had."  King Seán sets his book down and sits down on the desk.  "What happened?"

    "Died."  The farmer stares down at the floor, his muscles tense.  "My mom's the only one left."

    "How did they die?"

    "Unknown causes."

    "Unknown?"

    "They felt ill, and the next day they were gone."  Mark feels his throat closing up and takes a shaky breath.  "Can we change the topic, please?"

    King Seán purses his lips and sighs.  "Can I ask you one more question?"

    Mark tries to keep his voice from sounding snappy.  "Sure."

    "Are your parents from this kingdom, or did they move here?"

    The farmer sighs, relieved that the question isn't directly about his brother or father.  "They moved here about four years before I was born."

    The king nods, realization shining through his usually emotionless face.  "Thank you.  That helps.  Now, you may return to your quarters."

    Mark bows and heads out of the room, taking a deep breath as soon as the door of the library closes.  Feeling shaky and emotionally drained, he moves through the halls and up to his room.  Maybe if he gets some rest, he'll be able to think more clearly.