The Gifts We Share [A Medieval AU]

Chapter Ten - Attempt At Freedom

When Mark opens his eyes again, the sun is low in the pale blue sky, the last brushes of pink and orange giving way to light. The window glistens with morning dew and sunshine, leaving a speckled reflection on the floor. Mark rubs his eyes and yawns, pulling himself upright in bed before dropping down to the ground. The rug beneath his feet is warm enough, but the cold from the stone still manages to seep through and chill his feet.

He changes as slowly as he can manage, trying to drag out time a bit. That way, he can eat breakfast before he attempts to escape. It's hard, however, and every passing moment feels like an hour. He's run over this plan many, many times in his head, and he desperately wants to execute it.

When Flora comes into the room, Mark is lounging in a chair and reading. He glances up at her, smiling lightly.

"Good morning, Flora," he says cheerfully.

"Good morning, sir," she replies, curiosity tainting her Scottish lilt. "You're up mighty early."

"I am feeling much better today," Mark states, allowing her to hand him his tray of food. "Plus, I am used to getting up with the sun."

"Yes, I would assume you are."

The farmer digs into the food which, as usual, is delicious. However, he finds that he doesn't focus on it much. His brain is occupied by thought of his escape. The servant girl tidies up a few things around the room before departing once again, leaving Mark to settle in the silence once again.

The moment his food is finished, he sets the tray down and checks the room for any belongings. He only finds his old clothing, which he could care less about. He glances down at his own outfit, one borrowed from the king, and decides that King Seán won't mind if a few articles of clothing get taken in the farmer's flight.

With a deep breath, Mark readies himself. This is the moment that he will abandon the comforts of the castle in exchange for knowledge. Some may call it foolish, but there's only so long you can sit in a room and stew in your own lack of understanding. So, he'll leave and pursue the answers he so desperately wants.

As quietly as he can manage, Mark creeps towards the door and knocks a few times before diving into the spot that will be obscured the moment the entrance opens. Sure enough, a guard opens the door and completely hides Mark from view.

"Mr. Fischbach? Did you need something?" the guard asks, glancing back and forth.

Before he can say another word, Mark leaps out and knocks the man to the ground. His armour clangs against the stone as he lands, alerting the other guard stationed there. Without giving the second sentry a chance to call for help, Mark knocks them down. He realizes, upon her cry of alarm, that she's a woman, and decides that his "I don't hit girls" rule doesn't apply to this particular situation.

He snatches her sword and sprints down the stairs, evading guard after guard as he goes. Their calls for help don't faze him, his determination to reach the doors too strong to let a few simple words stop him. The sword is a lot heavier than he anticipated, and he hopes that he doesn't have to try and use it. The thought of being defeated and having everyone know he can't wield a sword would be far too humiliating.

Mark bursts out onto the main floor, charging down the main corridor with the essence of a raging bull. The windows fly past him as adrenaline pumps through his veins, urging him on. His lungs burn, but he doesn't care. The group of guards trailing behind don't sway him from his course. The main castle doors grow closer with every step, the freedom so close he swears he can taste it.  He knocks a guard back with his blade, relying on his strength to make up for his lack of swordsmanship, and takes the final step.  Nothing can stop him now!

As his fingers brush the door handle, an external force snatches and paralyzes him in place, freezing all progression. Mark nearly sobs as his hand remains outstretched, unable to move and mere millimetres from freedom. Swirls of an all-too-familiar green magic twist and curve around him from his head to his feet, inhibiting him in every aspect. The group of guards slow to a halt, stepping back to let a single man through.

"I gave you a room worthy of royalty, a servant to assist you, freedom from my dungeons, and yet you still attempt to escape me," the distinct, accented voice of the king snaps. His tone is cold as ice, and the farmer can only imagine that his eyes are equally chilly. The magic turns him around, forcing him to face the royal. Mark finds that the stare is enough to make him want to curl up and hide, much less the intense radiations of magic coming off of him.

"My mother is si-" he begins.

King Seán cuts him off immediately. "So you have said."

Mark watches the king, a mixture of defeat and blood-boiling anger swirling inside him. His family had always told him he had a temper and he had always denied it, but as his rage grows towards a man who could easily kill him, he realizes they were right.

"The room is wonderful, but I have been denied access to the outdoors and denied visitation with my mother!" Mark exclaims. "You give me barely any information about my magic, my kingdom, or your suspicions and then expect me to be able to sit around for days on end! I cannot stand it anymore, your majesty! I need answers, and there are only two people in this world who can give them to me."

King Seán stares at Mark, hiding his emotions perfectly just like he always does. After a few seconds, he uses his magic to force the farmer's fist open so that the sword clatters to the ground. Mark finds both that simple action and the lack of emotion infuriating.

"To start, you wield a sword like a child wields a stick," he states, his voice never fluctuating in order to reveal what he could be feeling. "You are clumsy, uncoordinated, and inexperienced."

"That's all you have to say!?" Mark exclaims, but is promptly silenced by another tendril of magic.

"Secondly, if you want access to the outdoors, you must gain my trust. Attempting to escape is not helping you in that sense. If you behave, I will let up on your restrictions a bit." His eyebrows furrow slightly as he considers the man in front of him. "Now, if I allow your mother to come in and tell you everything she knows tomorrow, will you settle a bit and become less restless?"

Mark nods exuberantly and the king sighs, releasing him from the restraints of his magic. He gestures for the guards to snatch the farmer before turning and starting to head back up the hall.

"Your majesty, do you lay any charges on this man?" one guard asks.

"None. Please, just take him up to his room and make sure he stays there. He can go outside under supervision starting the day after tomorrow," King Seán states, gesturing with his hand dismissively.

With that, the king recedes down the hallway with his cloak swishing out behind him.