The Gifts We Share [A Medieval AU]

Chapter Seventeen - Emotions

Mark and Seán cross the grounds towards the castle, the wind ruffling their hair and the sun shining down on their faces. The royal glances at the sky for a moment, taking a deep breath and inhaling the fresh air. Mark strolls beside him with his hands folded behind his back, enjoying nature and the king's company.

"What kind of work do you have?" the farmer asks, looking at his companion.

"Besides keeping the kingdom in order, I have to plan for the annual autumn ball," King Seán replies.

Mark's eyebrows furrow slightly. "I have never been to a ball."

"Really? Do you know how to dance?"

"Uhh..." The farmer rubs the back of his neck. "No, not really. Unless informal parties with the other common-folks count, of course."

The royal sighs. "If you are going to attend, you need to know how to dance."

Mark attempts to hide his teasing grin. "Are you going to teach me magic AND dancing, your majesty? How positively scandalous of you, to spend so much time with a big, bad criminal!"

Seán turns bright red and doesn't reply, focusing his gaze on the castle and the training grounds. Mark chuckles and nudges him with his arm, causing the king to turn a deeper shade of crimson.

"Loosen up a bit there, Seán. Nobody is around except me."

The king exhales and closes his eyes momentarily. "I feel like I can never relax. Anyone could be watching."

"Is that why you like that room? Because nobody knows where it is except you?"

Seán glances at him, his eyes searching Mark's. The farmer feels his breath catch in his throat with the sheer intensity of his gaze. "I guess so."

They reach the doors of the castle and immediately, the veil that hides his emotions drops behind his eyes once again. He takes a deep breath and opens the doors, strolling in with confidence. Mark trails behind, a stab of sadness travelling through his chest. This confident, proud, emotionless king isn't Seán. The Seán he's come to know is caring but lonely, afraid to show his emotions due to his upbringing as the heir to the throne. He's the one Mark wants to make laugh, not King Seán the Stoic.

"I am heading to my room. Have a good evening, your majesty," the farmer says, bowing slightly.

Seán nods, his eyes flickering with sorrow for a moment. "I will see you at our next lesson. Make sure to practice."

"Yes sir." Mark bows again and turns on his heel, heading up to his room with what feels like a stake through his heart. Why does the change from blushing, relaxed Seán to royal, proud King Seán make his chest ache so badly?

He enters his bedchamber and collapses onto his bed, paying little attention to Flora, who fills up a wash basin in the corner with hot water. She glances at him with concern etched in her features, pausing her task for a moment.

"You alright, sir?" she asks.

"No," he groans, burying his face in his pillow.

"Can I get you anything?"

Mark shrugs. "I think I just need to be alone. Thanks anyway, Flora."

The woman nods and smiles gently before finishing her task. Just before she leaves, she glances back at him. "There's a letter from your mother on the desk. Read it at your leisure."

With that, she vacates the room. The farmer nods slightly, planning on reading it later, and curls up on his bed with his eyes focused on his hand.

Feel it in my heart and mind... Mark clenches his jaw, focusing on the same feeling he had earlier.  Fire.  Heat.  Light. Slowly, magic starts twirling around his fingers and warming his entire arm. As he watches, his mind goes back to the lesson from earlier and the way Seán laughed. Instantly, his chest constricts and his magic heats up, glowing brighter and swirling faster. This time, however, he doesn't get startled by it. Instead, he embraces it. He allows the magic to twist and glow, comforting him when he thought nothing would.

When the world starts to spin and his head pounds, he absorbs the magic back into his hand and allows his arm to fall back against the pillows. Begrudgingly, he stands and retrieves the letter from the desk before falling back onto the bed.

Dear Mark,

My health is declining rapidly. Every day, it becomes more difficult for me, and I believe my time is coming to an end. Son, please ask the king if you can come and join me for the last couple of days. I do not want to be alone and you are the only family I have left.

Love,

Mother

Mark nearly chokes. This is not the letter he was expecting. He thought she would tell him about the farm or the plants or the neighbours she greets when she heads into town. This kind of message never even crossed his mind. The sadness he already feels increases dramatically as he sits up, tossing the note aside and burying his fingers in his hair.

Why did this have to happen today?