The Gifts We Share [A Medieval AU]

Chapter Nineteen - Coming Home

The village is exactly as Mark remembers.  Peasants and farmers stroll through the streets, carrying baskets of goods or other supplies.  Dogs follow at their owners heels, tongues hanging out of the corner of their mouths happily as they squint in the sunlight.  Mark can't help but smile.  The smell of warm earth, the sounds of footsteps over wooden platforms and sporadic conversations; he would have wanted to escape from this before, but now he's just glad to be back.

    He heads down the familiar streets towards his house, passing neighbours and the houses from his childhood.  However, the closer he gets, the less comfort he receives.  He hasn't seen his mother for a couple weeks.  What state will she be in when he gets there?

    He doesn't knock on his door when he arrives, he simply enters.  The first thing he notices upon stepping inside is that the house is significantly dirtier than his mother likes it to be.  She always made sure the small cottage was as clean as possible, and even after she got sick she was adamant about tidying up.  Now, several days of dust and grime rest on every surface, and his mother lies in bed looking more emaciated than he's ever seen her.

    "Mom?" he whispers as his throat closes up.

    Her eyes move slowly in the direction of his voice, a smile lighting up her face.  "Mark, I am so glad you're here."

    Mark moves to her bedside and sits down, holding her frail hand in his.  His eyes burn with held-back tears as he forces himself to speak.  "I needed to be here.  The king understood that."

    His mother squeezes his hand lightly.  "Tell me about your lessons."

    Mark nods a little.  "Ok.  Um, Seán and I go to this room and he teaches me how to feel my magic in my veins and channel it into something physical.  Soon, I will have the ability to move things with it."

    "What does it look like?" she asks softly.

    "It's red and glows, and kind of reminds me of fire."

    His mother smiles a little, shutting her eyes.  "Does it glitter?"

    Mark's eyebrows furrow slightly.  "Yeah.  How did you know?"

    "Your father used to put on little magic shows for me when we were courting.  It looked like you described."  She laughs a little.  "He would make little dragons and send them flying around my head.  He was supposed to be serious, as heir to the throne, but he never was.  He always laughed."

    Mark smiles through the tears that wet his face.  "I miss him."

    "I do too.  But soon, I will be with him and Thomas, and everything will be okay."

    That's when the farmer starts to sob.  His mother's hand remains tightly clenched in his as he rests his head against his free fist, unable to stop the flow of sorrow. Through the emotion that chokes his voice, he manages to speak. "I d-don't want to be a-alone."

    His mother smiles painfully.  "Mark, you are not alone.  You are a king.  There will always be people around you."

    "But that isn't the same as family..."

    She watches him, her eyes studying every inch of his face.  "Who are your friends, Mark?"

    He exhales shakily and shuts his eyes for a moment.  "There's this stable boy named Ethan, and maybe King Seán, but he never shows his emotions.  I have no idea if he considers me his friend."

    "If you let them, those people will become your family.  You do not need blood relatives to have a family."

    "But I will never have another mom," Mark whispers.  "Or another dad.  Or another Thomas."

    His mother nods.  "I know, dear.  I do not want to leave you, but when I do, I want you to find happiness and not spend too long grieving us."

    "Okay."

    She smiles and closes her eyes, dozing off in a matter of minutes.  As soon as he's sure she's asleep, he gets to tidying up.  Simple cleaning feels mundane in nature, but it's so familiar that Mark enjoys it.  It distracts him, taking his thoughts from his dying mother and Seán and focusing them on sweeping and washing.

    When everything's finished, Mark spends a good minute standing in the centre of the cottage and trying to think of anything else he could possibly do.  He scowls when he realizes there's nothing.  He's done everything for the moment. 

    Mark settles onto the front step of his house and lets the sunlight soak into his skin.  With nothing to distract him, he lets his mind wander to thoughts of the near future.  Soon, his mother will be gone and he'll return to the castle.  He'll continue his lessons with Seán, become more competent in his magic, and learn to be the king he was born to be.  He'll attend his first formal ball ever as a representative of the Rubellus kingdom, a place he's never been, and converse with royals he's never met.  The very idea of it terrifies him.

    He runs his fingers over the worn wood of his home, a deep sigh escaping his lips.  Life was so simple when he was young.  He was a farmer's kid with no responsibilities, he was free to do whatever he pleased as long as it didn't shame the family name.  Now, in the course of a month or two, everything has changed.

    Yes, everything has changed, and nothing will ever be the same.