Confrontations

So, did everyone enjoy the little twist from last week? Hee, hee, hee. I personally loved it. Now to the story!
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Jonathan knocked on the door to his room. It creaked open and the healer’s eye could be seen through the crack.

“Thank the Seven Founders,” he breathed, opening the door wide enough to allow him in. “I thought you were the princess. She’s been by three times already, trying to see him.”

Jonathan found himself chuckling. That was his daughter. Headstrong and very stubborn, just like her mother. No doubt she wanted to see the man who had saved her life. His chuckle tapered off as he remembered who exactly her rescuer was.

“How is he?” he asked softly, closing the door softly behind him. He refused to look in the direction from where the moans were coming from. It would be unseemly for him to break down in front of the healer.

“I’ve done as you asked,” he said, glancing towards the bed. “But I don’t know how much longer I can take watching him…”

“I understand,” the king assured the healer, clapping the man’s shoulder. “I’ll watch him for the rest of the night.” The healer eyed him suspiciously.

“Are you sure? You look tired yourself.”

“I can’t sleep right now,” Jonathan confessed. “Might as well do something useful. Go, I’ll be fine.” I hope.

Still suspicious, the man nodded briefly and left. Once the door was closed, Jonathan sighed and finally turned toward the bed. The sight that greeted him was one that he was expecting, but at the same time not. Martin lay atop the bed, his shirt taken off and his limbs tied to the bed frame. He thrashed in his enchanted sleep, his head rolling from side to side as he moaned. His skin glistened with sweat as his body tried to rid itself of the poison.

With another sigh, the king pulled a chair to his son’s bedside, sitting down. He ignored his protesting knee as he looked on his son’s face, remembering how they had met.

For years after his son’s disappearance, Jonathan had the strangest of feelings to go to Loman. He had always brushed the feeling aside; at times the feelings were annoying, but so easily ignored. Then one day the feeling suddenly slammed him, a burning demand that he had to go to Loman. At the time, Jonathan wondered why he had to go, but finally relented. He knew, however, that he couldn’t go as the King of Aeterna, so when he ordered Aaron Gillian to sail for Loman, he entered the ship as Fred Chief, a name he always used when he didn’t want people to know he was king.

Once he arrived to Loman, he was still confused about why he had to be there when he caught a street urchin stealing food from the Aeternan embassy. It was then, as he held the child up watching him fight to get out of his grip, that he knew this was the reason why he needed to come. To save this child with so much fight, so much determination. He had given the child the option to come to Aeterna and the next day they sailed back to Aeterna.

Jon smiled as he remembered the trip. They had cleaned up the urchin who called himself Martin, cutting his hair, giving him proper clothes, fed him. Everyone on the ship fell in love with the child they saved, showing him the ropes of sailing. Martin had been nervous at first from all the attention, but by the time they reached Aeterna he had overcome his shyness and was a regular part of the crew.

And then we came to the Stand, Jon thought, sobbing quietly as he remembered the nightmare Martin was currently reliving. The king had some business he had to attend to at the prison fort so he had let Martin run around the Stand by himself. Early that evening, the same demand that made him go to Loman hit him again. Instead of Loman, however, he knew that the child was in danger. He ordered a frantic search to find Martin. They spent nearly all evening trying to find him when they finally found an abandoned warehouse where he was being held.

The sight still horrified Jonathan to this day. The boy was unconscious, laying on his stomach, his back… The king shivered. It wasn’t a back at all. It was blood and muscle. He remembered clearly as the man who stood over Martin held a something in his hand, ready to bring it down on the poor child again. Jonathan didn’t think then. He just acted. The sword was in his hand. The next thing he remembered was the thief’s body toppling to the ground, his head rolling off in another direction. The others who were with him were busy capturing the other man. Jon didn’t care. His attention was on the boy, who was just barely alive.

The rest of that night was vague to him now. He knew someone had covered Martin up and took him to the nearest healer. Later they would be informed that, while the healer had done what he could, the best care for the boy would be found in Nacre. He knew that they had interrogated the old fortuneteller about why they had kidnapped Martin, but the old man died laughing, having taken a poison to escape their punishment. The man said that they were the fools. They didn’t know who Martin was. They didn’t know how important he would become one day.

I guess we know now, Jonathan thought with a sigh, watching as Martin tried to fight the poison in his veins. Glancing around, he saw a bowl of water and a wet cloth on the floor. Wringing the cloth out, he started wiping the sweat from Martin’s brow, tears coming to his eyes.

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” Jon whispered. “I should have seen.”
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It was a long night watching Martin. Jonathan had spent the night trying to piece together what had happened in the last few years and how he was now going to help his son. As much as he could figure Martin had just learned he was the prince within the last couple of years. Jon had only known in the last six months that the Alex was keeping a secret that was making his life difficult. And he thought he knew the reason why Martin didn’t reveal himself either.

From the very beginning, Martin had been mistrusting of things given to him. As a street urchin he had learned that gifts always came with a price, an often unpleasant price. He had learned that he needed to work for everything he had and to fight to keep it. And the spying teachers had done nothing to remove that instinct from him. A spy was supposed to be mistrusting. Martin probably thought he could work out how to be the prince himself because the price of help might be something he wasn’t willing to pay.

But that’s not what’s going to happen, Jon vowed to himself. He was going to help Martin, even if the spy didn’t want it. It would be better if he fought against his help. He’d still fight for his way.

It was mid morning when the sound of rain on the roof finally started to lessen. Jon glanced at the window, seeing the sunlight filtering through it. He remembered that it had rained the last time Martin was poisoned with Nightmare Dust. I guess he can affect the land. He had some ideas about how to help his son control that power.

His thoughts were disturbed by the sound of Martin groaning. His son rolled his head to the side one more time, scrunching his face was he opened his eyes. His personal nightmare was over.

“Hey there,” Jon said, trying to smile. “How do you feel?”

“Sore,” he grumbled, “and thirsty.” Chuckling, Jon untied Martin from the bed and got a glass of water for him. His son had sat up and sipped at it for a bit before gulping it down.

“Ugh,” he said, handing the glass back. “I hate getting poisoned.”

“You’ll be hard pressed to find someone who does,” Jon teased, handing Martin a shirt. The spy took it gratefully and started to put it on. Jonathan cleared his throat. It was time to confront his son. “I got the letter from Commander Gillian yesterday.” Martin froze, his arm almost through his sleeve. He didn’t even looking at him.

“Martin,” Jon said as softly as he could, though he couldn’t keep the pain out of his voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His son slowly finished pulling his arm through the sleeve and began button up his shirt. “I didn’t know,” he whispered, looking away. “Not at first.”

“I figured that much,” Jon chuckled weakly. “I meant after you found out.”

Martin didn’t answer right away, but finished buttoning his shirt. Taking a deep breath, he stared at the ceiling. “I was afraid that you’d…” He stopped, dropping his head. The king could see the pain in his son’s face.

“You were afraid that I’d abandon you,” Jon finished. Martin didn’t answer. With a sigh, Jon slumped in his chair. “You’ve been here for over nine years and we still haven’t taken the street urchin out of you.” Martin just turned his head away. Jon knew he was one of the very few people Martin trusted. He may not talk about it, but his son was terrified of losing those he did trust.

“Martin,” he sighed, sitting back up and leaning forward. “I will never abandon you. Especially not for this. I can’t abandon you when you so obviously need help.” Martin shook his head, smiling a bit. Jon also smiled. “It’s going to be a difficult road for you,” he went on. “But I am going to help you. I didn’t spend the last nine years helping only to leave you when you need me most.”

“How can you help me, Fred?” Martin asked, finally turning his head to look at him. There was a smile still on his lips. Jon felt a small cut on his soul because he knew the meaning of that smile. Martin was truly relieved that he wasn’t going to be abandoned. “Not even the queen and Sara understand…” He sighed. “Did Gillian explain my powers?”

“He mentioned it,” Jon said. “And I learned about the Renewal spell. Perhaps you’re right that they can’t teach you, but you still need help.” He paused. Here he was lecturing Martin about letting others help him about his heritage when he himself was hiding his. “I grew up with Jonathan.” That lie felt strange on his tongue. “I learned a few things from him about Santer powers. I think I’d be a better resource than going about it on your own.”

Martin frowned at him; he could see where this conversation was going. “The queen won’t like it if you drag me away from her.”

“I’ll deal with her.” That was a conversation too long put off and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Suit won’t like it.”

“Bah,” Jon pushed aside, waving his hand dismissively. “Suit’s a proud man that needs humbling.”

“They’re going to demand things from me.”

“You’ve met demands before.”

“I’m terrified.”

Jon paused. He wasn’t expecting that resistance. He watched Martin’s expression closely. Martin had an excellent mask when he didn’t want people to see his emotions, but it wasn’t there now. There was fear in those hazel eyes, his face lined with worry that had never been there before. He truly was terrified of being the prince.

“We’ll work on that,” Jon promised him. “You’re not ready to be a prince yet and we shouldn’t expect you to. When you’re better, you’ll go back to Grelend’s, tell the queen the truth, and then return to the Tree. I’ll meet you there and we’ll leave. I will explain things to Suit and Abigail so that they won’t interfere with your training.”

Martin thought about the plan. “I still say that they aren’t going to like it.”

“The plan doesn’t require them to like it,” Jon pointed out. “This plan is about you and what’s best for you. I don’t want to throw you into Nacre without having you prepared for it.”

Martin was going to reply when the door suddenly burst open then slammed closed. Turning around, Jon saw the healer, breathing hard as he leaned against the door.

“The princess is right insistent on seeing him,” he explained apologetically. “I don’t know if I can hold her off for much longer!”

Jon frowned. Another person in his life who thought he was dead. He wanted so badly to hug his little girl again, talk to her, tell her that he loved her. But it was for her safety, and his, that she still believed in his demise at Fort Bree. The worst part of this identity is keeping those I love away.

“Tell her that she can’t see him until after he’s eaten,” he suggested, knowing he needed to slip away soon before she saw him. “If she wants, she can help get his breakfast.”

The healer nearly sobbed. “Alright.” Taking a deep breath, he left, closing the door behind him.

“I feel sorry for that man.”

“You don’t want to deal with the princess yourself,” Martin figured out, smirking.

“Can you blame me?” Jon asked, pointing to the door. “She really wants to see you.”

Martin squirmed. “Um. That’s because I had to use my powers to escape… She knows.”

Jon raised an eyebrow. That defiantly explained Sara’s persistence. “Then I should leave while she’s gone.” He stood up and gazed down on his son. “Will you do as I asked? I want to help, but you’ve got to let me.”

Martin sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I will. I’ll try to arrive at the Tree in two weeks, with a very frustrated queen at my shoulder.”

Jon patted his shoulder, knowing just how difficult it would be for his son to approach his mother. “You’ll be fine,” he promised. “I won’t fail you again.”

“You’ve never failed me, Fred,” Martin said. There was honesty and confusion in his voice. His son truly believed what he said.

Jon tried to smile, but he knew his sorrow was etched in his features. “I have too. I’m just good at covering it up.”
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Martin had just finished swallowing the last bite of his breakfast when Sara burst into the room. She was dressed in what looked like a messenger uniform of the Ghosts, her hair cleaned back into its normal blond and braided. Setting his tray aside, he exchanged worried looks with the healer.

“I know I can see him now,” Sara snapped before the healer could protest. “He’s done eating. I’ll like to talk with him now.”

“What did you do?” the healer asked him, picking up the tray.

“I did something she wasn’t expecting.” Fred may have wanted him to reveal himself to the queen, but that didn’t mean he had to tell people before he told her. “I promised to explain.”

“In private,” Sara added, fists on her slip hips. “If you don’t mind?”

“I’m glad I’m not you,” the healer said, rolling his eyes. Bowing to the princess, he left, closing the door softly behind him. The moment the door was closed, Sara jumped on the end of the bed, folding her legs beneath her. If she had been wearing a dress instead of pants, it would have been extremely improper.

“You promised answers,” she said bluntly, elbows on knees and chin on hands.

Martin sighed, slumping back on the headboard. “I did.”

Sara glanced around the room and spotted the ropes that were used to bind him to the bed. “Did they tie you up?” she asked, frowning.

He shrugged. “They had no choice. I assume you know about Nightmare Dust?” Her face paling was all the answer he needed. “Then let’s just say that in my worst memory, I fought back. If they didn’t tie me up, I would have hurt someone.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth. “I refuse to say what my nightmare was. It is a private matter that has nothing to do with my being your brother.”

Sara slowly closed her mouth, staring. It was the first time he said he was her brother. If he hadn’t been dreading this conversation, he would have laughed at her ridiculous expression.

“I have so many questions,” she finally said. “I don’t know where to start…”

“Usually I start at the beginning,” Martin said softly. With a tired sigh, he told her. He told her about how he hadn’t known what the glove was, how he hadn’t found it in a Venter war camp. He talked of the Stand and the real reason why the Seacats and Venter navy were there. He explained that he was trying to understand his powers. He even explained about the promise Fred made him make earlier that day. Sara just sat there, listening to him, never interrupting his narrative. When he finally finished, she was silent for a moment.

“When were you planning on telling us?” she asked quietly. “Before that Ghost general made you say you’ll reveal yourself when you get back. You didn’t say.”

Martin flinched. “I really didn’t know. I’ve thought sometimes that I’d reveal myself after the war is over…”

“But that could take years!” she protested, sitting up straight.

“I know,” he said dryly. “Years I could take to understand my powers.”

She frowned. “I’d say you already have a knack for it, especially after our escape last night.”

He shook his head. “A small part. It’s difficult to explain. The rain last night? I caused that. I don’t how, other than I know it happened the last time I was poisoned with Nightmare Dust, but it happened. What will happen if I really get hurt and not suffering from a nightmare? And then there have been times that I’ve been forced to do something, or voices warning me.” He shook his head again. “I don’t understand it.”

“Aeterna,” Sara whispered, her eyes wide.

“What?”

She shook her head, ridding herself of her shocked expression. “I’m sorry. It’s always been easier to explain to people that Santers have power. That’s… not quite true. You’ve heard that the Seven Founders merged the magic of the land to the Santer line?”

“I’ve learned of it,” he said, remembering his early courses in Aeternan history. “The two magics blended to the point that the two magics became one.”

“What’s not really mentioned,” Sara went on, “is that… the magic of Aeterna… is still kinda separate. Linked? Yes. Unable to separate? Unquestionably. But a part of it is still independent from us and it has a personality. We tend to call it the Spirit of Aeterna, or just the Spirit. If I’m lucky, I might get an impression from the Spirit, but it sounds like you get to talk to it.”

Martin frowned at her, remembering the times when he heard those voices. He had been in danger both times; one was an answer to his plea for help and the other warning him of danger.

“See?” he said. “I didn’t know that. I need to learn.”

“And you were going to learn by yourself?”

He snorted. “I’ve learned by myself for years now.”

Sara sighed, slumping down. “I don’t know you at all, do I?”

Martin smiled at her sympathetically. “Not many people do. I’m too used to being alone.”

“You shouldn’t have been,” she whispered. Without warning, she threw her arms around his neck again, hugging him and crying on his neck. Martin stiffened, unsure what he should do. Hesitantly he patted her back, uncertain what else to do. When her sobs finally stopped she pulled back, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to smile. “You were right about me. I am a spoiled brat.”

Martin laughed. “Yes. Yes, you are.”
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I’m sorry if this post seemed a bit… rough. I didn’t have much time to editing. But I think it’s fine for now. Perhaps I’ll rearrange things later when it’s been sitting in my brain for a couple more months.

Next week’s post is going to be big and I’m not talking about in length. Enjoy the journey!