A/N: This was written for RK1K Week, day 4. The prompt was: "Royalty AU".
To Be King
"I've always wanted to help people, to make a difference. But all this power… it feels good, yet terrifying." Blue and green eyes look up at him, doubt present in every single speck of colour in them. "This isn't what I wanted," he adds, softly, barely audible even in the deafening quiet of his official chambers.
Connor nods. "I understand." Markus meets his eyes again. Do you? "I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for you, to go from what you were to what you are. And you will always have the option to leave, to go back to what you used to be. But… if you want to help people, then isn't this the best way to do it?"
Markus sighs, like he's just heard something he knows is true, and has heard many times before, yet still can't quite bring himself to believe it. He looks away, lost in his own thoughts. But Connor can't afford to let him drown in uncertainty. Not now. Not if he can do anything about it.
"You are a good leader, Markus. I am confident you will prove to be a good king as well." Those words catch his attention, and mismatched eyes scrutinise him carefully, before the man shakes his head, eyes leaving his features to focus on anything but him.
"Don't look at me like that," he pleads, he orders. "I am not some sort of saviour that will magically fix everything wrong in the kingdom, Connor. I couldn't do that for Jericho. I won't be able to do it for Detroit." His voice begs him to understand, to absolve him of everything he cannot do, but he's asking the wrong person for something he does not need in the first place.
Connor starts to see it then: the way his tense shoulders seem to crumble of the weight of expectations he placed on himself. He wonders how long it has been there — if it had been there since the day they first met — and how blind he had to be not to notice it until now. His hands are trembling slightly. It's something that is easily missed, but the young man's trained eyes miss nothing, and this is not an exception.
There are rules. There are protocols in place. But none of that matters when Markus's well-being is at stake. The young man approaches the new King and places one hand on his shoulder, as comforting as he can.
"No one is expecting you to save everyone," he reminds him, trying to make him realise the enormous weight he carries is brought by no one other than himself. "I was here when former Regent Cristina took over, and trust me, you're already doing far better than she ever did. And if you struggle, that's okay too. That's why you have North, and Josh, and me. You may be the king, but you don't have to do this alone."
Markus is still not looking at him, eyes stubbornly fixed on the hand on his shoulder. Every second makes his heart beat faster, but he knows better than to move or say anything. He's done what he can — he has nothing left to do but wait and see whether his words have any effect.
"Thank you." His shoulders are still tense, and his hands are still trembling, but his voice drips with honesty and gratefulness. "You've done so much for me, Connor, but I… I can't give you what you want."
"You've done more than enough."
The words are true, and reveal nothing new, yet why does he feel so empty as he turns his back and walks away?
"One day, I won't be able to take care of you anymore. You're going to have to protect yourself and make your choices. Decide who you are and want to become."
The words sound like a joke when Carl says them, though Markus knows his place and the behaviour expected of him. He knows he can't laugh, especially not the incredulous, disbelieving laugh that threatens to leave him as soon as he hears the words. So he simply gives a short nod, and waits for the old man to continue what is sure to be yet another one of his reflections and personal projections on him.
"Don't let anyone tell you who you should be."
And yet servants like him do not get a choice in the matter. They do not get a say in who they are, who they should be. Everyone else has decided that for them. Even Carl himself. So why do these words have more impact on him than the others? Why does he commit these words to memory, not wanting to forget them even for an instant?
The words are the ramblings of an old, reflective man. They do not apply to a servant like him.
So why does he wish that weren't the case?
Connor is there for every occasion. The sworn shield, the protector, the personal guard. Whether it is a meeting or an audience or a stroll through the town, he is there to make sure nothing will happen to Markus, walking amongst the shadows that are so familiar to him.
His duty is to protect the new King, and that is exactly what he shall do.
It's only too bad that the King is crumbling under the pressure he puts on himself. He is crumbling under the very eyes of the kingdom.
So why is Connor the only one who seems to notice?
A stormy night. A fight. An injustice.
Carl.
The old man is dead, now. A weakness that had proved fatal. His son had not even realised what was happening — too busy beating up a servant that was ordered not to defend himself. The young man had barely managed to crawl out of his way and towards a dying Carl, his very last words breaking his heart.
"Remember, Markus… Don't let anyone tell you who you are…"
He was thrown out afterwards, and his only options were to run or to risk being accused of murdering the old man who had taken him in, taken care of him during most of his young life. He had to leave it all behind — he had no choice in the matter.
Is that why he feels like his heart has just been ripped out? Is that why his legs feel so heavy it's impossible for him to move? Is that why his vision is blurred and why his ears are ringing?
He can't go on, not anymore.
He lets his legs crumble underneath his weight, hitting the ground face first, welcoming the darkness that greets him with an embrace.
Markus is scribbling furiously on his desk. Standing beside the door is Connor, every entrance already scanned and possible weapon identified. His own are expertly concealed in his usual black garments, yet also easily reachable in case of an emergency. Perhaps it is somewhat ridiculous to be so alert when they're alone in the King's study, but he's constantly on edge lately, as if waiting for something to happen.
And he will never let anything happen to Markus. Not on his watch.
The man in question sighs, scribbles some more, then puts the pen back down. He lowers his head in his hands, exasperation haunting every single one of his features. The road to recovery is long and complicated, especially when the entire realm has been suffering for far too long, but they've made good progress, even if the King doesn't see it.
Connor wishes he could show him, but he fears that even visual proof might not have enough of an effect on the man.
There might, however, be something else he can do.
"Markus?" The man looks up, as if expecting some new burden to be placed on his shoulders. But that is not Connor's plan. Quite the contrary, in fact. "Would you like to follow me?"
For a moment, the young man thinks Markus is going to refuse. He is pleasantly surprised when he gets up instead, after placing the papers on the side of his desk. "Where are we going?" he asks, uncertain, as he steps in his general direction.
Connor gives him the smallest of smirks, before leaving the room, confident the other man will follow.
The first face he sees when the darkness leaves is a woman. His head hurts and his eyes struggle to focus on his surroundings, but he can still hear and speak, albeit with some difficulty. The woman who is taking care of him — a healer of some sort, perhaps — sounds pleased with his awareness, and proceeds to ask for his name.
"I'm… I'm Markus."
Does she know who he is?
"Hello, Markus. My name is Lucy." She helps him sit up and allows him to look at his surroundings, which so far prove to be nothing but a tent. "It's okay. You're safe here."
"And what is… here, exactly?"
"Would you like to see?"
He nods, and she helps him up. He leans on her as he walks towards the flapping edges of the tent, still too physically exhausted to move on his own. His curiosity must be satiated, however, so he carries on.
Outside is a small camp of around twenty people, some in better shape than others. They're all quiet, all staring at him once they realise he's awake and walking. They analyse him, taking in every detail, and determining what kind of person he is, and whether they can trust him or not.
The young man is too busy taking it all in to do the same.
Lucy smiles. "Welcome to Jericho, Markus."
"You're not kidnapping me, are you? Because if you wanted to do that, there are surely much better ways than 'losing me' in the middle of a forest. And if you want to kill me… Well, no, you would've done that already, and no one would have suspected you." Markus is rambling. He doesn't do that often, so Connor says nothing and enjoys the words wash over him. It's quite a sight, to see the new King, always so eloquent and composed, rambling like any common man.
Everyone else in the kingdom would be baffled by such display. Connor finds it endearing.
"I do not want to kidnap or kill you, Markus." He pauses, stops in his tracks. He can tell the other man isn't worried, but it is true he hasn't exactly been very forthcoming with the details of their impromptu trip. Regardless, he would like for it to remain a secret, for now, so he simply holds out his hand and asks, "Do you trust me?"
Markus nods and takes his hand. "Of course."
The lack of hesitation warms the beating heart he didn't know he still had.
"This is insane, Markus, your plan can't possibly work." Simon isn't happy, but then again, it's not surprising. He refuses to put his people in danger, and Markus understands it. He knows how high the stakes are, and how vital it is for this mission to succeed. Because if they fail — there will be no more Jericho at all.
"Simon is right, you'll get us all killed."
"We are running out of food and supplies, and the villagers need our help. We can solve their problem and ours. I just need your help. I can't do it on my own." Markus has always been a good speaker. It stems from Carl's insistence that he should receive a decent education, as well as his appreciation for the art of speech and eloquence. And this, coupled with his natural charisma, helps him rally an invaluable ally in such a decisive moment.
"I'm with you." North is the first to join in. Eager to do something — anything — about their current predicament, she doesn't care how high the risks are or how dangerous the consequences will be. She prefers action to words, and death over stagnation. While Markus isn't quite as extreme in his views, he does admire that willingness to put herself out there to get the job done, and he most definitely appreciates her support.
"I don't like this," Simon repeats, and for a moment, Markus thinks he may not be as convincing as he initially thought. "But you're right. We need to do something."
Josh sighs, shakes his head. He's lost, he knows. He doesn't like any of this, but he does care about the others, so he will join in. Especially now that both Simon and North have sided with him.
"Fine. Tell us, then, Markus. How are you planning not to get us killed?"
They reach their destination soon enough — a small, but beautiful clearing in the middle of the woods near the capital. There is a lake that glistens like diamonds under the lethargic afternoon sun, but to Connor, it is a relief. A relief and an escape from all duties and obligations of Detroit. The last time he'd been in this exact spot had been… It had been before he left to find Markus. Before the only mission in his entire life that he had failed to accomplish.
"This… this place is beautiful," Markus comments, sounding a little out of breath, and Connor can see his eyes flickering from one place to another, the artist in him already visualising how this would look on a canvas.
The young man gives him a small smile. "Yes. It is." He's not looking at the clearing, though. He's looking at Markus — whose eyes are shining with wonder, and whose shoulders tilt back only a little, but enough to be noticeable by his perceptive eyes. The pressure, though still there, still present, is receding somewhat. Connor knows the feeling.
This place has a special aura that manages to push every single worry away.
And that's exactly why he brought Markus now, before he can collapse under the weight of his own expectations.
Jericho goes from being a relatively unknown group of bandits to an infamous group of bandits in the eyes of the law, and a reliable group of mercenaries for the villages suffering under Regent Cristina's rule. Markus, North, Josh and Simon do whatever they can, but there are casualties in every fight, and though the size of Jericho shifts and changes, the losses are still there.
Simon is one of them.
Captured during one of their raids, Markus had chosen to leave him behind, unable to put an end to his life, and now he was left with dread pooling in his stomach — that he would never see Simon again and that his disappearance and whatever happened to him afterwards was his fault.
He had no one to blame but himself.
North didn't speak to him for two full days after they left Simon behind, and Josh, though cordial as always, tried to keep his distance as well. Only Lucy was there, but in that mysterious way of hers that made it difficult for him to feel any sort of closeness to her at all.
He was alone often, for a good fortnight, going off on walks of his own, pondering about what to do next, and how they could help the villagers or replenish their own stocks. He made plans, scrapped them, and made them again. He sat down, contemplating, staring at the floor until he gave in and returned to camp. He just walked and walked until his feet ached and demanded to be brought back to his tent for a good hours' rest and recovery.
Until that one night, where is nightly stroll was interrupted by a voice of steel and a blade to his back.
"I've been ordered to take you alive, but I won't hesitate to hurt you if I must."
The cold tip of a sword — an all too familiar sensation — was in direct contact with his back, and Markus had no choice but to slowly turn around to face the intruder.
Only for the man's brown eyes to widen in disbelief and recognition upon seeing his face. "You can't be."
"How did you find this place?" Markus asks him, both of them sitting on the ground right at the edge of the lake. He looks more relaxed than Connor has ever seen him, and the young man is glad — he, of all people, deserves a short moment of respite from all the tasks and obligations that are thrust upon him every day.
"The forest is the only place Amanda would let me explore without having someone else follow me around. It was… freeing, to know that I could have the entire place to myself without having to worry about her for once. I wanted to explore every inch of it and yet… as soon as I found this clearing, I never wanted to leave."
Markus gives him a soft smile. "I know the feeling." He closes his eyes, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun.
"I love it here. It's such a peaceful place. A nice escape from everything else." He pauses. The young man's eyes are open once more and are looking at him curiously. Connor usually keeps his cards close to his chest, never revealing too much to one person, let alone in one sitting.
But he's already revealed much of his past to Markus even before they set foot in this clearing. The man knows about Amanda and how she trained him since he was young. About every single mission of his — from Daniel to Echo and Ripple — and, of course, knows about his very last mission for Amanda, and everything that entailed. Find Jericho. Find its leader. "The rest is of no concern."
And still, the other man allows him to remain by his side. As if he hadn't killed Simon. As if he hadn't turned on his previous handler. As if he didn't have any reason not to trust him.
Connor is more than willing to open up even more about his past, if Markus is willing to listen.
"That's why I brought you, actually. You looked like you needed a break."
He expects Markus to close his eyes, to sigh, and to return to his solemn, thoughtful self. Instead, he leans back, fully lying on the ground to look at the clear blue sky above them. "I did. More than anything, I did."
He definitely made the right call.
But there's something else, there. Something he doesn't quite understand… And it bothers him, not knowing what that is. He needs to know.
"Markus, talk to me," he requests in a soft voice. He doesn't want to break the atmosphere, to ruin the moment. But there's something going on with the other man, and he truly just wants to help.
For a moment, he says nothing, eyes closed as he basks in the light of the sun. Then, he moves, slowly, one hand reaching for his, as his eyes open once more. "I don't want to disappoint anyone." And then, in an even quieter voice, he adds, "Especially not you."
Connor musters all the conviction he can. "You're not disappointing anyone. Especially not me." And those words? They're the absolute truth.
"I can't be the king everyone else wants me to be. And… I can't be the man you want me to be. Doesn't that make me a disappointment?"
"Of course not."
"Then what does that make me? What kind of person am I? Who am I?"
For once, Connor doesn't have an immediate answer to his question. He doesn't know much about identity — he'd lacked one of his own for most of his life. He doesn't simply empathise with Markus's struggle — he knows it. He lived it. And, deep inside him, he knows he's still struggling with those exact same questions. But he prioritises his mission, because focusing on that is easier than focusing on the existentialism that threatens to tear him apart.
But Markus has internalised his new position in such a way that it has become part of his own existentialism and, as such, has also become part of his identity.
Connor can't answer that question in detail. He may know Markus better than most, yet that does not mean he knows him well enough to make such a judgement. Nor does he feel confident in his abilities to define another person, when that job belongs to no one else other than the person asking the questions.
After all, only we can decide our own identity.
He could give the man in front of him a great speech about self-designation and self-description, and how self-reflection can lead to self-discovery and acceptance and development. He could go into a rant of how there is no permanent state of self, and that every individual is constantly changing throughout their lifetime and will never stop changing until their deaths. Most importantly, he could remind Markus that an identity crisis does not affect his worth as a person in the slightest.
Instead, he squeezes the other man's hand reassuringly, and looks at him straight in the eyes.
"You're Markus."
Connor didn't lie. Markus finds him, alone, exactly where he claimed he would be. The Jericho leader isn't stupid — he knows this could be an ambush, and he comes prepared should a fight arise. But his instincts tell him he's got nothing to worry about and he believes them. The honest conflict in the young man's features — before he left him with nothing but questions and a well-worn leather-bound book — had been more than enough to convince him of the sincerity of his actions.
But still, it never hurts to be careful.
"You came." He speaks as if he's surprised — as if he didn't think Markus would truly show up. The story is so convoluted it should be fake by all means, but the diary in his hands is so genuine and contradicts every logic he has ever been taught. By none other than Lord Carl himself.
"I did."
"I didn't think you would."
"Neither did I."
They both pause, staring at each other, deafening silence surrounding them.
Perhaps this might be a little too much honesty for their second meeting — and the first that doesn't involve any threatening.
"Is this true?" he finally asks, holding out the leather-bound notebook. "Am I…. Am I really King Elijah's heir?" The words feel bitter in his mouth, as though they don't belong there. As though they are poisonous words, that are never to be spoken, never to be written, never to be thought. But he still has to speak them. He needs to know.
"I do believe so."
Markus doesn't move. He can feel his heart starting to beat faster and faster, the weight of this realisation crushing him like nothing else ever has. "And that means I'm…"
"Next in line for the throne? Yes. If you decide to claim it, by law, Regent Cristina will have no choice but to step down and leave you your rightful place as King of Detroit." Connor says it in such a matter-of-fact tone that it almost manages to ease his nerves. Almost.
"What if I don't want to claim it?"
"Then we will go our separate ways, and Regent Cristina will remain on the throne for as long as she lives."
"I find it hard to believe it will be as easy as you say."
Connor gives a small snort — the first outwards expression of emotion he has ever witnessed from him since that initial moment of recognition. "I never said it would be easy. By law, Regent Cristina has no choice but to step down, but she will never do it of her own free will. Her right-hand woman did send me to capture you without telling me anything about your heritage, despite being well aware of it herself. If the late King Elijah had not given me that notebook, I…" He pauses, shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is what you will do now."
Markus pauses. The journal feels impossibly heavy in his hands. "What happens if I want to claim the throne?"
"Then it's you against Regent Cristina. She will do whatever is in her power to stop you. But… But I will stand by you and protect you from her. That is, if you will have me." And there's something about this man — so young, so earnest, and yet so willing to give his life to someone he doesn't know simply in the name of truth and law.
Markus doesn't quite know what to say. Except maybe, "I don't want to be King."
Connor gives him a little smile. "No one sane ever does."
He thinks of Regent Cristina. He thinks of all the villages he's helped in the past few months, all of them suffering under her heavy hand. He thinks of all the real criminals — the despicable ones — that have not only gone free, but whose activities are actively ignored by the knights and watchmen, to the detriment of the common people, the victims. He thinks of all the poor, all the starving, all the homeless he met during his travels. He thinks of everything he would like to change in this kingdom, to improve, for everyone who lives there.
"I don't want to be King," he repeats, and Connor nods, looking resigned. But Markus isn't done yet. "But if seizing the throne back from the current Regent will help my people thrive, then… Then I will become King."
Some light and determination return to Connor's eyes. He nods once more, then kneels. "Then I beg you to accept my pledge of fealty, Sire."
Markus breathes in sharply, shakes his head. He helps the young man back up, standing right in front of him, and clasps his shoulder with one hand, eyes bearing into the other's. There are many things he wants to say. Do not kneel. Get up. I am not royalty. We are the same. But he doesn't say any of them.
Instead, he says, "My name is Markus."
Markus sits up, his free hand reaching out to cup Connor's cheek. The young man can't help his sharp intake of breath, yet he doesn't move, desperately trying to calm the wild beating of his heart. His eyes are locked with blue and green orbs, and though he knows he should, he can't bring himself to look away.
"I might be complicating things a bit too much," Markus mumbles, but they're sitting very close, and the clearing is as quiet as the forest ever will be, so Connor hears him anyway. He squeezes the hand that is still in his own, attempting to reassure him. "But I don't think we… should be doing this."
"But you want to?"
He knows the answer to his question, but he needs to hear it anyway.
"Yes."
They don't move, simply staring at each other, wondering what the other will do next, wondering how long they should wait.
But Connor has never been very good at waiting.
He leans closer and closer until their lips meet.
The government is still unstable, and the kingdom is still healing from the wounds left open by Regent Cristina, but in the midst of all this chaos, to which they have front row seats, there is at least one thing they can count on to make everything more bearable: each other.