Title: A Thousand Miles
Chapter: Three [changes]
A/n: sorry this one took so long I'll get the next chapter up really quickly to make up for it. R/r please and thanks for all the reviews! -ButteR
-----------------------------------[A Thousand Miles:changes]--------------- ----------------------
-----------------------------------------------three years later------------ --------------------------------
Marcus looked up sharply from the book he was reading as the Queen strode swiftly into his study, slamming the door as she went. He had never seen her this angry before, and was slightly surprised, but held back any comment.
"Oh, put that book down and stop gawking at me!" the Queen snapped, snatching the book out of his hands and throwing it onto the floor. "We haven't got time for all your needless procrastination!"
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Marcus drawled softly, and bowed his head slightly.
"Marcus! This is serious!"
"What?" Marcus said, raising an eyebrow.
"Tristan still refuses to give you the crown! It's been three years. You'd think he'd have some sense in him already."
Marcus chuckled softly to himself and leaned back in his chair, relaxed. "No need to worry, I've been thinking this over." Marcus explained quietly. "It could actually work to out advantage."
"How?" the Queen demanded icily, not liking being made a fool of.
"There's going to be much controversy if the nobles see your son giving the crown to me. The usual rumours, you know, bribery, torture, treason and so on."
"They can't prove it!" The queen yelled. "They can't prove anything!"
"Goodness, lady, keep your voice down!" Marcus cautioned, his devious, black beetle eyes flicking from side to side suspiciously. "Of course they can't prove anything, but still, the rumours will tarnish my reputation, and most probably yours too. Do you think the people will follow a king who is rumoured to have manipulated the king's successor?"
The Queen was silent.
"Don't you see?" Marcus' voice dropped to a barely inaudible hiss. "It would be much easier if I took on the place of the king's royal advisor. We could control the empire through Tristan's crown. If anything goes wrong he'll take the blame. If anything goes right I'll take the credit."
"There is a fault in your plan." The Queen pointed out primly. "Tristan chose Carson to be his advisor. The position has been taken."
"Carson? He can be dealt with. A couple of drops of tonic in his soup at dinner and he'll pass away quietly." Marcus took out a small bottle with an inky black liquid in it that shone green when light fell upon it. "The old windbag's due to die sometime soon anyway." He said, holding the small bottle up so that the Queen could see.
The Queen smirked. "I like your style, Marcus. No fuss, no nonsense, no mess."
"That is the only way, your majesty." Marcus replied, his lip curling up slightly.
The Queen gave a quick smile to Marcus and turned around, walking out of his study. When she reached the door she turned around.
"It was quick, wasn't it? I mean, for my husband.."
"Yes, it was quick." Marcus said softly, a triumphant note in his voice. "Very quick. I made sure of that."
"Good." The Queen said shortly, and walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind her, only to come face to face with Tristan.
"What were you doing in Marcus' study, mother?"
A now thirteen-year-old Tristan faced his mother determinedly, a scowl fixed firmly on his face. He was leaning slightly against a nearby pillar almost casually, the golden, heavy crown fixed firmly on his head. He had shot up in the last couple of years, and now was almost at the height of his mother, who was considered a giantess amongst women, for more reasons than one. His blonde hair fell in front of his stormy grey eyes, messy as usual, and his mind was almost as sharp as his tongue.
"It is none of your concern." The Queen tried to wave her son of with her hand.
"I'll make it my concern." He said harshly. "Now tell me!"
The Queen stared at her son frostily, but remained silent.
"You're not having a love affair again, are you?" Tristan asked spitefully.
"Don't be silly." His mother said. "Of course I'm not."
The Queen felt a blush rise to her cheeks, which was quite unusual since the Queen's complexion was snow-white and her skin hardly showed any colour at all. Tristan, who knew his mother extraordinarily well by now, noticed that.
"You're lying." He noted, and brushed right past his mother into his uncle's study.
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Marcus had only glanced back down at his book when his door was shoved open. Looking up, slightly surprised and more than a little annoyed, he saw the king stride across the wood flooring of his study, angry red blotches on his cheeks.
"Don't touch my mother." Tristan intoned warningly. "Do not lay one hand on her."
Marcus' mind was racing but he kept a cool front. Raising one eyebrow, he forced his face into an inquisitive sort of look.
"What exactly do you mean?" Marcus asked, more than a little cautious.
"You know exactly what I mean."
"Humour me."
"You're having a love affair with her! I wont permit it! I wont!" Tristan yelled, bringing his hand down in a fist on Marcus' table in rage.
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Marcus snarled back, so viciously that Tristan recoiled. "You get out of here right now! After all I've done for you! After all I've tried to help you, to advise you! Of all the strain I've had trying to teach you how to be a King, to support your mother! My wife is back home a thousand miles away with my three children waiting for me to come home, but I'm staying here for you! And you accuse me of having an affair with your mother! How dare you!"
Tristan mouthed soundlessly, incredible guilt settling in his stomach. He didn't know what to say. He looked at his uncle now in a different light. He hadn't even thought about his uncle's family. Tristan hung his head in shame, and, not being able to bear it any longer, silently departed.
Marcus wiped the sweat off his forehead, panting a little with the effort of pulling of that little drama show for the king. Resting back in his chair once more, he realised that the situation with his wife and children would, in fact, had to be sorted out, since his intent was to stay at the palace permanently. He made a small note in his head to see if his wife's village could perhaps come down with a disastrous plague..
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Rory sighed, looking wistfully at the parchment and charcoal that lay on the small, wooden cart. Flicking her long brown hair back behind her shoulders she looked up at the fat, stingy merchant who was eying her beadily.
"How much..?" she asked again, for the fifth time.
"Twenty silvers." The merchant replied stubbornly, crossing his arms. Rory looked down despairingly at her leather coin pouch, the three silvers glinting tellingly in the sunlight. Crestfallen, Rory turned around and walked away from the cart, thinking of all the ideas for stories in her head that would have to go unwritten. She was so preoccupied in her thoughts that she barely noticed a faint brush against her hand that held her leather pouch and a sharp tug on the pouch's throng. Spinning around she caught a glimpse of the back of her thief. He was a dark brown-haired villain who was quite skinny and quick on his feet. Looking despairingly and the thief for a moment she cursed her bad luck, and slowly started to walk away, but then spun on her heel and ran after the thief. She wasn't going to let him get away with all her money! She'll show him a thing or two about proper manners and earning honest money for a living! She determinedly ran after the thief. He was good, very good, but Rory was better. Twisting and turning, occasionally only catching a glimpse of his foot or a stray hand, she followed him through the streets of the market, never backing down, always pushing herself on. It wasn't just her leather pouch that she was running after; it was also the dignity of any peasant that had ever been robbed! As Rory turned a particularly sharp corner she saw the thief stumble through a pile of broken straw baskets, to finally fall upon a heap of apples. Panting, she ran up to confront the criminal.
"Give me back my pouch!" she demanded. The thief held his hands up in defeat and threw her the leather pouch. Rory caught it just in time, and then realised how light it was. She peeked inside only to find that her three silvers were gone.
"Where are my coins?" she yelled at the thief as he quickly got to his feet, grinning mischievously.
"You asked for your pouch," he said in as-a-matter-of-factly voice. "You never said anything about your money."
"You know what I meant!" Rory fumed. "Now, can I please have my coins back?"
"Well, the pouch is easy enough to give away, but the coins, now that is another matter. We might have to do a little trade here. Something for something." The boy seemed very business-like, like he had done this sort of thing before.
"What kind of trade..?" Rory asked, cautious but curious too.
"I give you you're coins, if you give me your services."
"I will do no such thing!" Rory said, disgusted, and slapped the boy in the face. "How dare you suggest something like that? I mean, you'd think you'd have a little digni.what's so funny?"
The thief was chuckling, laughing even, trying desperately to hold it in but not succeeding. "I didn't mean those kinds of services," he said, almost apologetically. "I meant services in being a thief. I saw you running back there, and though I hate to admit it, you were pretty good. Natural talent like that can get you far in the world of thieves."
"Um.thanks for the compliment but I'm not sure that I want to enter the world of eternal crime and dishonesty. It's not my kind of thing." Rory said, a little taken aback.
"But it pays good money, and with talent like yours, you could go all the way. You'd really be missing out if you pass the opportunity up."
"Well..uh.." Rory mumbled, not sure what to say. A loud shout came from behind her. The boy looked over her shoulder and winced.
'Gotta run." He said and dashed off. "Just think about it." And then he was gone, leaving Rory to walk by herself back to the markets. She was halfway there when she realised that she never got the chance to take back her coins. Sighing she wondered what she would tell Sookie when she got home.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------
Jackson walked into his house, a heavy, lead feeling in his stomach. Sookie rushed out from the kitchen to greet him. She gave him a sweet kiss and smiled at him, beaming. Jackson tried to smile back, but somehow his face felt like it had been engraved in iron. Sookie immediately knew something was wrong.
"What is it?" she asked, her large eyes trying to read his. Rory tiptoed out of the main room into the front hallway, where Jackson and Sookie were talking.
"I lost my job."
Sookie's face was drained of all colour. "How..?" she whispered, horror- struck.
"Carson died."
Sookie was silent, as a small but meaningful tear trickled down her cheek. Rory bit her lip. Carson was the nice old man who had given Jackson his job when Jackson didn't know where else to go. Carson was a good man, perhaps the only noble that she liked. And now he was dead, leaving Jackson with no job. Rory felt tears well up in her eyes and she brushed them away. But a new feeling besides sadness began to form inside of her. It was fear.
"Sookie, how are we going to eat?" Rory asked in a small, shaking voice.
"I don't know." Sookie came over to Rory and embraced her in a huge hug. "But we'll find a way." Rory already knew a way she could get money. She didn't like the idea very much, but she knew she didn't have any choice. She sighed, and wondered how she could get in contact with that annoying, yet slightly handsome thief.
Chapter: Three [changes]
A/n: sorry this one took so long I'll get the next chapter up really quickly to make up for it. R/r please and thanks for all the reviews! -ButteR
-----------------------------------[A Thousand Miles:changes]--------------- ----------------------
-----------------------------------------------three years later------------ --------------------------------
Marcus looked up sharply from the book he was reading as the Queen strode swiftly into his study, slamming the door as she went. He had never seen her this angry before, and was slightly surprised, but held back any comment.
"Oh, put that book down and stop gawking at me!" the Queen snapped, snatching the book out of his hands and throwing it onto the floor. "We haven't got time for all your needless procrastination!"
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Marcus drawled softly, and bowed his head slightly.
"Marcus! This is serious!"
"What?" Marcus said, raising an eyebrow.
"Tristan still refuses to give you the crown! It's been three years. You'd think he'd have some sense in him already."
Marcus chuckled softly to himself and leaned back in his chair, relaxed. "No need to worry, I've been thinking this over." Marcus explained quietly. "It could actually work to out advantage."
"How?" the Queen demanded icily, not liking being made a fool of.
"There's going to be much controversy if the nobles see your son giving the crown to me. The usual rumours, you know, bribery, torture, treason and so on."
"They can't prove it!" The queen yelled. "They can't prove anything!"
"Goodness, lady, keep your voice down!" Marcus cautioned, his devious, black beetle eyes flicking from side to side suspiciously. "Of course they can't prove anything, but still, the rumours will tarnish my reputation, and most probably yours too. Do you think the people will follow a king who is rumoured to have manipulated the king's successor?"
The Queen was silent.
"Don't you see?" Marcus' voice dropped to a barely inaudible hiss. "It would be much easier if I took on the place of the king's royal advisor. We could control the empire through Tristan's crown. If anything goes wrong he'll take the blame. If anything goes right I'll take the credit."
"There is a fault in your plan." The Queen pointed out primly. "Tristan chose Carson to be his advisor. The position has been taken."
"Carson? He can be dealt with. A couple of drops of tonic in his soup at dinner and he'll pass away quietly." Marcus took out a small bottle with an inky black liquid in it that shone green when light fell upon it. "The old windbag's due to die sometime soon anyway." He said, holding the small bottle up so that the Queen could see.
The Queen smirked. "I like your style, Marcus. No fuss, no nonsense, no mess."
"That is the only way, your majesty." Marcus replied, his lip curling up slightly.
The Queen gave a quick smile to Marcus and turned around, walking out of his study. When she reached the door she turned around.
"It was quick, wasn't it? I mean, for my husband.."
"Yes, it was quick." Marcus said softly, a triumphant note in his voice. "Very quick. I made sure of that."
"Good." The Queen said shortly, and walked out of the room, closing the door gently behind her, only to come face to face with Tristan.
"What were you doing in Marcus' study, mother?"
A now thirteen-year-old Tristan faced his mother determinedly, a scowl fixed firmly on his face. He was leaning slightly against a nearby pillar almost casually, the golden, heavy crown fixed firmly on his head. He had shot up in the last couple of years, and now was almost at the height of his mother, who was considered a giantess amongst women, for more reasons than one. His blonde hair fell in front of his stormy grey eyes, messy as usual, and his mind was almost as sharp as his tongue.
"It is none of your concern." The Queen tried to wave her son of with her hand.
"I'll make it my concern." He said harshly. "Now tell me!"
The Queen stared at her son frostily, but remained silent.
"You're not having a love affair again, are you?" Tristan asked spitefully.
"Don't be silly." His mother said. "Of course I'm not."
The Queen felt a blush rise to her cheeks, which was quite unusual since the Queen's complexion was snow-white and her skin hardly showed any colour at all. Tristan, who knew his mother extraordinarily well by now, noticed that.
"You're lying." He noted, and brushed right past his mother into his uncle's study.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -----------------------------
Marcus had only glanced back down at his book when his door was shoved open. Looking up, slightly surprised and more than a little annoyed, he saw the king stride across the wood flooring of his study, angry red blotches on his cheeks.
"Don't touch my mother." Tristan intoned warningly. "Do not lay one hand on her."
Marcus' mind was racing but he kept a cool front. Raising one eyebrow, he forced his face into an inquisitive sort of look.
"What exactly do you mean?" Marcus asked, more than a little cautious.
"You know exactly what I mean."
"Humour me."
"You're having a love affair with her! I wont permit it! I wont!" Tristan yelled, bringing his hand down in a fist on Marcus' table in rage.
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about!" Marcus snarled back, so viciously that Tristan recoiled. "You get out of here right now! After all I've done for you! After all I've tried to help you, to advise you! Of all the strain I've had trying to teach you how to be a King, to support your mother! My wife is back home a thousand miles away with my three children waiting for me to come home, but I'm staying here for you! And you accuse me of having an affair with your mother! How dare you!"
Tristan mouthed soundlessly, incredible guilt settling in his stomach. He didn't know what to say. He looked at his uncle now in a different light. He hadn't even thought about his uncle's family. Tristan hung his head in shame, and, not being able to bear it any longer, silently departed.
Marcus wiped the sweat off his forehead, panting a little with the effort of pulling of that little drama show for the king. Resting back in his chair once more, he realised that the situation with his wife and children would, in fact, had to be sorted out, since his intent was to stay at the palace permanently. He made a small note in his head to see if his wife's village could perhaps come down with a disastrous plague..
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------
Rory sighed, looking wistfully at the parchment and charcoal that lay on the small, wooden cart. Flicking her long brown hair back behind her shoulders she looked up at the fat, stingy merchant who was eying her beadily.
"How much..?" she asked again, for the fifth time.
"Twenty silvers." The merchant replied stubbornly, crossing his arms. Rory looked down despairingly at her leather coin pouch, the three silvers glinting tellingly in the sunlight. Crestfallen, Rory turned around and walked away from the cart, thinking of all the ideas for stories in her head that would have to go unwritten. She was so preoccupied in her thoughts that she barely noticed a faint brush against her hand that held her leather pouch and a sharp tug on the pouch's throng. Spinning around she caught a glimpse of the back of her thief. He was a dark brown-haired villain who was quite skinny and quick on his feet. Looking despairingly and the thief for a moment she cursed her bad luck, and slowly started to walk away, but then spun on her heel and ran after the thief. She wasn't going to let him get away with all her money! She'll show him a thing or two about proper manners and earning honest money for a living! She determinedly ran after the thief. He was good, very good, but Rory was better. Twisting and turning, occasionally only catching a glimpse of his foot or a stray hand, she followed him through the streets of the market, never backing down, always pushing herself on. It wasn't just her leather pouch that she was running after; it was also the dignity of any peasant that had ever been robbed! As Rory turned a particularly sharp corner she saw the thief stumble through a pile of broken straw baskets, to finally fall upon a heap of apples. Panting, she ran up to confront the criminal.
"Give me back my pouch!" she demanded. The thief held his hands up in defeat and threw her the leather pouch. Rory caught it just in time, and then realised how light it was. She peeked inside only to find that her three silvers were gone.
"Where are my coins?" she yelled at the thief as he quickly got to his feet, grinning mischievously.
"You asked for your pouch," he said in as-a-matter-of-factly voice. "You never said anything about your money."
"You know what I meant!" Rory fumed. "Now, can I please have my coins back?"
"Well, the pouch is easy enough to give away, but the coins, now that is another matter. We might have to do a little trade here. Something for something." The boy seemed very business-like, like he had done this sort of thing before.
"What kind of trade..?" Rory asked, cautious but curious too.
"I give you you're coins, if you give me your services."
"I will do no such thing!" Rory said, disgusted, and slapped the boy in the face. "How dare you suggest something like that? I mean, you'd think you'd have a little digni.what's so funny?"
The thief was chuckling, laughing even, trying desperately to hold it in but not succeeding. "I didn't mean those kinds of services," he said, almost apologetically. "I meant services in being a thief. I saw you running back there, and though I hate to admit it, you were pretty good. Natural talent like that can get you far in the world of thieves."
"Um.thanks for the compliment but I'm not sure that I want to enter the world of eternal crime and dishonesty. It's not my kind of thing." Rory said, a little taken aback.
"But it pays good money, and with talent like yours, you could go all the way. You'd really be missing out if you pass the opportunity up."
"Well..uh.." Rory mumbled, not sure what to say. A loud shout came from behind her. The boy looked over her shoulder and winced.
'Gotta run." He said and dashed off. "Just think about it." And then he was gone, leaving Rory to walk by herself back to the markets. She was halfway there when she realised that she never got the chance to take back her coins. Sighing she wondered what she would tell Sookie when she got home.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------
Jackson walked into his house, a heavy, lead feeling in his stomach. Sookie rushed out from the kitchen to greet him. She gave him a sweet kiss and smiled at him, beaming. Jackson tried to smile back, but somehow his face felt like it had been engraved in iron. Sookie immediately knew something was wrong.
"What is it?" she asked, her large eyes trying to read his. Rory tiptoed out of the main room into the front hallway, where Jackson and Sookie were talking.
"I lost my job."
Sookie's face was drained of all colour. "How..?" she whispered, horror- struck.
"Carson died."
Sookie was silent, as a small but meaningful tear trickled down her cheek. Rory bit her lip. Carson was the nice old man who had given Jackson his job when Jackson didn't know where else to go. Carson was a good man, perhaps the only noble that she liked. And now he was dead, leaving Jackson with no job. Rory felt tears well up in her eyes and she brushed them away. But a new feeling besides sadness began to form inside of her. It was fear.
"Sookie, how are we going to eat?" Rory asked in a small, shaking voice.
"I don't know." Sookie came over to Rory and embraced her in a huge hug. "But we'll find a way." Rory already knew a way she could get money. She didn't like the idea very much, but she knew she didn't have any choice. She sighed, and wondered how she could get in contact with that annoying, yet slightly handsome thief.