Piece Of Mind

Chapter 1

(A King's Quest fanfiction typed entirely by The Chosen Storyteller)

"Where did you get that?"

"W-when I made that last delivery, I had extra money-"

"Which you chose not to give back."

"There was a sale at a book shop next door! I-"

"Mm? You don't have to explain yourself."

"I don't?"

"It's understandable; you're becoming curious."

"I..."

"No need to justify yourself. I may have wandered into that section of book shops in my time; sentimental tales where it seems like all your problems can be waved away with a wand or holding hands and laughing. For just two hundred pages, you believe those false hopes."

He clutched the book to his chest; he knew it had a high chance of being taken away like any other distraction he had picked up since being allowed to go out.

Piercing eyes wouldn't leave him, not the book. So, he was the problem... It didn't have to be said; this was how it always went even when he could have sworn he performed his jobs exactly as described or met the time limit with much to spare.

The taller figure didn't dare bend to be eye to eye, merely reaching out letting his hand float above his head fingers spread to indicate the vaguest approval rather than preparing the proper amount of force for a slap. It was becoming easier to anticipate his reactions, sort of.

A snap echoed as usual, but this time it was a harmless magical pull at the book. It was in his master's hands within moments. So, it was unapproved? That made his heart sink and had him struggling to keep a disappointed reaction. But...

"If you have spare moments after work or studies, you have permission to read."

"Really?" He tried to curb the excitement in his voice, but if he caught it then it must have been obvious.

"Really Gwydion, you are a smart boy. There's no one else I trust to not be swayed by these foolish perceptions of reality..."

In the days time stood still, the book somehow stayed perfect without a crease or faded page. It was never removed from whichever dressed up prison Manannan decided to crash at. Now, barely illuminated by a single candle by the bedside table Alexander could truly see it was frayed from when he was "good enough" to read a page or even two before he had to return to his usual schedule.

He was never the best captive even when the very definition of perfect, and that's why he mostly read the book when only slender lines of moonlight peeked through his window. When he was subconsciously holding his breath, nervously turning pages in case he alerted anyone or anything in the night. But Manannan was a heavy sleeper, a fact few might believe.

Maybe that was why this one candle was supposed to help him give a second read of the book with a fresh perspective. Alexander would never admit he was uneasy letting his turned pages crinkle loudly, his heart ready to burst out of his chest when his ears picked it up.

But no powerful force of magic burst through the doors, throwing furniture or lifting him off stable earth. No one was going to leave a mark on his face, draw blood from his nose or mouth then never mention it again.

It was time to move forward. He and his real family overcame all attempts to separate them; if this were a book similar to the one in his hands, the road beyond would be bright with sunshine and there would be no more misunderstandings or tension as both sides reached out to each other. If the book didn't close, then the stage curtains might overlap to end the tale.

But life keeps going no matter success or failure, and much to Alexander's disappointment... He still couldn't immediately connect with his family just because he wanted to. Come on, the ice labyrinth lasted long enough it better have taught lifelong lessons. But while he was able to train himself to not immediately brush off his parents or sister's affectionate words or gestures, they hadn't managed to close the gap. Everyone wants to know what love is, too bad there's multiple forms and what might work for one won't be so suitable for another. There's a lot of trial and error to be had, but no one wants to wait for something good to happen.

The royal family seemed to be the type of people to throw themselves at a problem, not let anything happen naturally. If there's a problem, there must be an answer. Why would anything in life simply be without reason? The last time Alexander waited for everything to sort itself out, he was close to having no hope of making it to nineteen.

He never felt real hope. All he had was this very same book giving him the best reference, which was pathetic, and he at least knew that much. There were a lot of emotions he knew were okay to have, but they rarely surfaced before he was instinctively calming himself. He couldn't relate to his own father or sister when they went on a tangent or expressed themselves mostly without shame. Maybe he was a copy of his mother, then... Except when she gladly showed her affection for all of them as soon as the need for composure or formality passed.

In the weak candle glow, the aged text presented an anthology of events beyond anyone's control causing misunderstandings, then relationships being torn down before morals squeezed into the plot and even if the reader didn't take anything away from it at least the characters did. As a child, it never occurred to him he continued to read because it was a substitute for the lack of it in his own life.

He closed the book suddenly, too busy burying his face in his hands to mark his page. He must have looked like a tragic sight, balanced on his elbows in the shadows... But he was actually thinking deeply about what could be done to change things around here for the better.

Something was getting in the way of him understanding his family.

Something could be done to put an end to their awkward interactions, perhaps for good.

Something had to give, because they were a functional team when push came to shove once, and it would be wonderful to continue.

But Alexander didn't always know what was going on in their heads, he was beginning to realize that had a high chance of being the block. What proof did he have? It was all in some of the most recent interactions since they returned to the castle. Something was complete lack of knowledge.

Mourning was unfamiliar to Alexander, so giving his mother some space seemed like the right choice. He was surprisingly confident he was doing it right when he passed her in the hall or when she was ready to join everyone for a meal. Quick, harmless replies only if spoken to... Keep it at that.

But he messed up, maybe? Rosella would take and squeeze her hands unprompted, simply look at her neutral expression and ask if she could do anything. And Vee always responded positively, accepting her affection or gently explaining she was okay. But was she? Graham often admitted to having no idea but adopted Rosella's approach.

Then, in the background, Alexander pondered the looks his mother gave everyone and wondered if she was genuinely cheered up or faked it until they turned away. Whoever the woman they encountered truly was in her last moment, she was Vee's friend. Of course, this loss couldn't be brushed over, but when Vee cracked a smile at them it looked genuine. Everyone else interpreted it as much.

Restored happiness was just another unfamiliar state, one his father was swept up in at questionable times but at least he was learning how to space apart the bursts of requests. Alexander had warmed up to the idea of doing this "bonding" thing, but small steps needed to be taken for success. Graham finally found the willpower to get through the duties Vee had taken over, but every now and then Alexander poked his head into the room and quietly watched him work. This would be creepy to anyone but his father, who was thrilled beyond human capacity his son was accepting his identity and wanted to learn the work he might be doing someday.

Maybe? Graham should have been so easy to read even when attempting to cover the misplaced heart on his sleeve. Alexander should have been able to have a vague glance at his face, then have a novel's worth of information shown.

Don't get him started on attempting to figure out Rosella. Twins are supposed to have a connection whether they want it or not, at least that's what everyone believes. But Alexander couldn't hold her gaze too long without wondering if those wide, bright eyes were natural. He certainly didn't know what she truly thought of him or their parents, let alone why he couldn't believe she was all sincerity. When did she learn she had a brother? It had to be a shocking revelation, nothing to accept with open arms as soon as he was mentally prepared to do the anticipated "hug" gesture.

Eighteen long years was enough. Alexander missed too much to let any more possible moments pass him by, so he shut the book and reached for his bag. He had to stick his hand into whisked away sand and dirt before he found the one book of spells that might help in a pinch.

Granted, these spells were high level, and he wouldn't know if he could maintain them as long as needed. But even if the particular one he was searching for drained him until he was barely conscious on the floor, he could take the risk. After all, since the people he would cast it on were his family he didn't have the risk of learning too much information.

He just needed the bare minimum of context – once he had a quick listen of their inner voice, he could pretend this never happened. If everyone's true thoughts were revealed, imagine how useful that could be. Certainly, conflict could be avoided before it happened. If it was the cause of conflict, well, at least it wasn't harbored and stressing everyone out.

Look, he just needed a break. This spell seemed to be it, no matter how much he tried to forget. Alexander barely slept that night, moving back and forth between his bed and the desk. Soft mattresses on their own were... Strange to adapt to, but mostly his heart wouldn't calm down with suspense about what the days ahead would be like if he continued to ignore the help in front of him.

TBC