“Y-your royal highness,” Yugyeom stammered as he quickened his steps to keep up with Mark who was striding ahead of him. Yugyeom knew he should at least remind the prince that he wasn’t supposed to be on the training grounds but how does a pageboy go about telling one’s superior, as in ultimate superior, what he should or shouldn’t do? Gulping, Yugyeom watched the fair-haired prince finally stop, evidently locating what he had been after.

Yugyeom decided to try again, “His majesty the king gave orders that-”

Mark’s only response was to raise his hand ever so slightly in a seemingly nonchalant gesture which effectively silenced his pageboy. Mark’s eyes narrowed, fixed on a dark-haired lad at a distance who was busy hacking away at a sack of straw. Of course there were others around, it was the knight’s training ground after all. Some, like the one Mark’s attention was focused on, were also attempting to master particular swings of the sword while others were tending to horses or polishing armoury in service of men who risked their lives to guard the kingdom’s honour. Even from afar, Mark could tell that there was a swiftness and agility in Jackson’s steps that placed him above the others in training but it did nothing to quell the irritation in him that had only grown since mid-day.

“Get him,” Mark ordered Yugyeom who could only snap his heels together, bow quickly and run off unto the field. Mark’s eyes never left the raven-haired lad, watching as Yugyeom finally got Jackson’s attention. Mark felt a slight flicker of satisfaction when he saw Jackson visibly startle before handing his sword to one of the other squires and rushed towards Mark with Yugyeom trailing behind him. This satisfaction Mark felt, but he didn’t show. No, not he. Not a prince of the kingdom. He had been taught to always keep his expression lax, uninterested – lofty, as befitted a royal. Even his poise as he stood dressed in clothes considered casual for the prince and yet was made of material that could feed a poor household for a month was one of polite disdain calculated to discourage anyone from approaching him.

“You are royalty, Mark. Always remember that. It’s in your blood.” Those words were drummed into him time and time again by both his parents, their advisors and his tutors. Mark knew he carried a heavy responsibility especially if he wished to ensure that his father’s kingdom continued to prosper which was why he went through all the teaching, classes and training as well as endured horribly boring events and ceremonies without much complaint. Outsiders who saw him this way commented to each other how polished and composed Mark was even for a prince at a young age of 22 – how very royal in bearing and countenance with his fair hair and complexion that made maidens green with envy. But that wasn’t all that Mark had. Mark was certainly intelligent and along with everything else, he was rumoured to be a good fighter as well though his father had decreed that no one was ever to challenge the prince so aside from his tutors, no one had ever seen him in combat. Still, the mysteriousness of it all helped build Mark’s reputation and simply put, his kingdom was extremely proud to have such a prince to call their own.

“Your royal highness!” greeted Jackson as soon as he was close enough to be heard. Mark could already see the contrite grin on Jackson’s face but didn’t respond. Only his eyes showed that he was watching. Jackson ran right up to the prince, stopping a few feet away to rest his hands on his knees in order to catch his breath. He had run at full speed, even Yugyeom with his long legs was only just catching up to where Jackson now stood.

Mark just kept silent, noting the grimy and sweaty state Jackson was in, no doubt from a whole day of training. It was just how Jackson usually looked and smelled and it was something Mark had accepted long ago. Jackson was always messy, usually with a smudge of dirt on his cheeks or nose, clothes usually slightly askew because the lad was just too active to keep still, locks of hair that were slightly too long because Jackson couldn’t be bothered with constant grooming swept back to keep it out of his eyes but with wisps always escaping no matter how carefully Jackson tied the thin strip of cloth around his forehead.

Jackson straightened up only for a brief moment, waited until he caught Mark’s gaze and then bowed deeply in apology. “I humbly beg your forgiveness, your royal highness. Your lowly serva-” It was obvious to Mark that Jackson was going to go into a monologue with words that would have sounded like he had committed a thousand wrongs if not for the slight tongue-in-cheek hint in his voice that Mark picked up immediately. The fact that Jackson was exaggerating made Mark want to bite his cheek to stop from chuckling. Since he was royal, however, he contented himself by signalling for Yugyeom to give Jackson a smack on his back – something that Yugyeom did with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Ow!” cried Jackson, jumping backwards, hands instantly reaching around to massage the part of his back that had fell victim to Yugyeom’s hand. “That hurt!” he accused Yugyeom with a pout.

“Exaggeration has to be taught a lesson,” Mark commented which caused Jackson to grumble below his breath. With a slight glance over his shoulder which indicated that Jackson was allowed to remain in Mark’s company, he set off towards another part of the castle with Jackson and Yugyeom in his wake.

As they trotted along, Jackson cleared his throat loudly. He did want to apologise for he had forgotten his promise with the prince. When Mark had received a new hawk, a gift from a neighbouring kingdom, Jackson had hinted, asked and in the end, begged to be able to witness the hawk’s training even if it meant risking Mark’s anger. Only royalty owned hawks and all the birds of that species in the land belonged to the king but the superiority and elegance of the winged predator was something that captivated Jackson. He was only a squire, a knight in training, and would never have been able to see the creature up close so when Jackson caught Mark smiling, he took it to mean that Mark was in a good mood, Jackson had blurted out his request. And so Mark had consented to allow Jackson to watch. In fact, the prince wasn’t even sure if there was a rule against it because no one had ever wanted to just watch before. There shouldn’t be any harm in this, really. As promised, Mark had given Jackson the time and place and when the time came, Mark waited, and waited, and waited but no Jackson. Mark had suspected the squire was preoccupied with training and lo and behold, Mark had been right.

“Ahem,” coughed Jackson in such a fake manner that Yugyeom had to bite back a guffaw because it was so obvious. Jackson had never been one for tact. Jackson caught Yugyeom’s teasing smile and glared at the younger but bigger-bodied page.

“Your royal highness,” Jackson tried again, daring to close the distance between them by half a step so now Mark was one and a half feet in front instead of two. “I really am sorry. It’s really my mistake. It was the new delivery of swords that did it. They were supposed to come tomorrow but the metalsmiths were quick and when we got the swords I just had to try them out and-”

Just like before, Mark merely raised his hand to indicate that Jackson stop talking, not even bothering to turn around as they continued walking to another field that was used for falconry. Jackson clamped his lips together, trying not to let his expression show that he was slightly hurt. It wasn’t that Jackson expected Mark to pay him full attention. Mark was the prince of the kingdom for crying out loud, and Jackson was a mere squire whom Mark seemed to have taken a liking too. At least, Jackson sometimes thought so. In comparison to how Mark treated the others, Jackson really did think that his and the prince’s relationship was a bit different. However, just like how Mark had merely raised his hand, Jackson could sense that in many ways, Mark was just as distant from him as the prince was from others. It was just that Jackson was privileged with a tad more interaction with the prince, interactions usually carried out in light-hearted banter that he treasured and was extremely grateful for though he had to constantly remind himself not to let it get to his head. Just like how he had tried to exaggerate his apology the first time in an attempt to make the prince smile, he knew that the same response would have in all probability ended in a flogging for many others. Yet, for some reason, Mark allowed Jackson such leeway. Still, there was a line that Jackson was anxious not to cross, not if it meant the end of their relationship as it was.

So Jackson said nothing more until they got to the desired field. There, he stood by Yugyeom as Mark ambled over to the servant in charge of tending the hawks to pick up some thick leather gloves and extra cloth to wrap around his right forearm. A quick nod at the servant and the lad stepped back so that Mark could coax the bird of prey unto his arm with a whistle. The magnificent silver feathers with black accented specks of the bird ruffled as it hopped off its perch, sharp claws gripping Mark’s glove. It was blindfolded for now but it would soon be released. Part of the training was to get the bird used to its name which Mark had christened Johan. Mark had spent hours and hours with it until it got used to Mark’s presence and today was the first day Johan would fly in the open. Moving out more into the middle of the field, Mark murmured to the bird, saying its name while clucking in a low tone to soothe it. Judging that the bird was comfortable and at ease, Mark removed its blindfold, the creature’s brilliant eyes instantly alert.

“Go,” said Mark, his voice gentle as he moved his arm upwards, signalling for Johan to take off. And Johan did. With powerful beats of its wings, it rose higher and higher, relishing the drafts of air and flight.

Jackson watched, transfixed, eyes following Johan’s every swoop and each dip of its wings. Every movement of the bird was so graceful but radiated with such controlled power that it was breathtaking. Jackson didn’t notice when the servant released a rabbit at Mark’s signal but when Johan took a sudden dive, Jackson gasped. Johan sliced through the air and before Jackson realised it, Johan had secured its reward.

Mark hadn’t moved from where he stood, his arms resting at his side until he would call Johan back to him and though he had watched as Johan took flight, his eyes had then flickered to Jackson to study the amazement that grew on Jackson’s face, to see the awe in his eyes, and with it, an expression of longing. It was an expression Mark recognised well because he too knew that he shared that longing.

A longing to feel free.

A longing to fly.

Perhaps that was why Mark perceived Jackson differently. That was why Jackson was different from the others.

That was how they had met.

***

Mark’s head was bent over a messy parchment on which he was trying his best to copy the words of an old poem for his tutor. Learning to read was one thing, Mark enjoyed that part very well. Learning to write though was another. The hours Mark had clutched the quill in his hand, trying to master the subtle curves, and strikes required in order to produce the best penmanship he was capable of was tedious. But it had to be done and so Mark laboured, writing and re-writing the same poem over and over. One more, Mark rejoiced inwardly, just one more and he’d be able to produce the ten copies that his tutor had asked for the next day. Cracking his knuckles, he picked up the quill, dipped it in the bottle of ink

but stopped

“Ka, ka,” a voice called.

Mark looked up from his desk, what was that sound?

“Ka, ka,” the voice called again.

The first thought that occurred to Mark was that it was the cry of a bird. But not a bird he had ever heard before.

“Ka, ka,” it called again but this time in a pleading tone.

Mark knew then that it was the voice of a human, mostly probably a child not unlike himself. When he heard it once more, Mark rose from his seat and crept over to the window through which the voice had travelled. He did so carefully for he didn’t want to startle the bird, Mark shook his head, the child, he corrected himself. Mark peeked out from behind the curtains, eyes searching the garden. And then he saw him, for it was a boy. A young boy who looked roughly around his age with raven hair that curled into gentle waves. Mark couldn’t tell from where he stood but by the type of clothes the boy was wearing, it would seem that the boy was a servant. Curious, Mark studied the boy’s figure who had his arms stretched as high as he could get, palms cupped together as if he were offering something to… air?

Though Mark knew it wasn’t decorum, he opened the window and spoke to the boy.

“What are you doing?” Mark asked, already with a hint of the command he held as a prince.

The boy whipped his head around, eyes wide with surprise. The boy had large eyes, large expressive eyes. But Mark wondered if the boy could speak because instead of answering his question, the boy’s mouth just gaped.

“What are you holding?” asked Mark, tilting his head to the side a little, trying to peer into the boy’s cupped palms that he had brought to his chest.

“It – it’s a baby bird,” the boy stammered, eyes cast down towards the wee little thing that had still to lose its down.

Eyebrows raised at the unexpected answer, Mark said with a note of eagerness, “Let me see.”

The boy obeyed and approached the window which Mark was already leaning out of. Because the window was fairly high up, the boy had to hold up the baby bird for Mark to get a closer look. Mark had never seen a baby bird like this before. It looked so soft and delicate that Mark wanted to touch it. Rather than ask, however, Mark merely held out his own palms and though the boy hesitated, he gently tipped the baby bird into Mark’s waiting hands.

Fascinated, Mark studied the chick that was now chirping weakly, its tiny unformed wings fluttering as it tried to escape. Mark liked it. It wasn’t often that Mark took to anything instantly but there was something about the chick’s fragility and helplessness that made Mark want to protect it, to keep it. So Mark informed the boy of his intention.

“I’m taking it.”

“No, you can’t!” the boy objected urgently, a hand catching hold of the window just in case Mark was going to shut it. “It has to go home,” he explained, his free hand pointing to a tree branch that, true enough, contained a nest.

Mark’s eyes had narrowed slightly in irritation. No one ever said no to him like this. No one had ever refused him, not counting his parents. No one, that is, until this boy.

“It can have a new home,” said Mark, his palms encasing the little chick even more.

“No, it has a home,” insisted the boy who was now pressed up right against the window, his head inches inside the frame. “It has a mother so it has a home. Give it back,” he demanded, holding out a palm towards Mark.

Brows furrowed, Mark studied the boy’s expression. There was a determination and streak of defiance there that Mark didn’t often see. He wondered how far the boy would go if Mark refused but then, the little thing in his palms chirped balefully and this time, there was an answering call.

“Ka, ka,” came a bird’s cry. Mark looked up and saw a bird, a bird that had to be the chick’s mother.

“See,” the boy whispered, his voice low so as to not scare the mother bird away but firm because he was serious as he looked straight into Mark’s eyes, his gaze unwavering even in the slightest, “She wants him back. He wants to go back.”

Mark blinked slowly, looking down at the soft ball of fluff in his hands and then at the mother bird before meeting’s the boy’s determined gaze, a determination that was now accompanied with a worried brow and pouting lower lip. Hesitating only for a moment, Mark held out his palms and tipped the baby chick back into the boy’s cupped palms but he wasn’t watching the bird. He was watching the boy. He saw relief flood the boy’s face, his brow unknitted as the pout turned into a gentle smile. It was his eyes that took the most of Mark’s attention. Those large clear dark eyes held within their orbs such genuine sensitivity and feeling that Mark, even at the young age of eight, found potently arresting. 

“Come on, little bird,” cooed the boy, a gentle finger tenderly caressing the chick’s tiny head, “let’s get you home.” Then the boy looked up which startled Mark because he hadn’t realised he had been staring at the strange boy. Choosing not to say a word, the boy nodded curtly at Mark and turned away to head towards the tree that housed the little bird’s nest. Mark felt oddly… slighted. It was as if he had upset the boy to the extent that Mark wondered if he had been acting too selfish in wanting to keep the chick. Biting his lower lip, Mark turned away from the window. He really should get back to copying that stupid poem but an instant later, he had leaned his elbows on the windowsill to continue watching the boy. He watched as the boy looked up desperately at the nest high above him. He watched as the boy paced uncertainly between the trunk of the tree and the nest’s perch on the tree’s outer branches. He watched as the helplessness grew while the boy’s posture drooped.

Suddenly Mark felt that he wanted to help. It could be the slight twinge of guilt he felt or maybe it was out of concern for the bird and its mother or maybe… maybe he just wanted a chance for the boy to talk to him again. Leaving the window, Mark grabbed the stool he had been sitting on and lifted it unto the windowsill.

“Here,” called Mark, hefting the spindly legged wooden stool halfway out of his study. “Use this. This’ll help.”

The boy who had looked over when Mark first spoke caught on to Mark’s idea instantly.

“Yea,” he nodded eagerly in agreement, taking only the time needed to tuck the chick gently in his front pocket, he hastened over to grab the end of the stool to lower it to the ground. He stood the stool up and then looked up expectantly at Mark who was still by the window.

“What?” Mark asked. He thought the boy should just get on with it. He certainly had no idea what the boy wanted more than that.

“Aren’t you going to help?” the boy asked, large eyes curious, bright and inviting.

“C-can I?”

The boy gave two large nods. “Come on,” he urged, holding up a hand towards Mark just in case Mark needed help getting down.

Inwardly, Mark was questioning everything he was doing at that moment. This boy was a stranger, a servant by the looks of it. And Mark was supposed to stay in his study. As a prince, he had been told never to wander anywhere without guards with him and to always obey his parent’s rules. Yet here he had been, talking to someone whose name he didn’t even know, someone who was inviting him to break his daily routine. And Mark liked it. A mischievous grin spread on his lips as he hoisted a knee up unto the windowsill so that he could jump down. It was higher than he had thought but he wasn’t going to lose his nerve now. He jumped off with a laugh and though his knees buckled when he hit the ground, his smile didn’t flicker. This was fun!

“Come on,” the boy said, taking Mark’s hand and placing it on a leg of the stool while he grabbed the seat. Together, they carried the stool over to the branch and carefully positioned it right under the nest.

“Okay,” the boy said before taking a deep breath and clambered unto the tall, narrow stool. Slowly, the boy tried to stand but it was clear that he was unstable. Mark watched with growing apprehension and when the boy wobbled, Mark instinctively wrapped his arms around the boy’s calves to keep him steady.

“You alright?” Mark asked, looking up at the other who was smiling down at him.

“Yea,” the boy replied, “just a little bit more.” Reaching into his pocket, the boy took out the little bird and reached as high as he could but it still wasn’t enough. Just a little bit more. If he could stand on the tip of his toes, he’d be able to return the little chick to its nest. Glancing down, he told Mark, “Hold me.” Mark nodded and wound his arms more securely around the boy’s legs. Slowly, agonisingly, the boy balanced precariously unto his toes and succeeded in tipping the chick back into its nest.

“YES!” the boy whooped in triumph but that spontaneous reaction caused him to lose his balance and sent him, the stool and Mark toppling unto the grass with loud thuds.

Groaning a little, Mark was the first to push himself to his feet, inspecting his palms that had born the brunt of the impact. Really, if only the boy had climbed down properly or been calmer, this wouldn’t have happened. His palms wouldn’t be stinging and his clothes wouldn’t be this dirty. “Why did you-” Mark began to say, ready to admonish the boy for doing such a dangerous thing when he caught sight of the boy grinning at him. It was a smile of absolute and simple joy. It was a smile that was sincere and it stopped Mark’s breath, let alone his words.

“We did it!” the boy cried, jumping up to his own feet and lightly brushing the blades of grass off his own palms. Eventhough the boy had had a larger fall, he wasn’t fazed by it at all. Instead, he skipped over to Mark and threw his arms around the other to give him a tight hug. “We did it! We did it!” the boy sang into Mark’s ear, pulling back only to keep an arm around Mark’s shoulders in order to watch the mother bird fuss over her little chick.

In the midst of the chirping, Mark’s ears caught hold of another sound. It was someone knocking on a wooden door, his study’s door. “I’ve got to get back,” Mark explained in a rush. Hastily, he ran back to the window and jumped to grab the windowsill. His arms didn’t have that strength, however, to pull himself up and Mark struggled but only for a moment because he felt someone hoisting him up, giving one of his legs a firm footing. Half rolling back into his study, Mark heard one of the many maids calling to him, “Your royal highness, your mother has asked for you!”

“Wait,” Mark called to the maid in command as he scrambled to his feet. Glancing over his shoulder at the boy, he nodded as a thank you and was about to turn away when he remembered something.

“Hey!” Mark hissed for the boy had already started to leave. When the boy stopped and hurried back, Mark asked quickly, “What’s your name?”

Blinking, the boy answered with a huge smile, “Jackson. My name is Jackson.”

“Jackson,” repeated Mark to which the boy nodded. “Okay, Jackson,” said Mark by way of goodbye before he pulled the window shut after which he was reprimanded for his tardiness and was shuttled off to the Queen.

***

After releasing and recalling Johan a few times, Mark stopped the training session. With Johan on his arm, blindfolded once more, Mark returned Johan to its perch but not before he had let Jackson admire the bird up close of course. There was great admiration on Jackson’s face as he drank in its carefully crafted built and traced the patterns imprinted on Johan’s feathers. It was a magnificent hawk, absolutely magnificent.

Taking off his glove, Mark commented, “That’s all really. Are you sure you still want to watch Johan’s training?”

Jackson nodded an affirmative, “Of course!” It occurred to him an instant later that his answer might be perceived as impudent so Jackson hastily added, “Only if you allow me to, your highness. If it should so please you.”

“Don’t be late next time?”

“I won’t! I won’t forget, I promise!”

Mark nodded and they proceeded back into the castle. Just as they were to part ways, Mark and Yugyeom towards the royal chambers while Jackson to the squire’s quarters for dinner, Mark asked Jackson one more question.

“Why are you fascinated with Johan?”

Jackson thought for a second before replying simply, “Because I’ve always wanted to fly.” Smiling, Jackson bowed and waved goodbye in an odd combination of decorum and friendship.

Mark watched Jackson leave and continued on his own way.

You are flying, Jackson, thought Mark to himself. Little did Jackson know, Mark had given his new hawk a German name, a name if translated into their language meant Jackson.