The winter wore on. Snow storms howled some days. Other days were clear and sunny, but absolutely freezing. The day after Clark had brought his disturbing findings to Lord and Lady Lane, Samuel sent out a messenger to the king. The palace was a long way off, and it seemed to take forever before the rider returned with news. Lord Tempos and Lord Luthor had both been taken into custody and the king was personally looking into their alleged alliance. For the first time since learning of Luthor's now-broken betrothal to Lois, Clark felt like he could breathe freely, and he tried to push the entire incident from his mind.
Like a good servant, he went about his duties as the stable master. He even developed a few new commands to add to his language of whistles. It was a help, particularly when he got sick and lost his voice for several days. His days remained unchanged. He spent the daylight hours tending to the horses, seeing to any visitors who dared to brave the cold, and took his meals in the cozy kitchen with the other servants. Some days, if there wasn't much to do, Lord Lane would encourage him to take one or more of the horses out for a ride in the countryside to exercise them. His nights were a happy mixture of time spent with Lois, reading, and carving his wooden animals.
But one day, more than three months since the king had been alerted to Lord Luthor's underhanded dealings, word spread throughout Lane Manor. A large group of riders was approaching.
Clark was in the kitchen, enjoying a cup of hot tea and a bowl of oatmeal, heavily drenched in cinnamon. He was nearly finished with his meal when Olivia, one of the scullery maids rushed in with a half-peeled potato still in her hands. She quickly informed him of the approaching host. But Clark knew he had time. He finished the rest of his food, thanked Francois, and headed out to the stable.
It was a beautiful day. The sky was a perfect sapphire blue, unblemished by any clouds. The air was fresh and crisp, though Clark's farm-trained nose detected hints of warmth and the promise of growing things to soon begin sprouting. Spring would be arriving early, it seemed.
He had plenty of time to do his chores, including mucking out every stall, before the host made it to the gates of Lane Manor. He heard the herald at the gate allow the visitors entrance.
"That's my cue," he told Merlin, as he headed outside.
His jaw hit the ground when he saw just who it was that had come to pay a visit to Lord Lane.
"Your Grace," Clark gaped, instantly dropping to his knees. "Welcome to Lane Manor."
"Rise," the king said in a kindly tone, smiling down on Clark.
Clark obeyed and took the king's reins. "Please, allow me to assist you."
The king nodded. "Much appreciated."
"Roland!" Clark said, calling to Olivia's ten year old son. "Please escort his majesty and his men to Lord Lane while I see to the horses."
Roland mutely nodded and waited patiently while the king and his men dismounted their horses. Then he was off, the king and his royal entourage swiftly following the boy's lead. Clark shook his head in wonderment, then turned his attention to the horses. Luck was with him - the stable had just enough stalls to house all of the animals. Then he set about unsaddling them all, and making sure they each had enough food and water. He was about to brush the beasts after their long journey, but Roland appeared at the door.
"Clark?" the boy called.
"Back here," Clark called from the rear of the stable, where he was setting down some fresh hay for the last of the horses.
"His Grace requests your presence in Lord Lane's study."
"He...what?" Clark asked in disbelief as the words registered in his mind. What could the king possibly want with him of all people? Trying to regain his composure, he looked at the boy. "Thank you, Roland."
"Anything I can do to help? Mom's too busy in the kitchen and Gregory - you know, the groundskeeper's son? - is sick. So I've got nothing to do."
"Actually, yes, there is something you can do for me. Remember last week when I showed you how to brush down the horses?"
Roland's face lit up. "Of course I do!"
Clark smiled. He knew the kid loved the horses, almost as much as Clark himself did. One day, Roland would make a fine stable master. "Perfect," he said. "The royal horses have had a long trip. Think you can get them started for me? I'll be back as soon as I can."
"You can count on me," the boy said solemnly, sounding much older than his years.
"Thanks, Roland. You have no idea what a huge help that is to me."
He didn't wait for a reply. He was already moving, heading out of the stables and back to his chamber for a quick check on his appearance, to make certain he was presentable enough to stand before the king. Satisfied by what he saw in the mirror, he headed for Lord Lane's study with swift, long strides. He knew his bearing exuded confidence, but inside, he felt more nervous than he'd ever had before. It took both an eternity and a blink of an eye to reach the study. The solid, dark wood door to the room was closed. For a long couple of minutes, Clark merely stood before it, gathering his courage.
You can do this, his mind told him, though Clark wasn't sure he believed it.
Finally, he knew he had to just get it over with. With a shaking hand, Clark reached out and knocked on the door.
"Come in," he heard Lord Lane say from within, though the sound of his voice was muffled by the thickness of the wood.
Clark took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and pushed the door open.
"Milord? You sent for me?" he asked, trying to keep his nervousness out of his words.
"Yes," Lord Lane said, nodding. "I'm glad you came as quickly as you did," he continued, in a kind, approving tone. "His Grace wanted you to join us."
"I wanted to speak with you directly," the king replied, turning from where he stood gazing into the fireplace to appraise Clark.
"Your Grace," Clark said, kneeling on the thick rug in the center of the room.
"Please, take a seat," the king replied, gesturing to the chair which sat across the way from the one he himself settled down in. "There's no need for formalities in this room." He smiled a little as he spoke, perhaps in an effort to put the nervous young stable master at ease.
Clark did as he was bid, never taking his eyes off the king. He'd heard tales of the man before. Everyone in the land knew the story of King Bruce the Young. Orphaned at the age of eight, and the sole heir to the throne, he'd become the youngest king in the history of the kingdom. And although he was now well into his forties, the title of "Young" still stuck with him. Clark thought it appropriate, considering the sort of agelessness that seemed to surround King Bruce.
"I've been talking with Lord and Lady Lane," King Bruce said, gesturing vaguely to where they sat to one side. "And their children," he added.
Clark followed with his eyes as King Bruce swept a hand in their general direction. All of them sat silent and still, their expressions unreadable. Perhaps they themselves didn't know what was to come. But Lois caught his eyes and held his gaze for a moment. Something about the way they seemed to sparkle at him reassured him and bolstered his confidence. He nodded to her, so slightly that it was nearly imperceptible.
"They have told me that it was you who found evidence that Luthor and Tempos were scheming together in an unholy alliance," King Bruce said in a friendly-enough tone.
"Yes, Your Grace," Clark replied, his attention snapping back to rest solely on King Bruce.
"Tell me about it," the king encouraged. "All of it. Leave nothing out, even if you think it only a unimportant detail."
Clark found himself relating the tale once more, of all that had happened since Lord Luthor had stepped foot on Lord Lane's lands and asked for Lois' hand in marriage. He took great pains to make it clear that finding the damning evidence against Luthor had been a matter of blind luck and not something he had actively been looking for.
"I see," King Bruce said at the end, steepling his fingers together thoughtfully. For a long moment, he seemed to lose himself in thought and his gaze shifted to some place a million miles away that only he could see. "It would seem that I owe you a debt of gratitude," he eventually said. "Since the raids began, I've had my top men on the case. Trying to figure out where they next strike would occur. Where the stolen goods were going. Where was Tempos' support coming from. Not one of those men could offer any answers. Tempos had hidden his tracks too well, had made his strikes too random to predict any pattern. But you, a simple farmer turned stable master, managed to do what my best military strategists could not."
"I'm just glad I could help, Your Grace," Clark said, fighting the urge to blush and losing.
"My advisors urged me to simply go and arrest Tempos at his home, but I knew it would be like plucking a weed. If I didn't remove the roots, the weed would grow back and spread." He sighed. "Recently, I began to doubt that I'd done the right thing. Perhaps I'd been wrong to look for a support system. Then, suddenly, Samuel's messenger arrived and handed me the information I'd sought."
King Bruce nodded thoughtfully as he spoke. "As I'm sure you've already heard, I've arrested both men and have had them thoroughly questioned."
Something about the way King Bruce said the word "questioned" left no doubt in Clark's mind that the process had included more than a little pain to get the answers they sought.
"I haven't even had the chance to tell your master yet, but we found out some interesting things during the questioning process," the king continued. "Most notably, why. Why the raids. Why the alliance. Everything. Would you like to know the reason?" he asked gently.
Clark nodded. "If Your Grace is willing, I would love to know why. One of those raids cost me everything - my farm, my animals, my home, and my father."
"So Lord Lane has told me," the king said kindly. "Very well. Luthor and Tempos were both in league together to go after the throne. The raids were meant to cause chaos and keep their real intentions hidden. Luthor planned to wed Lady Lois, with the promise of merging the Lane and Luthor armies. Luthor's army would have been instructed to throw the battle, ensuring that Tempos' men decimated Lord Lane's army in the field. With few left to stand against him, Luthor would have easily taken over these lands, killing the entire Lane family, including Lois, so that no one could oppose his claim to everything, as the husband of the late Lady Lois."
"That would have doubled the size of his lands," Lady Ellen gasped.
"And his power," Lord Lane put in.
Clark felt his chest constrict around his heart at the very thought of Lois coming to harm.
"With the wealth and whatever remained of the soldiers, Luthor would have grown in power," King Bruce agreed. "He and Tempos would have easily toppled over any other lord's lands, until they were strong enough to challenge my own army, in hopes of getting to me."
"But," Clark said, thinking aloud, forgetting, for a moment, his proper place. "I...uh...my apologies, Your Grace."
But King Bruce didn't seemed fazed by Clark's outburst. "But only one could claim the throne," he finished for him. "Yes, I know. Each of them planned to betray the other and claim the kingship for himself."
Clark shook his head in disbelief. He'd known Luthor was overly arrogant, but to think he could scheme and murder his way to the throne? The disgraced lord had to be insane.
"Both have been executed for treason," the king said grimly.
"Good," Clark heard Lois say under her breath. "I hope he's roasting in hell."
Either King Bruce didn't hear her or chose to ignore her. He stood and paced to the fire, looking into the flames once more, the way he'd been when Clark had first entered the room.
"A lordship," he said in a quiet voice after a long silence. He turned to Clark. "I was about to offer a lordship to anyone who could bring me information that would lead to ending the threat of Tempos. And now? Now I find myself humbled by the simplicity with which that information was obtained...by one of the unlikeliest of people." He smiled slightly. "Take a knee," he commanded.
Clark obeyed without hesitation, despite his nerves. What else could he do? The wasn't some lord commanding him. This was the king. He went to one knee and bowed his head in respect. He heard a sword being unsheathed. An irrational flash of fear shot through him as he imagined the sword separating his head from his neck. But in the next instant, he felt the blade lightly come to rest on first one shoulder, then the other.
"You have protected both king and kingdom alike," King Bruce said as the sword first made contact with Clark's body. "For that, I am indebted to you. I hereby declare you a lord."
Thunderstruck.
All his life, Clark had heard the term before, but he'd never truly understood it. Until now. Now it felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck his brain and sent a rush of electricity throughout every molecule of his body.
"Arise, Lord Clark," King Bruce commanded, as he extended a hand to him.
Clark took the proffered hand and stood. "Your Grace?" he asked, unable to form a coherent sentence, it seemed.
"Though the knowledge of my offer of a lordship never went public, I am a man who stands by my promises. You are a free man, Clark. A lord. Your own master and soon to have wealth and lands to govern over."
"But, and I mean no offense, Your Grace...but I'm a nobody. I'm not a lord. I don't know how to be one. I'm a farmer and horse breeder, nothing more."
"I disagree," Lord Lane said, coming up beside Clark and clasping him supportively on his shoulder. "I've always seen a lot more to you than you think there is to you."
"We all have," Lady Ellen said, mimicking her husband's movements.
"I want you to come and be my advisor," King Bruce said. "It's obvious that it's past time for me to rethink the effectiveness of the council I keep."
"Your Grace, I'm flattered. But I'm not fit for great halls. I don't know how to advise a king. I'm a simple man," Clark said, dumbfounded.
"You'd be well trained," came the gentle rebuttal.
But Clark wasn't convinced. The idea of becoming an advisor to the king terrified him beyond words. He could advise people on how to grow crops, or train their horses, or how to breed their animals for finer specimens with the attributes they preferred. But giving advice on creating laws that would affect people's lives?
"I...I..." he stammered, trying to buy time.
King Bruce touched his shoulder in a kindly manner. "I understand your hesitation. But, for better or worse, you are a lord now. You'll be creating laws for people to live under, regardless of where you live."
"I guess that's true," Clark said, thinking out loud. "But, if I'm to be a lord, please let me go back to the lands I grew up in. I know those people, Your Grace. I know their problems. I know their concerns. I think I can make a difference in their lives. And, frankly speaking, Your Grace, they need a gentler lord ruling over them, after so many years of enduring Lord Luthor's heavy-handed laws."
The king appeared to turn this over in his mind. "You're right," he declared after a moment. "The people will need a kind-hearted lord to look to. Yes, you will be their new lord. But you will not live at Luthor Manor. A new estate shall be built - a fresh, clean start, free of the corruption and treachery that is Luthor's legacy. Construction shall begin at once. Samuel? Do you have a map for us to decide on a location?"
"Your Grace? If I may make a request?" Clark asked, before Samuel could so much as nod. "I would dearly love to spend the rest of my days on the farmland where I grew up."
"Farmland?" King Bruce asked, as though weighing the idea.
Clark nodded. "It's my home. And, perhaps, a reminder to both myself and the people I will be looking after, of how unassuming my roots are, and what I should be like."
"Perfect," the king replied with a smile.
"I will take Clark under my wing in the meantime," Lord Land offered. "I will teach him all that I know so that he may be an effective leader for his people."
"Thank you, milord," Clark said, humbled.
"Samuel," Lord Lane corrected him with a fatherly smile. Then, perhaps to lighten the mood, "So, Clark. What will your first official act as Lord Clark be?"
"Well," Clark replied without any hesitation, "with your permission..." He let the thought hang in the air, unfinished, while he moved to stand before Lois. He took both of her hands in his before going to one knee. "I would ask you to marry me, Lois. Since the moment I first met you, I have loved you. Living here, getting to know you, has only proven to me that you are everything I'd ever hoped to find in a woman. You are the woman I've always dreamed I'd find. I love you and I want to give my life to you as your husband."
He half-expected a protest from Samuel or Ellen. He was shocked to hear none in the split second before Lois answered by flinging herself into his arms, knocking them both to the floor. The delighted laughs of Lucy and James followed them both to the floor.
"Of course I will," she told him as her arms encircled his neck. "I love you, Clark. I would marry you as a lord or a pauper. All that matters is being with you."
"You've just made me the happiest I've ever been," he murmured to her before gently kissing her.
After a minute, he helped her off the floor. Samuel approached him.
"Clark," he began sternly, and Clark grew a bit worried. "You'll take good care of her, I trust."
"Of course," Clark said, bowing his head slightly, relief flooding him.
"Then welcome to the family," Ellen put in, smiling wistfully.
"Congratulations," Lucy and James added in turn, embracing them both.
King Bruce gave Clark a mischievous smile, with a matching twinkle in his eyes. "See? Your first official act as a lord couldn't have been wiser."
"I'm a lucky man, Your Grace," Clark replied, his heart so full of joy and love that it was hard to imagine why it hadn't burst open already. "Lois is the most wonderful, perfect woman in all the world."
"James!" Ellen called to her son. "Alert the kitchen. Tonight, we will feast and celebrate not only the visit from His Grace, but of Lois' engagement to a fine, new young lord."
***
Sixty Years Later...
Clark lay in his bed under a pile of warm blankets, his family all around him. He knew the end was not far off. Soon, he would be called to whatever waited for him, beyond the veil of death. In his younger years, the thought would have terrified him down to his very core. But now? Now he was completely at peace with his impending death. In fact, he welcomed it.
He'd had a wonderful life. Not long after he'd been given the title of "Lord," he and Lois had been wed in a small, intimate ceremony. He'd had no one to invite from his side, and Lois' extended family was tiny. It hadn't made any difference. All he'd cared about was becoming Lois' husband. After learning all Samuel had to teach him, Clark and Lois had moved into the manor King Bruce had commissioned. It was a beautiful home - rustic and grand, simple and fancy, comfortable and inviting. But best of all, it had given Clark the space he'd wanted to restart his crops and breed his horses, the same as he always had, only better, because this time, he was doing it because he loved it and not as the only way he could possibly survive.
He'd come to be known, affectionately, as the Pauper Lord. News of his humble origins had spread like wildfire throughout the kingdom. And his earth-tilling ways had often left a film of dirt under his fingernails, no matter how much he'd washed and scrubbed. The soil seemed bound to him in some inexplicable way. Some of the food he'd kept, using it to feed his family and his staff - he'd made a point to never call them his servants. And any who'd come to him as slaves had been immediately declared free and paid a salary in exchange for their work. The excess food - and there was always a large amount of excess - was distributed amongst the poor.
Under the Pauper Lord, those lands had grown to be more prosperous than they'd ever been. King Bruce, with whom Clark and Lois had stayed close with, had often praised them for what they'd been able to accomplish, even adopting some of their methods for his own. Other lords had followed suit and slowly, but surely, the entire kingdom had become stronger and wealthier, with the people happier and healthier.
As for Clark and Lois, they had only grown more and more in love with every passing year. But she had always been so much more than just his wife. She'd been his partner, his best friend, his most trusted confidante. She'd been his sounding board for every law, every act. Most of the laws they passed had been joint efforts - carefully crafted by the two of them with their unique perspectives as a woman who'd grown up around lords and a man who'd grown up as one of the people he now governed.
Together, they had also raised ten children. Ten wonderful children - six boys and four girls. Those children had gone on to have children of their own, and those children now had their own families. Clark was proud of each and every one of them. Each of them had helped to further build the prosperity of their land - in particular, his first born child, Thomas, who had stepped into the governing role when Clark had stepped down once he'd felt his age catching up with him. That had come just in time. Shortly after, Lois had taken ill. For five long years, she had battled against her failing health.
When Lois had passed on the previous summer, it was all Clark could do to keep going. It was the one death he'd never really recovered from. Time had never healed that wound - it had only made the heartache worse. Every single day, the longing to be with her had grown.
Now, he looked forward to the prospect of seeing Lois on the other side, as he'd heard it preached all throughout his life.
He'd said his goodbyes to his family already. He was more than ready to go into the unknown. His heart knew no fear, save for the fact that he hoped it would be a gentle death with no pain. Still, his family sat around his bedside, keeping vigil around the clock. For that, he was glad. He didn't want to die alone.
But now he felt Death's presence, as though a physical manifestation of it stood by the head of his bed. Clark had to look through failing eyes to make sure that no one was really there. He felt his breath growing shallower. He felt his pulse slow and weaken. He tried to relax and closed his eyes. He was ready for this, he had to tell himself.
Then, suddenly, it seemed as though he could hear Lois' voice calling to him in a clear, strong voice. His eyes flicked open weakly, but it seemed as if he could actually see Lois standing at the foot of his bed, hand outstretched to him. But it wasn't the Lois who had died. It wasn't the old woman with silver hair and so many laugh-lines crossing her features. It wasn't the shriveled, frail woman she'd been at the very end. No. The Lois who stood before him was the vibrant young woman he'd met one fateful day in the marketplace, back when he'd been nothing but a poor farmer. She smiled at him - the private, blindingly beauty smile she'd always reserved just for him.
"Lois," he creaked out. "I'm coming to you, my love."
He felt his spirit reach out and take her hand. With that, the world around him vanished.
***
Thirty Years Later...
"My lord?" Robert, the local doctor, said, poking his head into the study where Lord Jonathan - so named after his great-great-grandfather - was nervously pacing.
"Huh? Oh!" Jonathan said, starting at the sudden break in the silence that had been surrounding him for most of the day. "Yes, what is it?"
"I'm proud to say that Lady Elizabeth has delivered her baby. A healthy little boy."
"A boy?" he asked, a smile exploding onto his face. "And completely healthy?"
Robert nodded. "Yes, my lord. Completely healthy. Rosy cheeked and with a healthy set of lungs, I might add."
Jonathan felt all of the tension bleed out of him. "Thank God," he whispered to himself.
The pregnancy had been hard on his wife. There had been several scares where she'd bled heavily and they'd feared that the baby had been lost to them. There had also been two times where she'd experienced false labor pains so intense that they'd both been afraid that the baby would come too early and perish. But she and the child had fought to make it to a healthy time frame, when the baby would almost certainly survive the birth.
Still, it was weeks before when she should have been delivering and tensions had been running high, ever since they'd realized that this was not a false labor but the real thing, and that their child would soon be making his or her appearance.
"Can I see them?" Jonathan asked eagerly. In his hand was a small, stuffed animal that he'd had made for the child when he'd first learned that he was going to be a father.
Robert nodded. "Of course, my lord, for a short time. Lady Elizabeth needs to rest after the birth."
"I understand. Thank you, doctor."
"I'll see myself out," Robert said with a light dipping of his head. "I'll be back in a few days, just to make sure her recovery is going well and that the baby is growing normally."
"Very good. I will see you then."
Without waiting for a response, Jonathan turned and left the room. With long, eager strides befitting the lord of Kent Manor, as the place had come to be known, he made his way to the bedroom, where his wife and new son were waiting for him. Still, it was hard to keep his poise when all he wanted to do was run at top speed, like a carefree child, to meet his little boy.
"My love?" he called softly as he opened the door to their bedroom.
"Come in, Jon," Elizabeth responded in a matching tone. "Come meet your son."
He pushed the door fully open, to find his baby boy suckling from his mother's breast. A smile broke out over his features and he shut the door quickly, before making his way over to sit on the bed alongside his fledgling family. He peeked over the edge of the blanket that the boy was swaddled in.
"He's beautiful," Jonathan whispered in awe. "Thank you, Beth."
"We still need to choose a name for him," his wife reminded him, her eyes never leaving the boy.
Jonathan nodded. "You're right, my love."
"I was thinking. He looks like a Charles to me," Elizabeth said after a moment.
The baby finished nursing and Elizabeth gently lifted him to her shoulder, gently patting his back. The newborn lightly burped and settled down into sleep. Elizabeth carefully passed the infant to his father.
"Charles," Jonathan said with approval, gazing down at his sleeping son. "Yes. You certainly do look like a Charles." He smiled at the baby and placed the small stuffed fox in the newborn's arms. "One day, you will be a great lord or a revered knight, who will be a hero to the less fortunate. I can feel it."
The End.
