Rebirth of a Fey Lord

Eogan stared at the doctor through thick silver eyelashes, his mind racing. He knew what was expected of him, but doubt lingered—was his young body capable of harnessing the magic required?

"Doctor, what does it mean for my meridians to be fully developed?" Eogan asked carefully, his voice steady despite his confusion.

The doctor sighed, running a hand through his red hair, his frustration evident. "It means you're capable of using advanced magic spells. Children your age can only access basic elemental magic, so the fact you've reached this stage is highly unusual. It might be a result of some illness. I'll need to go to the capital for further research. Your condition is unprecedented."

Eogan's face lit up excitedly, and he bounced slightly on the bed. "Does that mean I can learn magic earlier than others?" His voice was filled with eagerness.

"Indeed," Maeve said with a grin, sharing his excitement. "I'll speak to your mother about finding you a tutor. She might be more open to it than your father."

The doctor turned to Maeve, puzzled. "Why would that be?"

Maeve flushed, realizing she had said something she shouldn't in front of an outsider. "Uh, I can't explain that right now," she mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

The doctor nodded, clearly understanding she didn't want to elaborate. "I won't pry." He pulled a black business card from his pocket, its edges trimmed in silver. "This is my father's address. If your mother needs to contact me about the boy's health, I'll return to the town immediately. I'm off to the capital to research other early bloomers."

Maeve took the card and glanced at it briefly. "Thank you, Doctor Leigheas. I'll pass this along."

"There's no need to thank me. I'm simply doing my job," the doctor replied, packing his tools away. I've been invited to dinner by a friend. I'll see myself out. I hope the rest of your day goes well." He left without waiting for a response.

Eogan's eyes widened suddenly. "Oh, Maeve! Where's Aine?"

Maeve blinked in surprise before answering, "She's with my mother's neighbors. They have a daughter the same age. They're probably playing together."

Maeve's mother spoke up. "Maeve, you should probably take the children back to their house. You said they snuck out to the flower field. Everyone's probably worried about them."

Eogan flinched, his thoughts lingering on the consequences. Maeve nodded in agreement. "I still don't understand why Father allowed them to go. They didn't even wait for me before running off."

Maeve's mother chuckled. "Sounds like they're a handful. Go on now, take your things and head back."

Eogan hopped off the bed and followed Maeve, smiling at the elderly woman. "Thank you for your hospitality, Miss."

She smiled kindly before closing the door behind them.

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Later, Eogan and Aine stood before their father, Lord Dubhan, their heads bowed low. His gaze was heavier than they expected.

"What do you have to say for yourselves?" Lord Dubhan asked in a low, commanding voice. He was seated behind a massive desk, the chairs and furniture clearly bearing the family crest—a lion with wings.

Eogan swallowed hard and stepped forward. "Father, I wanted to see the flower field near town, and I thought Aine would enjoy it, so I brought her along."

Aine, clutching a bouquet of wildflowers, spoke up shyly. "I picked these for Mother."

Lord Dubhan was silent for a long moment, his stern face unreadable. Finally, he spoke. "Alright, Aine. You may go. Your mother will appreciate those flowers."

Aine beamed, skipping out of the office, her joy infectious.

The door closed behind her, and Lord Dubhan's gaze shifted to Eogan. "Son, I expect more from you. You may not have the right to inherit my title, but you're still a descendant of Cian Chulainn."

Eogan groaned, his frustration evident. He walked over to a shelf and quickly scanned the titles before responding. "I never asked to be born into this family. You and Mother can barely stand each other, and I don't want any part of the hero's legacy. The only person I like here is Aine—she's younger than me."

Lord Dubhan sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair. "Don't speak like that. You were born out of wedlock, but you're still my son. My relationship with your mother is... complicated, but we both love you dearly."

He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Since you skipped your sword lessons to look at flowers, I'll personally instruct you tomorrow. If you're not there, you won't be allowed to borrow that book you've been eyeing."

Eogan's gaze shifted to the large, dark brown book with an amethyst on its spine. He hadn't realized his father had been paying enough attention to notice his interest. "Yes, Father," he muttered reluctantly.

Lord Dubhan nodded, satisfied with the response. "Good. Now go get cleaned up for dinner."

Eogan hurried out of the office, his nerves rattled. As he passed through the door, he caught a glimpse of his father's hands, tense on the arms of his chair. The weight of his words hung in the air, but Eogan wasn't sure he cared.