Mordred wiped his brow and leant against his axe to catch his breath. Before him lay two piles; logs brought in fresh from the mountain forests in one and in the other neatly split firewood ready for the towers hearths – Mor’s handiwork.
There was a simple pleasure to splitting logs.
It had been a task he had always enjoyed when working on his family’s farm because it was a job he hadn’t had to do with a brother or sister or cousin tagging along too. It was lonesome work and that suited the Guardian of the Blood Stone just fine. Not that he was truly alone anyway. Unlike the other Guardians who had returned to their own homes or family estates to spend this Homecoming with their loved ones, Mor was in the small handful of Guardian’s who chose instead to stay within the tower for the full week. Most of them had nowhere else to go. Oh, their families would never turn them away if they turned up on their doorstep – all revered the Guardians for the work they did – but that didn’t mean they were welcome. Murmured conversations, dark looks, hastily made excuses to be elsewhere – they all added up into making a childhood home feel like a prison. Mor had stopped going home after his fourth year with the stone.
The irony was that Mordred never felt more like himself than at Homecoming.
With the stone locked safely in the tower with the others he felt it’s taint withdraw. He stopped hearing whispers when he closed his eyes at night or when he worked on a child’s cut knee. He stopped wondering what it would be like, what he could do, if he listened to the rune’s secrets. He never felt more like himself. Yet when that clarity came there was nobody to enjoy it with. That was partly of his own making these past few years but he would be lying if he said he didn’t hold some quiet resentment and hurt towards his family who had been so eager to push him for this position then abandon him as soon as the stone chosen for him was not one that suited their own needs.
One of the kitchen maids approached with a hesitant smile and a tray on which sat a pitcher of water.
“Thank you, Daisy,” he took the already poured glass and downed it in three long gulps. “This should be enough to see your Chef through to weeks end but I’ll do a few more for the hearths.”
There was a simple pleasure to splitting logs.
It had been a task he had always enjoyed when working on his family’s farm because it was a job he hadn’t had to do with a brother or sister or cousin tagging along too. It was lonesome work and that suited the Guardian of the Blood Stone just fine. Not that he was truly alone anyway. Unlike the other Guardians who had returned to their own homes or family estates to spend this Homecoming with their loved ones, Mor was in the small handful of Guardian’s who chose instead to stay within the tower for the full week. Most of them had nowhere else to go. Oh, their families would never turn them away if they turned up on their doorstep – all revered the Guardians for the work they did – but that didn’t mean they were welcome. Murmured conversations, dark looks, hastily made excuses to be elsewhere – they all added up into making a childhood home feel like a prison. Mor had stopped going home after his fourth year with the stone.
The irony was that Mordred never felt more like himself than at Homecoming.
With the stone locked safely in the tower with the others he felt it’s taint withdraw. He stopped hearing whispers when he closed his eyes at night or when he worked on a child’s cut knee. He stopped wondering what it would be like, what he could do, if he listened to the rune’s secrets. He never felt more like himself. Yet when that clarity came there was nobody to enjoy it with. That was partly of his own making these past few years but he would be lying if he said he didn’t hold some quiet resentment and hurt towards his family who had been so eager to push him for this position then abandon him as soon as the stone chosen for him was not one that suited their own needs.
One of the kitchen maids approached with a hesitant smile and a tray on which sat a pitcher of water.
“Thank you, Daisy,” he took the already poured glass and downed it in three long gulps. “This should be enough to see your Chef through to weeks end but I’ll do a few more for the hearths.”
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