As the early morning light of the sun entered the room, I felt its gentle rays warm my skin. I reached my hands up to my eyes, wiping away at the crust that had built up in the corners, then rolled out of bed and landed on the cold wooden floor, the boards creaking under my weight. I stretched a little, the corners of my lips already upturned. It was a new day. New days were always good.
I took a few steps toward my dresser, taking out a fresh uniform from my section. I shared my room with my two older brothers, both of whom were still sound asleep from the night before. James and John were twins, and both worked as nightguards at the castle just like our father had. As I began removing my pajamas and dressing myself in the simple gray and red garments of my position, I glanced over at the mirror, making sure my belt’s buckle was centered on my waist. I then reached up to the top of the dresser and grabbed my dagger, affixing it to my right hip. Everyone, even the cleaning crew, had to be armed if they worked for the king. Of course, I’d never even met King Jakob myself, at least not formally. He’d walked by me hundreds of times by now, not to mention being the proctor on my combat test, but he’d always been a distant figure. From what everyone else had told me, though, that was just how he was: kind, but distant.
I glanced up once again, now looking at my face. I noticed a bit of peach fuzz had started to grow on my chin. That was what my mother called it, anyway. When my brothers had decided to let their beards grow out, they began to feel… different. Not a bad kind of different, just… more mature. They felt like grown men, not like the slightly older, far more childish brothers I’d grown up with. I didn’t want to lose that kind of childishness yet, especially when I had only just left school a few months ago. It felt wrong to feel older. I couldn’t quite understand why, but it felt like that anyway.
After putting on my socks and shoes, I walked out into the living room. In the left corner of the room was our kitchenette, with a long counter top sectioning off that part of the room. The stove was off. My brothers had forgotten to refuel it again. It was fortunate that the house had managed to retain some of its heat, but I couldn’t leave it off. With a light sigh, I walked over to the front door and stepped outside.
The late winter air was bitter and cold, even with the fresh morning sun. As I tramped a few steps through the light snow toward the rick of firewood, I began to hear the sounds of songbirds tweeting their little songs. Spring wouldn’t officially begin for almost a month, but the first vestiges of the season were already starting to show. I couldn’t help but smile. The sharp air invigorated me, waking up that little bit of drowsiness I’d felt only a moment ago. Once I arrived at the rick, I picked up about a dozen split logs and began marching my way back toward the house, my footfalls far heavier than they were before. After reentering the house, I gently kicked the door shut, then made my way to the stove and set the logs beside it, the wood clattering to the floor. One by one I set the logs up nice and neat in the stove, then stood, took a few steps back, and conjured the weakest fireball I could muster, sending the magic directly into the open door. The wood caught almost immediately and began to burn intensely, though after a moment it began to settle into a slower, more sustainable burn. With a light sigh of relief, I closed the stove door and just stood by for a moment, letting the heat warm up my fingertips and cheeks.
Once I felt comfortable again, I opened up one of the cupboards and took out a mug and the kettle. I sat the kettle on the stove and the mug on the counter beside it, then took one of our jugs of water and poured a little in the kettle, about a third full. After setting the jug back in its place and re-lidding the kettle, I took out what remained of a loaf of bread and began cutting off a few slices, setting them beside the kettle on the stove to toast. I then took out two wooden plates, set some cheese on them, then flipped over the bread to toast the other side. I then took out a little vial of herbs the doctor had given me and tossed a few pinches in the mug. By that point, the water had finished boiling, and so I poured it into the mug until it was full, added a spoonful of honey, and mixed it all together until the tea was complete. I then set my toast on the plates, added a little bit of butter, poured what remained in the kettle back into the jug, and carried out the food and drink into the main living quarters, setting the plates and mug on a small table in between two hand-built armchairs. After I’d finished my work, I made my way to the last room of the house: my mother’s room.
I entered the room slowly, my eyes immediately locking on to the frail woman laying in bed. She was balled up and shivering under her blanket, clearly quite cold. Her room had the worst heat retention of the three, but she’d insisted she remain sleeping there. It was where she and my father had slept for so many years, and the room “still felt like him”. As much as it pained me to see her suffer from her grief, I wasn’t going to argue with her, either. Instead, I’d elected to try getting her out of there as quickly as possible every morning to make sure she stayed warm.
“Mother?” I began, the door quietly creaking as I took a few steps into the room. “Hey, it’s morning now. Time to wake up!”
My mother grumbled a bit, then rolled over, her brow ruffled as she looked up at me.
“Timothy?” she asked.
“Yes, mother,” I smiled patiently. “Come on. I already finished breakfast.”
My mother chuckled. “I told you you have to let me help sometime.”
“I didn’t want you to worry,” I answered.
I lent my hand down to her, and she pushed it away gently, heaving herself upright before slowly sliding herself down to the floor. I’d passed my mother in height about two years ago, and it was still strange to look down to see her, if only slightly. My father hadn’t been a very tall man, either, only about four inches taller than my mother. I stood about two inches over her now, though James and John were a whole five inches taller than me. I didn’t know where they’d managed to get the extra height. Truly one of the many mysteries of the world.
After I led my mother into the living room, we both sat down in our chairs and turned toward the table. As I went for the cheese, my mother brought her mug to her lips, stopping quickly after taking a sip.
“Timothy!” she exclaimed. “You can’t keep putting honey in my tea! We can’t afford it!”
“Yes we can, mother,” I answered her. “James, John, and I make plenty of money to take care of you.”
“Take care of me, but not yourselves,” she argued. “Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean you should live miserably.”
“None of us are miserable,” I smiled. “We’re doing fine. I know I am, at least.”
My mother sighed, then took another long sip of her tea. I took another bite of cheese.
“How long have I been on this medicine?” she asked.
“As of today… four months,” I answered.
“Four months, hm?” She shook her head. “By the gods, it’s going to take forever for me to get better…”
“At least you can get better,” I noted. “If we lived anywhere else, you might not even be here now.”
“True, true,” she agreed. She took a bite of her toast. “Ten years can’t come quick enough…”
“I thought you said you’d stop worrying about your illness,” I smirked.
“It’s always on my mind,” she answered with a sigh. “You kids have to work so hard for your little old mother…”
“We’d always have to work for you,” I noted. “And we’re happy to do it. You know that.”
“I know, Tim.” Her eyes drifted down to her plate. “But you can’t blame a mother for worrying about her kids.”
“Like I tell you every day, mother,” I responded. “We’re doing fine.”
My mother set down her toast and took another drink of her tea.
“I just boiled that,” I noted. “How are you just… drinking it?”
“It’s already cooled off enough,” she explained. “Besides, I like it hot.”
“Tounge-burning hot?”
“Absolutely,” she smirked, taking another sip. “Don’t want to taste this nasty stuff, anyway.”
“It can’t be that bad,” I insisted.
“It tastes like fairy dust,” she explained. “Have you ever had to drink fairy dust?”
“No?”
“Me neither,” she smirked.
I rolled my eyes. My mother began to laugh.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“I need to go to work,” I sighed, standing up from my seat.
“Not going to finish your breakfast?” she asked.
“Do you want it?”
“Not if you do.”
“Then I don’t want it,” I smiled. “Have it.”
“But you barely ate! Just take some of it with you.”
“Fine,” I sighed, grabbing a piece of toast. “I’ll take this. You eat the rest.”
“If you say so,” she relented.
I walked in front of her and bent down, giving her a kiss on the cheek. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me down further, and I reciprocated her hug.
“Have a good day, honey,” she told me, her voice a bit muffled.
“You too.”
I let go of her, and she freed me soon after. I stood, then wandered to the door and looked back, and the both of us waved as I stepped outside into the cold, bitter morning air. I took a long, deep breath, listening out for the songbirds. They were a bit more distant now, a little harder to hear, but their pleasant song still rang out. And so, with toast in hand and joy in heart, I turned to my right and began my march toward the city walls.
As I walked, I began thinking about my mother some more. Her sickness was one of few that couldn’t be warded off with magic, or at least, not completely. Apparently, it was her own body that was causing her illness. The remedy was long-term exposure to certain magically-enhanced herbs. If the treatment went well, her body would eventually fix itself. The main problem was really just keeping her alive long enough. Fortunately for her, my brothers and I could afford it. Just as long as all three of us kept working, as long as the three of us stayed healthy, we’d be fine.
I took a long, slow breath. I never liked to think about money. We’d been a family of farmers for generations, living just outside the walls of the capital. Twenty-three years ago, though, the Romans laid siege to the city. My father was conscripted into the army a few days before the attack, and he and my mother had to endure as their crops were burned to the ground and their house was pillaged. After the king and queen managed to drive away the invaders, my father wound up staying in the army as a guardsman, where he served until his death only a few years ago. We were poor at first, but as the city grew and became wealthier his salary grew, too. My brothers joined the royal guard the moment they turned sixteen. I never thought I was cut out for fighting, though. Unlike James, John, and my father, who were stocky and wide, I was far thinner, much closer to my mother. I knew how to fight—everyone working at the castle had basic training—but not to the same degree as the rest of my family. No, instead I’d opted to work a more peaceful job: a cleaner. My days were spent polishing windows, washing clothes, and scrubbing the hundreds of pots and pans in the kitchen. It didn’t pay nearly as well as a guard, but it really didn’t need to. I was happy with my work.
I was close enough now for the guard at the gate to notice me. It seemed Sebastian was on duty today. I gave him a little wave. He did not wave back, but I could see his eyes following me.
“Good morning, Seb,” I said joyfully as I approached.
“Timothy,” he replied.
“Your shift is almost over, right?” I asked. “Do you know who’s replacing you?”
“No, I don’t,” he answered stiffly.
“Well, whoever it is, tell them I said hi,” I smiled, turning toward the gate.
After walking into the city, I let out the breath of air that had stopped in my lungs. Seb wasn’t a morning person. He wasn’t an evening person, either, or an afternoon person. Sometimes I was convinced he wasn’t a person at all. Perhaps he was secretly a golem pretending to be a man. Either way, it was painfully obvious to me that he wasn’t too keen on conversation. But that was fine. I needed to get to the castle soon, anyway. My day would officially start an hour before sunrise, so as long as I got there quickly I’d be right on time. This, of course, assumed I didn’t talk to anyone else on my way to the castle. I needed to stay on task. Nothing at all could-
Some kind of smell was floating around in the air. I took in the scent. Was that… bacon? Ham? Sausage? I couldn’t quite tell. It smelled vaguely like a pork product, but it wasn’t fully clear what it was. I’d have to-
No, Timothy. You have to get to work.
With a sigh, I pulled myself forward once again, weaving through the early morning crowds. I passed by street after street, alley after alley, until finally I stood on the far bank of the sea of people. As much as I would’ve loved to grab a bite to eat or talk to some of the vendors I knew, I’d have to save it for later. I only had maybe fifteen minutes, and some of that time was needed just to get past the guards at the door. It was mandatory that each person entering the castle sign themselves in and out; no magic signatures allowed, and the guards had to watch you do it. I’d been told by my brothers it was the most mundane post you could be assigned. At the moment, the line was only about two dozen people long. I wandered over to the back of the line and began to pat myself down, making sure I had everything for the day. I usually left everything in my pockets from the day before. I had my dagger, my notepad, a pencil… and a few crumbled up wads of paper I’d forgotten to throw away. I should have burnt those at home. I could light them while I waited, but it would be rude to let the ashes fall on the castle grounds. Besides, lighting fires out in the open with a bunch of people around wasn’t a very good idea. Instead, I just shuffled forward with the rest of the line, toying with the paper in my pocket until I eventually made it to the front.
“Good morning, Salvo,” I said cheerily as I approached the small table with the sign-in sheet.
“Morning, Timothy,” the guard sighed.
“How did Sam do at her game the other day?” I asked as I leaned down and dipped the pen in the ink.
“Her team lost,” he answered with a slight grumble. “18 to 4.”
“Wow.” I finished signing my name, then moved out of the way for the next person in line. “I thought you said the other team was from Timberwood.”
“They were!” he exclaimed. “I don’t know how they did it! I thought they’d be exhausted from how far they had to walk.”
“Well, I think one of the girls’ mothers had a carriage,” I noted.
“Of course they did,” Salvo sighed. “They live out in the sticks and can somehow afford those things.”
“Isn’t Timberwood a carpentry center?” I asked. “They probably just used one they had to deliver.”
“Probably,” the guard grumbled. “Well, go on, Tim. I can’t be too distracted here.”
“Alright, Sal,” I smiled as I began to walk toward the castle. “We can talk later.”
He waved passively at me, then turned his gaze back toward the desk. With a deep breath, I reforged my smile and turned my eyes upward to the grandiose archways of the castle entrance. Salvo was one of the few guards that actually seemed to like me. That wasn’t really surprising, though. He’d been in the same class as James and John when they were in school, so he’d probably heard stories about me his whole life. I never really understood why most of them disliked me. Some days it bothered me, I supposed, but I usually got over it halfway into my shift. It was their problem, anyway. I wasn’t doing anything to annoy them other than merely existing and trying to start the occasional conversation. I couldn’t help that. Well, maybe the last part, but then I suspected they’d end up even more miserable. It was my duty to make sure everyone else was doing alright. I was a servant, after all. It’s what I signed up to do.
After entering the castle, I made my way down to the laundry room first. The royal family’s clothes were there, sure, but most of it was from the guards or our rags. Everything used for practically any reason had to be hand-washed and set on the furnace to dry. Depending on the day and how many of us were scheduled, it could take us anywhere from an hour to four. The day before and after a ball was the worst. Not only did we have to wash the most delicate sets of the king’s clothes, but we also had to polish the queen’s “celebratory chainmail”, which was a thinner weave than her typical daily wear. Not only that, but the entire guard’s armor had to be shined and polished before the celebration, not to mention minor repairs. Sometimes we even had to replace the typical cyan and red hipcapes with a different color, which meant completely disassembling and reassembling the lower half of the chestpiece, swapping out the fabric, and then doing it all over again the next day.
If being a guard was mundane, being a cleaner was definitely tedious.
As I pushed open the door to the laundry room, I was met with the warm, humid air that so sharply contrasted with the bitterness outside. Today looked to be an easier day for laundry; only about a few dozen baskets and twenty or so suits of armor. I honestly didn’t even know why we polished the armor so often. Only the guards around the castle and just outside the walls wore full suits, and usually only when guests arrived. The typical outfit for the guards was a thick-linked chainmail worn under their leather tunic, along with a helmet and their choice of a sword, mace, handaxe, or spear. The work was split between myself and five other people: one other man and four women. As I made my way over to one of the washing basins, my eyes fell upon one of the women already hard at work. She was older, roughly thirty or forty years old, and her fingers were already wrinkling from the water.
“Good morning, Sarah,” I began. “How are you doing?”
“Get to work, Timothy,” she grumbled. “I’m not going to pick up your slack again.”
I sighed, then turned away. “If I must…”
I took a few more steps toward the remaining vacant basin and grabbed a loose tunic from the basket beside it. As I bent down and plunged it into the water, I grabbed a bottle of soap and poured a little in. The rich scent of olive oil filled my nostrils as I set the bottle back down and began running the tunic up and down the washboard. The soap was traded in from the Romans, along with the king’s silks and teas. The Romans grew the olives for their oils, but the silk and tea came from the other side of the world. I’d always wondered why we didn’t just sail there ourselves. We had a coast in the north. Then again, from the bit of muttering and murmuring I’d heard from the king and queen, they really didn’t want to fight the Romans. It was inevitable that we’d fight again. Their emperor, Raquen, served Ful, the god of war. It didn’t help that our capital was only two hundred miles from their border. From the Roman perspective, we were the easiest nation to conquer. Despite that, though, Theolia never fell. Every king in the Theolian royal family had held off the Romans at some point. All except for King Jakob. There was a rumor amongst the guards that the king had already surrendered the kingdom to the Romans, and that we traded with them at a loss in place of taxes. I thought it was dumb. From what my father had told me, Raquen was far too prideful for him to decide not to parade through the nation he’d conquered. The emperor hadn’t been in Theolia since the last time he’d been forced out. Then again, for someone so prideful, it was odd that he hadn’t tried to attack again.
I slowly stood, carrying the cleaned tunic over to the furnace. It was silly to be thinking about politics. I lived in a kingdom. If we went to war, it wouldn’t be because of something I did. No, my purpose was to wash the clothes, scrub the floors, dust the curtains, and do all the necessary things to keep the castle clean. I smiled a little. I was fortunate I had such a simple life. I couldn’t imagine having to worry about a whole kingdom. All I had to worry about was my brothers and my mother. Everything was easy. I could keep going like this forever. Eventually I’d find a wife and move out on my own. One of my brothers would take care of our land and raise his own kids there. Perhaps I’d move up north and set up a farm of my own. Perhaps I’d have some dairy cows, some pigs, and some chickens. I’d always have this simple life.
What reason could I have not to smile?
