I have never been self-conscious about my house’s appearance before. My father built the building as a proposal gift for my mother. The scarce furniture, that has not increased since I was born, he built as a wedding present.
In the center of the ‘living room’ is the table where we are sitting, the six seats surrounding it the only chairs in the building. The ‘bedroom’ is separated from the living room by a curtain. Behind it you find a bunk bed for my sister and I, across from us a bed for my parents. Along one wall wooden utensils hang next to iron pots and pans. A cupboard loaded with what will not hang fills the space between the stove and the entrance. On the other wall dry wood is already starting to stack up in preparation for winter.
My father is not a professional carpenter but I have always thought he did a good job. He didn’t use any nails, the cuts in the wood locking together tight enough that even if they shift, they do not fall apart. Each of the logs used in the furniture or on the building has been barked and while there are still marks from the bark scraper, there is nothing that would leave a splinter.
My mother made the curtains that hang up as a divider as well as our clothes. With the help of my sister she also makes and maintains the bedding and rugs that protect our feet from the cold wood in the winter.
I remember standing at this table during the coldest parts of the year when stepping outside makes you yelp, and the air turns your nose red as an apple. I would help my dad repair the chairs and our various other tools and furnishings. Or I would watch my sister and mom mend the curtains, bedding and thick rugs. The cold parts of the winter are very light on entertainment.
The only furnishing in the house not made by us is the iron cook stove. The only cut lumber is the table we are sitting at the surface still rough from the blade. All in all, I feel proud of all that, the effort each of us has put into making this simple house our home.
What makes me feel self-conscious about it is Giean sitting at the table. Shirtless, smiling pleasantly while my sister shows him her homemade dolls. Even in such a situation he looks regal.
I guess I hadn’t noticed it in the last four days because he was sitting behind me with his hands on my back, alternating between torturing me and keeping me alive. It is hard to get a read on a person in that situation.
I feel certain that the way he sits with perfect posture and his hands always purposely place has a part, but it is more then that. Something that overpowers the fact he is shirtless and has scary eyebrows. He doesn’t give the perception of looking down on things. However, it doesn’t seem like he ranks the things around him on par with himself. The way he looks at things, it is like he owns them. It is like he owns everything in the world and because of that he has decided to love and cherish it. For why would you ever look down on or hurt your own possessions.
It is creepy, no one can be that… that, arrogant, oblivious, narcissistic, caring, nice? Whatever the word the air he gives off makes him seem, perfect. Thank god for those eyebrows running his matching perfect good looks.
“I’m sorry,” my mother says drawing me out of my internal insecurity-based ramblings. “it is just a lot to take in.”
We just finished explaining what happened the last few days and Brian explained what will happen going forward.
“So that thing is a dragon,” my father more states than asks as he points at Chrono, who scampered off my shoulders and is now examining Annette’s dolls.
Honestly looking at Chrono I have a hard time believing it too. I mean he does somewhat resemble the hazy memory I have of his mother. But even with his long neck that gives his head an odd amount of maneuverability he still looks like a cat. Maybe if his wings grow out.
“No crow,” Annette says taking the doll Chrono is trying to pick up. “I’m the princess, you be the demon lord, Giean will be the hero.” She hands one doll to Giean and another to chrono who happily accepts it holding it gently in his mouth by the horns.
“That is correct,” Giean answers my parents, keeping up his part in my sisters’ game well enough that she doesn’t complain. “because of this I am taking Ken as my apprentice to teach him how to properly raise Chrono to maturity. This does mean Ken will have to move in with me but there are benefits for you.”
He raises the hand not holding the doll and I notice a plain steel ring with a polished river stone imbedded in it. As jewelry goes it passes through the realm of discrete to enter the realm of lame, but somehow it suits Giean. The ring emits a bright light and a set of blueprints sprawl out over the table.
“This will be your new house. I would have started construction already but I don’t know where you want it built.”
My parents and I can just stare at the designs. They remind me of Giean’s house if it was tailored for use by a normal person.
“As my apprentice he will be recognized as having a title equivalent to a Marquess by all countries on Adrich. While he will not be official ennobled you will still be viewed as the parents and sister to a Marquess.”
This is the first I have heard of this, only my sister seems to take it well.
“Does this mean I am a lady now?”
“technically yes.”
“Does that mean I can get a pony?” her eyes light up as she asks the question.
“I don’t know about a pony, but my sister is breeding these beautiful pure white horses.”
“Pure white?”
“Yes, from its hooves all the way to its nose,” he says bopping her on the nose in turn. “Would you like one of those.”
“Yes” she shouts throwing her doll into the air.
My mother’s instincts kick in despite her confusion, “Yes what?”
“Yes please.” My sister says again, this time much more meekly.
I am not sure why but Giean smile seems more real as he leans back a little, “Okay but in exchange when you come to visit your brother, I want you to play with my sister. She is two years older than you but there are not many kids where I live so she doesn’t get to play with children her age often.”
My sister just nods before going to retrieve her doll.
Giean turns back to my parents, “While there are not any real responsibilities for you, a situation may arrive where you are required to attend or host an event. If such a thing occurs you need to have the proper manners and attire. For that I will provide you with a wardrobe and food budget as well as a maid and a butler to train you in proper court etiquette. They should actually be arriving later today. They will also help in making sure the construction of the new house goes smoothly. Just tell them where you want it built. There is no need to worry about the cost I am sure Ken will more than pay me back as my apprentice, more over this cost is but a drop in the ocean for me.”
I just stare at Giean along with my parents while my sister bounces names for her horse off Chrono. When his words have finally sunken in my father looks at my mother not trusting himself to speak. My mother looks back at him before turning to Giean.
“This is all so generous but we cannot possibly-”
“it is not generous.” Giean says cutting her off.
“Excuse me?” my father asks.
The tone of Giean’s voice surprises me, his smile gone like it had never been there, “it is not generous; I am taking your son. It was my failure that caused him to be drawn into this and put his life in danger. Because of it he will likely be put in danger again. While this all might seem luxurious to you, this is the minimum needed for him to be recognized in the world I am dragging him into. If you cannot believe I am doing all this for my sake then consider it a bribe or restitutions but this is not generous.”
Even my sister notices the tense air as Giean lowers his head.
“What are you talking about,” I sputter, for Giean to lower his head, he might as well have prostrated himself at our feet. “it’s not your-”
My father stops me with a hand on my shoulder.
“We understand, thank you lord Giean. We look forward to meeting this maid and butler.” My father’s tone is somber but Giean smile return slightly as he stands up.
“Just call me Giean,” he says shaking my father’s hand.
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