It had been about a year since I came to live in the Baron’s manor. I held no formal position but was the de facto errand boy of the Baron’s council. I spent most of the time assisting the majordome and the treasurer but helped out here and there wherever my two small hands and tiny brain were needed.

The maids doted on me like I was their own little brother, and the male servants tried to pass down their know-how and skills they had accumulated doing the jobs that kept the manor from falling apart. The cook had declared himself as my ‘good uncle,’ for he knew my father very well. I often visited the kitchen, and he’d give me a treat or two in return for my down to earth opinion about his ever-evolving experiments. The cook and the treasurer were happy. We had upscaled and implemented my larder management scheme to great success.

Not only the cook but everyone took great care in taking me along to the town whenever somebody went on errands. They would drop me at the tavern while gone doing whatever they came out to do, and I would, in the meantime, return to my peasant-self, and help the family with the tavern works, and catch up on how everyone was doing. Some months in, I discovered mother was pregnant, and I jokingly told her not to forget about me.

“You don’t forget about us,” mother said.

In the first spring, shortly after my arrival, the gardener enthusiastically showed me his workings. To be honest, I was more interested in the moles and the earthworms, but I did manage to learn a thing or two about the importance of good soil and water. I hadn’t even known the wind was also an important factor and was pleasantly surprised when he explained to me. I did, from time to time, get my fingers pricked by the thorns while helping in the garden, and when I did, the maids would rush to me and gasp ‘Oh, no!’ and usher me inside much to the dismay of the gardener. The Baron’s gardener took great pride in his work, for his roses were the best of the best of the Roseland, which inevitably meant his were the best of the kingdom. After all, the roses were the bread and butter of our land; our scented oil and honey were highly sought after throughout the kingdom. Seeds, and sometimes even the whole yard worth of bushes, were carried out of the land in bulk whenever someone wanted the very best roses of the kingdom in their garden; usually the Royal Palace and His Majesty’s retreats. Our good neighbor Montclam had the exclusive right as the first stop of all our rose related exports, and they thoroughly enjoyed that status. Needless to say, Seigneur Montclam came over as often as he could to pay respect and appease the Baron. I sat among the men and went over the numbers and schedules. At first, he was a bit taken aback by my presence in the meetings, but as time went by, he began to take me more seriously. I liked him quite a lot because he started to bring sweets and little toys.

The days became hotter, and we, the whole manor, went to the Baron’s summer villa up in the north, overlooking a large lake formed by the ice melting and streaming down from the mountains. If the day was too hot, we jumped into the ice-cold water to cool ourselves, only to yelp and rush out shivering and teeth clattering. There the young ones of the Baron’s servants taught me how to fish and how to gut and clean them. At first, I was more interested in the worms and grubs that were used as baits, but soon enough, I got hooked to the sensation that traveled through the pole to my hand when a fish bit and pulled. I would sit there watching the water, and when there was a bite, the Baroness and the maids would jump and shriek in excitement as I struggled with the pole.

Some days the Baron went hunting, and I went along, but he wasn’t very good with the bows. Most of the time, he had no game under his belt by the end of the day, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“I find the joy in the very preparation that leads to the final moment the arrow is released, not the actual kill,” said the Baron with a noble face, but the Baroness scoffed and added; “Oh, my lord, excuses, excuses,” and we all laughed.

Fall was hectic and busy as we tallied the harvest across the entire Barony, working out taxes and planning the next year’s expenditures. Preparations had to be made for the winter, so no subject of the Baron would starve nor freeze, which meant going around towns and villages checking on the people and their larder status. It was also the time of the year for the plank-walk maintenance, and it was during this I had gone to the swampland for the first time. I was surprised to find there was an entire village of people dedicated to keeping the travel paths alive. These people were hard workers and what they were doing deserved recognition. The plank-walk itself was nothing too impressive; just simple hardwood planks zigzagging across over the muddy water through thick twisting woods. But the mapping of the network and the entire swamp area was a work of dedication that spanned over centuries. Every thin straight line on the map, denoting a plank-walk, was labeled, and each plank of wood had a separate sheet tracking its installation date, inspection date, the latest maintenance date, and notes from travelers, who from time to time reported on things such as a plank not being stable or something wobbling and such. This was some serious record-keeping and issue tracking I found myself humbled by yet salivating over the archive.

Winter wasn’t as busy as the fall, but we kept going out to the towns and villages checking on the people. Did they have enough logs for fires? Are the larders intact? Is anyone sick? By now, people were used to seeing a toddler going around with the Baron’s men I somewhat became well known to the people of the Roseland. When we were not traveling through the snow, the young ones of the servants and I would go out in the garden and play with the snow; making snowmen, or doing snowball fights, or going to the nearby stream and sliding on the frozen water and such. Every time I went out, the Baroness would fuss over and check on my clothing and always wrapped a thick scarf around my neck and put one more layer of the warm coat over my small body.

From time to time, I also did Barron’s dictation when the majordome or the Baron’s solicitor was too busy with other things. His Lordship would pace around the room, speaking slowly so my small hand could keep up.

“Hmm. I believe it is about time you learn the big words,” said the Baron one day after we had gone through a lengthy letter. He granted me full access to his library, and as far as I was concerned, that was the best present he had ever given to me. I read whenever I could, and if there was something I did not understand, I asked the adults. Sometimes even the Baron himself sat down with me and explained things, which often led to more questions, and when the Baron couldn’t answer himself, he would call in the majordome or the treasurer or the solicitor, whoever knew the matter in question better, and we would gather around the small table in the library and talk and talk while the maids brought in teas and cakes until the Baroness walked in and politely suggested maybe we should all get back to work. Then the Baron and I and whoever was with us would giggle like little boys caught doing something mischievous.

Without me realizing it, the priest, my good old pal, had started to come to the manor every other day and tutor me for two hours. After such a session, and if the weather was good, the Baroness would take me out to a stroll in the rose garden, accompanied by maids carrying baskets after baskets of teas and scorns and cakes and bread rolls. And then she would feed me to the brim. Sometimes she just sat there silently watching me munching on scorns. Sometimes she sang me songs with her beautiful voice, and when she did, I was deeply moved and became sentimental. Sometimes she told me stories; of the La Rose family, of the Roseland, of the fairies and the heroes.

It was blissful. A lowborn peasant boy, me, was living the life of a prince and doing the work of ministers while being dotted over and spoiled. Yet I tried to remain humble, and I had not forgotten who I was. Why I was sent by the goddesses. Thinking of how they yanked me out of my previous life and threw me down here made me bitter. Not because I wasn’t happy with my life, but bitter because the goddesses could have at least asked me whether I would volunteer, before engineering a series of events that had led to my untimely death. When I was bitter, my view of the world was skewed, and the bitter me began to suspect that the only reason I was so adored was that I was the only child in the big manor. I assumed that as soon as I reached my ugly boyhood and was not a cute little thing anymore, the novelty of me being a slightly smart toddler, the very trait that had brought me to this manor in the first place, would soon erode, and I would be ditched or even thrown out. I had decided I won’t mind going back to father’s tavern, to my family, to my yet to be born baby sibling. So, I put on the smile and played along so the Baron and the Baroness could, until the very last moment, play pretend to the fullest parenting the child that they never had. That was the least I could do for them as my repayment for the generosity I had received. I kept reminding myself; my purpose is to Firis, not to the La Rose.

One night, though, I had just finished reading a short novel, something about knights and ladies. I thought I’d put it back in the library before going to sleep. Walking down the hallway, I heard voices, and for a reason unknown to me, I tiptoed my way to the Baron’s court where the voices were coming from. The door was slightly ajar, and as I peeked in I saw the Baron pacing around while the Baroness sat there with a patient face. The majordome and the Baroness’ chief maid were there, too. Although I could only see the side of their faces, the two seemed troubled.

“I have said once, and I say again-,” the Baron was saying, “I will not rob him from his father and mother.”

“But, My Lord-,” the majordome tried to protest.

“The Baron!” His Lordship exploded. It was the first time I had ever seen him raise his voice. “The Baron taketh not from his people. He giveth!” He shot out his arm, pointing at the direction which incidentally where my room could be found at. “I provide the boy what mere peasant cannot. What more joy shall I want?”

“My Lady,” the majordome turned to the Baroness, “Your Ladyship adores him to bits. We are simply suggesting, for the benefits of His and Her Lordship and also the boy himself-”

“Majordome,” the Baroness cut him off, “I stand by my Lord. The boy already is the pride of a family who loves him so much. I will not take him away from them.” She stood up with a determined face. “Being able to watch him grow day by day suffices.”

“For me, too.” The Baron added. “Majordome, and mademoiselle, please do not mention the word adoption hereafter.”

The next day the Baroness took me to the garden again. She tried to be extra cheerful; gave me fun little riddles, and she laughed more often and urged me to eat the cakes and so on. I felt so ashamed, I cried.