1992, Seine-et-Marne, France.
The first government workers arrived in bulky vans and trucks. Reeving up a dirty cobble road, heaving heavy construction materials and equipment bounced and rattled the vehicles, shifting the drivers and passengers around their seats as they had arrived and parked out onto the spacious front lawn of the castle of Blandy-les-Tours. With the skies clear and the sun pounding down their already wet necks, they hauled their things across the lawn, through the former gatehouse, or the square tower, and stepped out into the court of a once marvelous castle. The architecture was pitiful; the cylinder roofs of the towers were invisible, or rather, nonexistent. The parapets* that edged said roofs and walls were now cluttered in a crumbly heap by the central tower they faced across from the entry way. The lower parts of the walls were scuffed, muddied up, and scraped from old farm animals and tools. The court house was musty and inside was what ever remnants the past owners had left behind, some tracing back to the 16th century.
The six towered beauty of a castle was now in shambles, but that was what the workers were there for. Advisers immediately surveyed the damage, inspecting every nook and cranny for the lost details they would need to restore Blandy-les-Tours to its former glory. Circling, then planning. It would be days before they would even think about moving, or even touching anything. Labourers, buff and lean ones, lined outside and inside, slowly setting up the appropriate spaces to lay out their utensils and plotting out a map for reference. It was tedious work; days went by, and then weeks. Every day, more and more little intricacies were found, changes were made, treasures discovered. It was like a walk through time, or a blast from the past. What excited the workers the most was what they could find in the keep of Blandy-les-Tours. Old weapons, clothes, books, and other oddities were wedged deep within, used as storage over the years; these finds were the light of the day, the very core of their interests. It even held a weaponry, although a keep was the last resort of defence, so it would not be so surprising. The discovery in itself was nice, though.
Once the restoration itself was managed, the next thing in order was to prepare the castle for tourists. Glass cases were brought in and set in rows, encasing a piece of jewelry or dagger. Wooden rails and ceiling structures stood strong and sleek with primed surfaces. Stone coloured the court, the different minerals displaying shades of nude hues that were easy on the eyes.
The keep weaponry was roped off only; no glass blocked the rusty metals. Iron, like blood, smelt strongly within the room. Even a small workspace for a smith was found, though very primitive. Only one weapon was set in the middle. Surreal and mysterious, it was cased in a tube of thick glass that reached the ceiling.
It was slightly dull from misuse, its blade a bit orange with rust. However, as a whole it was elegant.
A fauchard pole arm, shorter than average, with off white bindings wrapped around the staff, was all that was deemed salvageable, one-of-a-kind. Due to the dusting of time, researchers, swords smithies, even, were scared to mishandle the blade, afraid to clean it if it would snap or chip. The cloth was left alone, pitifully hanging from the pole arm's langet* where it wrapped around the metal, hiding it from plain sight.
It stood alone.
parapet*= Any low protective wall or barrier at the edge of a balcony, roof,bridge, or the like.
langet*= part of the autonomy of a pole arm. It connects the blade to the staff, using nails to hold the two together.