Garten had been asked to supervise Helmer training Picket, to make sure Helmer didn't murder a child or anything. Garten thought this was a complete waste of time within the first five minutes, since Helmer looked quite dedicated to making sure Picket did indeed learn how to fight. However, he couldn't exactly go against Rake's orders, and he didn't feel up to a journey to Halfwind.

That being said, Garten was reminded of himself when he saw his young nephew.

He vaguely remembered his own motley assortment of training, from under a nameless captain who reluctantly took the Longtreader brothers on, to a few short lessons with Jupiter's older brother Lance, and even a small sparring match between Helmer and Garten. To see the different techniques of fighting improved Garten's own style, his own critical way of thinking, and helped him form quick strategies.

With that in mind, Garten hoped that Helmer would be flexible in the different types of styles he taught the young Longtreader.

Helmer was currently beating Picket with a coat, which Picket was wildly attempting to dodge.

"Move a little more," Garten muttered to himself, shredding some grass in between his fingers. Picket was dodging stiffly, in a repetitive pattern, which allowed Helmer to predict his next few moves and hit him even more.

To be fair, Garten amended, Picket's probably still a little stiff from his sprained ankle.

Within half an hour, the two of them finished the training. Garten stood up, sighed, and walked over to them.

"Now, I'm supposed to take you to Mrs. Weaver," he said, raising an eyebrow at Picket's visible black eye.

"Mhm," Picket said, sounding even happier than he had before.

Helmer snorted. "Tomorrow, same time. I'd prefer to have no audience next time."

"Okay," Garten said. "Let's go."

The two of them walked in silence for a few minutes.

"So, you're my uncle," Picket finally said.

"Yeah," Garten said, tilting his head.

"Which means I'm a Longtreader."

"I'm not going to confirm or deny anything," Garten said flatly. "For all you know, I could be adopted."

Picket kept quiet for a few seconds. "I have a little brother."

"Really?" Garten panicked for a few milliseconds. Another person he let down.

"I promised I'd keep him safe," murmured Picket as they continued on.

Garten glanced over at him. "Well," he said, sighing, hoping to comfort him. "We all lose people, right? I dare say it's a part of life."

"But what if they're alive?" Picket asked. "Am I supposed to sit around and do nothing? Why did the wolves even take them, anyway?"

Garten rubbed his forehead. "That's going to be answered tonight, kid. I promise."

Picket scowled slightly, just as they approached Mrs. Weaver's porch. With a sinking feeling, Garten noticed Heather was sitting there. Her eyes landed upon Picket, took in his mild injuries, and her eyes were alight with anger within five seconds.

"What has that villain done to you?!" she practically shouted, springing from her seat. "It's outrageous!"

"Heather, it's-" began Picket.

"And you let it happen?" Heather rounded on Garten briefly.

"Excuse me," huffed Garten.

"I'll show him," she muttered, glowering at Picket's injuries. "He should know better than to do this!"

"Heather, listen to me-"

"I can't believe Lord Rake allowed this!" Heather ranted. "After all you've been through-"

"Heather, seriously, if you'll-"

"He'll get what's coming, if it's the last thing I do!" Heather continued, throwing her hands in the air.

"Heather," Garten and Mrs. Weaver said at the exact same time.

Heather glowered briefly at Garten, turning to Mrs. Weaver. "Yes ma'am?" she asked in a mildly stunned tone.

"Sit down," Mrs. Weaver said, not unkindly. "And be quiet."

"Yes ma'am," Heather said, still seething just below the surface.

"I think I should go now," Garten said, backing away slightly.

"No," Mrs. Weaver said, raising a finger at him. "You're staying here. I need to discuss something with you."

"On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?" Garten muttered, loud enough for them to hear, but most to himself. He leaned against the porch railing. Mrs Weaver turned back to the siblings.

For most of the conversation, Garten was counting how many times Heather glanced over at him. Currently, she had done it about nine times in the twenty minutes Picket had been describing his training session. He didn't tune in on the conversation, seeing as most of it didn't apply to him. Once Mrs. Weaver was done talking to Picket, who bounded off to presumably join his friends at the Savory Den, Mrs. Weaver began lecturing Heather in hushed tones.

Heather nodded and began walking back, throwing a tenth glance at Garten. She looked suspiciously at him for a few seconds, before disappearing around the bend.

Mrs. Weaver turned to Garten after a few minutes. "Someone informed me that you're not sleeping anymore."

Garten crossed his arms, almost petulantly. He had no doubt it was Lord Rake who told her, seeing as he constantly lectured Garten on the importance of a good night's rest.. "It was one night."

"Five."

"Fine, five nights. Big deal. I've dealt with worse."

Mrs. Weaver raised an eyebrow. "The last time you pushed yourself this hard, you mistook Wilfred for Bleston and nearly broke your brother's arm."

"Thank you for reminding me of that," Garten said, wincing at the memory.

Mrs. Weaver stared out into the mist for a few seconds, the rhythmic rocking of her chair and the clicking of her knitting needles the only noise for a few seconds.

"The war is coming," Mrs. Weaver finally said, looking at Garten. "Sometimes, when the mist rarely clears, I see people."

Garten leaned forward, interested. "Who?"

Mrs Weaver smiled. "I speculate often. It's very quick, rare glimpses. And they never move when the mist is cleared."

"You have reason to think they're Bleston's spies?"

"It wouldn't be entirely out of the question," Mrs. Weaver said. "But I sit, and I wait. Now, could you take these scarves over to the hospital for the orphans?"

Garten smiled slightly and picked up the bundle of new scarves. It was her subtle way of telling him that she was finished with the conversation.


Garten wasn't hungry, so once he'd dropped off the scarves at the hospital, he spent the rest of his evening wandering about. He briefly considered going to the library in an attempt to pass the time, but it was probably very busy and he didn't feel like dealing with crowds.

He walked past Helmer's Tree in the direction of the standing stones. The black buck was absent.

After climbing up the standing stone's winding steps, respectfully nodding to the votaries, Garten stared out into the distance. Beyond that mist was First Warren, his old home. He often wondered what it looked like now. Had Bleston uprooted the trees to make way for machines of war? Had he destroyed the last remnants of Jupiter's rule in the city? Who knew? No one came back alive.

He sighed. Not only were there hundreds of innocent rabbits trapped under Bleston's rule, there were also Jupiter's children. Most of them would be full grown by now, given they were still alive. He remembered most of them settled in Harbone, trying to stay as close to the city as possible. But what made Garten's stomach turn was that no communication seemed to reach Harbone and they hadn't heard from the Lords Hews and Hewson in ages.

The sun finally dipped below the horizon and darkness slowly fell upon them. The votaries began to slowly trickle away from the standing stones.

Garten began the walk to Lighthall, nervousness rising every single step of the way.


Garten hated being in Lighthall.

The stained glass windows only helped him remember the death of his long time childhood friend, something he had been powerless to stop. It only served to remind him of the Jovesons, somewhere out in the citadels, trying to live up to their father's legacy. It only served to remind him of his own misdoings, the horrible years plagued by guilt that he had fought so long to get out of.

"Garten?"

"Wilfred," Garten said, tearing his gaze away from the windows. "You're here."

His younger brother nodded, looking more exhausted than Garten had ever seen him. He too glanced around the room, sadness creeping up on his features. Wilfred absentmindedly rubbed his wrists, a reminder of the time he had been tied up and forced to watch his friend's death.

"Rake," Wilfred said, nodding to behind Garten.

The lord smiled painfully at the two brothers. "I suppose you've heard that Helmer has taken on Picket?" he asked Wilfred.

Wilfred frowned slightly. "Yes," he said. "But there's nothing I can do, is there?"

"No," Rake agreed. "Believe me, I would stop it. But the calling ceremony is absolute, no matter how unofficial."

"You might want to change that rule," murmured Garten, Rake ignoring his statement.

The door opened, and Heather and Picket appeared. Picket was smiling widely and Heather was staring resolutely at the floor. Her gaze slowly lifted up, eyes widening in wonder as she looked about the room. She spun around, taking in the rooms and the windows that many artisans had poured their heart and soul into.

Garten sighed.

It was time to begin.


ahhhh

sorry I was gone for so long, some stuff happened and I didn't find time to sit down and write this lol, but other than that, there's really no excuse lol

enjoyyyy