Long, long, long, long ago, there was a boy.
A street rat, born from a night of passion between a whore and a Lord.
The whore swore up and down that she loved the Lord, and the Lord did the same, but when push came to shove, the Lord turned a frigid shoulder to the whore and his child.
Artimus bore the name of a man he had never met, a man who had been too cowardly to take responsibility for his actions, his mistakes.
Artimus lived with his whore mother on the streets until he was three, that was when they came to him.
His mother knew that the life she led was not fit for a child, her work could be dangerous, and while money was always a noose around her neck, she made sure to never let her son go without.
Their home was far less a home and more of a shed, just a single room with enough space for a bed and a rikkity old dresser that held all of their worldly possessions, a fire pit, not a stove, just a pit in the floor where they could safely start a fire and a single box cabinet that held what little food his mother could barter for.
It wasn't much, in fact it was hardly anything, but it was all Artimus knew. School was too expensive and he was too young to get a job, so in that tiny little shack he remained while his mother worked.
But one day, instead of his mother returning from a long day of work, two men walked through the door, wearing finely made robes of burgundy, hoods to shield their faces, their hands decorated with rings.
They spoke to him softly, calmly… They promised him warmth and food, an education, a family, a life beyond the four walls of the tiny shack.
And without thinking, without hesitation, Artimus agreed.
And what they promised, the Keepers provided.
Artimus was fed good food, food he had never had before, food his mother could never afford.
Artimus was kept warm, a hearth was always lit nearby, the fires glowing golden and brilliant, unlike the firepit in his mother's shack that they so rarely used in fear of burning through what little wood they could spare.
Artimus was given an education, despite being a coinless urchin, the Keepers insisted he go to class, that he learn and grow and he did.
Artimus made friends and forged himself his own family within the Haven, a family made of people he grew to love, a family of friends who loved him just the same.
And never once, never once did Artimus look back and think about the father he never knew, the whore who loved him dearly, the little shack he called home…
Until the day he felt a tug on a ring of keys secured to his belt.
The small, bony hand he snatched belonged to a young gutter rat with dark charcoal eyes that burned with ire and clawed at him feebly.
But when Artimus offered that boy the same things he had been offered all those years ago, the young urchin fell silent, pondering, hesitating before reluctantly agreeing only after Artimus swore up and down that he wasn't lying.
The young street rat had no name, so Artimus named him Garrett, and Garrett became the center of Artimus' world.
Artimus loved Garrett, Artimus wanted to see Garrett safe and warm and happy, so Artimus did everything he could to guide Garrett through life as any good father would.
And when Garrett turned away, Artimus' heart broke, but he still loved Garrett, loved him as any good father would.
When Garrett's life became unsafe, Artimus opened his door to invite Garrett home. And Garrett did, for a time, but he never stayed.
When Garrett's life became cold, Artimus lit his hearth to invite Garrett to warm himself. And Garrett did, for a time, but again, he never stayed...
When Garrett's life became miserable, Artimus opened his arms to Garrett, begging his son home so he could help.
But there was no helping the Sneak Thief and Artimus' heart broke all over again…
But he still loved Garrett, his son, the Sneak Thief, for all his faults.
He stood by his son, year after year, offering his shoulder, his home, his hearth, his aid, and whatever else he could to his son.
Even when his son fell into bad crowds, Artimus was there.
Even when his son tampered with business not his own, Artimus was there.
When his son was injured, Artimus was there to nurse him back to health.
And when his son was accused of a crime he didn't commit, Artimus remained by his side.
And when it came to saving his son, Artimus did so without hesitation…
Artimus died in the histories, a violent, swift death, all to buy his son some few extra moments.
Artemus lay in his bed, running his fingers through Garrett's hair as his son slept against him, tucked impossibly close to Artemus' front.
Artemus knew the histories well, as did the rest of the Haven.
Artemus pulled his son closer and softly promised that it would take far more than an old Hag to kill him.
The moment those fragile words left the Keeper's lips, a deep shame settled in Artemus' chest.
It was, after all, a fool's errand to even think of trying to curb the flow of time...