Chp.1 Jasmines

Following a small, steady grass path leads you under a flower-overgrown passageway. My younger sister and I decided to grow our late mother’s favorite flowers on the entrance to our residence. Daily, after returning from training, I am engulfed in the soft and fresh smell of these jasmine petals. Even if it hadn’t been my mother’s favorite, there isn’t another flower in the world to describe her better, according to my father at least. I’m not sure if a 2-minute-year-old could remember anything about her mother, but I just chose to believe my softhearted father.

Upon exiting the small garden arch, an open backyard greets me. A large oak tree stands in the left corner with an old wooden swing attached to the sturdiest branch. The wind carries its rusty sounding swings all throughout the garden. My father deemed it important to keep our spirits high as children, to sometimes forget the worst of it all. To my right is the same vegetable field that has been sown with the same seeds for over 20 years now. In spring: carrots, tomatoes, cucumbers, dwarf beans. In autumn: spinach, radish, garlic and pumpkin. We have a variety here, of course, but obviously, we can’t live off of our small vegetable garden. Thankfully, we are in no position to worry about going hungry anymore. It used to be a bit different in the first couple years of our lives. Until the age of 10, my father wasn’t able to return to his position as the royal alchemist, having to care for two young children. With one of those needing “special attention”. After we had realized the reasoning behind what he had taught us and why we had to keep this under strict secrecy, he was able to go back to work-with an uneasy mind. A couple of years further along the line, we were also old enough to start bringing in a bit of money, my sister selling flowers on the street or me helping out at the stables. Both of us have always admired our father and simultaneously felt bad for him. By following the overgrown, mossy flat stones to the other side of the garden, I often need to gather “special flowers” for my father, and I suppose myself. Without this little hidden garden behind the hanging vines, I’m sure I wouldn’t have led such a peaceful life up until now. A gentle laugh from inside the house catches me off guard. A tiny huff escapes my grin as I make my way inside the cottage to see my sister Corinne and my Father Eddard standing over a piece of embroidered fabric. Curious, I stroll up to them only to see an“interestingly” designed …something… on the piece of cloth. I ponder over what my eyes were looking at as my sister hollers again, ‘May, May, what do you think about father’s embroidered swans?’ She barely managed to finish the sentence between her laughter, and I couldn’t help but snicker along. Now that it was revealed what this blob of yarn was, I could see the… attempt at two swans. The very tight curved necks along with the oval-shaped bodies looked more like a demonstration of a bodily organ rather than two swans making a heart with their beaks. ‘Uhm…dad,’ I started, trying to control my snorts, as I glanced at my sister for support ‘You know I love you, but what did the swans ever do to you old man?’ I almost snickered again but covered my mouth just in time. My father let out a heavy sigh, but his small tilted smile showed that he was also taking his creation with humor.