Why?

Months had slipped away since the incident with the boys, and Matthaus found himself diligently observing his mentor, Mikel, as he tirelessly wielded his hammer, shaping a breastplate with unwavering focus. The rhythmic clang of the hammer against the anvil echoed through the forge, a constant reminder of the blacksmith's unwavering dedication to his craft.

"Matthaus, pay attention!" Mikel's voice boomed, piercing through Matthaus's daydreaming. "You're not here to gaze out the window; you're here to learn the art of blacksmithing."

"Yes, Master Mikel," Matthaus replied meekly, his youthful exuberance tempered by Mikel's stern demeanor.

Despite his eagerness to contribute, Matthaus was relegated to menial tasks, passing messages to the older apprentices and retrieving Mikel's tools upon his request. The boy longed to grasp the hammer, to feel the heat of the forge against his skin, to transform raw metal into works of art.

"Master Mikel, when can I start learning?" Matthaus inquired, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mikel paused his work, his gaze meeting Matthaus's. "You are learning, young one," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of wisdom. "The forge is not merely a place to shape metal; it's a crucible where character is forged. Each swing of the hammer molds our resilience, each spark ignites our passion, and every creation bears the mark of our dedication."

"Observe, Matthaus," Mikel continued, his voice resonating with experience. "Watch the way I handle the hammer, the way I control the fire, the way I shape the metal with precision and care. These are not just skills; they are the essence of blacksmithing."

Matthaus nodded intently, his eyes absorbing every nuance of Mikel's movements. He understood that true mastery lay not in hasty action but in patient observation, in absorbing the knowledge imparted by his mentor.

"And remember, Matthaus," Mikel added, a twinkle in his eye, "in this forge, we blacksmiths hammer the whole day. It's a way of life, a path of unwavering commitment to our craft."

Matthaus's days unfolded under Mikel's watchful eye, a harmonious blend of dedicated apprenticeship, playful companionship with his friend Jason, and cherished moments with his family. His father, a skilled hunter, would occasionally take Matthaus on expeditions into the verdant forests, imparting the intricacies of tracking and hunting. However, despite his father's proficiency, he discouraged Matthaus from pursuing this dangerous and unpredictable profession, seeking a more stable path for his son.

Time wove its intricate tapestry, and Matthaus's twelfth name day arrived, marking the cusp of his transition into adolescence. He carried the weight of his evolving identity as he ventured to the familiar haven of the ancient weirwood tree, its presence a constant in his ever-changing world.

As he reclined against the tree's gnarled bark, his gaze fell upon the ravens that perched among its branches, their obsidian feathers gleaming against the verdant foliage. Their enigmatic existence, devoid of nests or clear purpose, continued to fascinate him.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his best friend, Jason, their bond as strong as the roots of the ancient tree beneath them. "Matthaus," Jason began, his voice tinged with curiosity, "do you truly aspire to a life of hammering and forging? Blacksmithing seems like a dull path."

Matthaus pondered Jason's words, his mind grappling with the expectations placed upon him and his own yearnings for adventure. "I confess, Jason," he admitted, his voice laced with uncertainty, "my father believes blacksmithing is a respectable and stable profession. Yet, deep within me, I yearn for the freedom to roam the land, to embody the valor of a hedge knight, like the heroes of the tales we've shared."

Jason's eyes sparkled with a kindred spirit of wanderlust. "And you, Jason," Matthaus inquired, turning the question back to his friend, "what dreams ignite your soul?"

"I dream of becoming a bard," Jason declared, his voice resonating with passion. "I want to travel the world, my songs echoing through the ages, captivating hearts and minds with tales of love, courage, and adventure."

A wandering bard, his lute strapped over his shoulder and his voice carrying the melodies of distant lands, arrived in the village, bringing with him a touch of magic and enchantment. Jason, drawn to the bard's captivating tunes and the tales he spun through his songs, found himself captivated by the world of music and storytelling.

The bard, touched by Jason's eagerness, agreed to take him as his apprentice. Under his patient guidance, Jason delved into the intricacies of playing the lute, his fingers dancing across the strings, coaxing forth melodies that echoed the beauty of the surrounding countryside.

Before the bard departed, he bestowed upon Jason a gift – a lute, its polished wood and gleaming strings promising countless hours of musical creation. Jason held the instrument close to his heart, vowing to honor its legacy and carry the bard's melodies throughout his travels.

Their shared aspirations ignited a chorus of laughter, their voices echoing through the tranquil forest. They were young, their minds brimming with limitless possibilities, their hearts filled with the audacity to chase their dreams.

Their laughter was interrupted by the familiar sight of Matthaus's sister, Alysanne, her radiant smile illuminating the forest clearing. "I knew you'd be here," she declared with a playful wink.

Time had transformed Alysanne into a captivating young woman, her beauty as enchanting as the surrounding forest. Her 16th name day was fast approaching, and Matthaus was secretly plotting a grand surprise to celebrate this momentous occasion

"Come along, Mat," Alysanne beckoned, her voice laced with warmth and affection. "It's time for luncheon."

The scene mirrored a moment from their childhood, evoking a sense of nostalgia and fond memories. The only noticeable difference was Matthaus's newfound height and physique, his growth evident in the way he now stood tall, almost matching his sister's petite stature.

Alysanne, still cherishing her younger brother's childlike innocence, playfully pinched his cheeks, her eyes twinkling with affection. "My, little brother," she exclaimed, her voice brimming with teasing amusement. "You've grown into quite a handsome boy."

Matthaus, caught off guard by his sister's unexpected compliment, flushed a deep shade of crimson. Embarrassed yet secretly pleased, he managed to stammer out a meek "Thank you, sister." Bidding farewell to Jason, Matthaus and Alysanne made their way back to their humble abode.

Upon their arrival home, Matthaus and Alysanne were met by their father, his brow furrowed with concern. "News has reached us that members of House Frey will be passing through our village tomorrow," he informed them, his voice grave. "One of them is married to a cousin of Lord Blackwood."

"I expect all of you to conduct yourselves with utmost propriety," their father continued, his tone stern yet laced with understanding. "Avoid any unnecessary interactions with the Frey lordlings. We must not risk offending them."

The family acknowledged his instructions, their meal continuing in a subdued atmosphere.

The following day, Matthaus, unable to contain his excitement for Alysanne's name day, ventured back to the ancient weirwood tree. With a mix of reverence and determination, he carefully carved a small piece of the sacred wood, intending to add it to the metal locket he had crafted for his sister.

Throughout the day, Matthaus meticulously worked on the locket, his hands guided by love and admiration. He painstakingly carved intricate designs into the metal, the weirwood piece taking its place as the centerpiece of his creation.

With the locket clutched tightly in his hand, Matthaus raced towards the tavern, his heart pounding with anticipation. As he darted through the village streets, he couldn't help but notice the lingering stares of the villagers. Their gazes, filled with a mix of pity and concern, sent a shiver down his spine. The village, usually abuzz with life and laughter, now exuded an oppressive gloom.

Approaching the tavern, Matthaus noticed a large crowd gathered outside. Pushing his way through the throng, he entered the tavern, only to be met with a scene that would forever haunt his memories.

His father, his face etched with grief, knelt beside his mother, her lifeless body slumped against his chest. A single stab wound marred her pale skin, the crimson stain a stark contrast against her once vibrant presence.

Time seemed to stand still for Jason as he absorbed the horrific scene, his heart a maelstrom of emotions – pain, anger, and confusion. Slowly, he approached his mother's still form, his eyes filled with a mixture of disbelief and despair.

As he surveyed the tavern, his eyes fell upon other lifeless bodies scattered around the room. The tavern, once a place of merriment and camaraderie, had become a macabre tableau of death and destruction.

His heart pounding in his chest, Jason turned to his father, his voice trembling with panic. "Father," he stammered, "where's Alysanne?"

His father, his eyes vacant and filled with sorrow, stared at his son for a moment, his gaze seeming to pierce through Jason's soul. Then, without a word, he turned his attention back to his fallen wife, his hand gently caressing her lifeless cheek.