“Alright Will, careful now,” Gerard Arcus said. He stood over his latest project with his arms outstretched, an intricately carved oak mantle held in taut suspension over an equally intricate set piece. Beneath him, a young William scrambled to fit the retaining bits into the mantle so that the piece would solidly lock into place.

“Got it,” William yelled as he wiggled the last bit into place. Gerard grunted his confirmation and slowly lowered the mantle into place. William watched the piece just long enough to ensure that the bits were settling into the right place before he rolled out from under the work bench. He was dusted with wood shavings when he stood up and wasted no time in shaking and slapping himself to get it all off. Opposite him Gerard released the mantle and, when it didn’t topple over, stepped back and looked the entire piece over with a critical eye.

“You missed a bit,” the woodsman said tersely. William froze and looked at the carving in horror. His father was a master craftsman and the pieces of the pedestal were carved so neatly that once the mantle settled onto the retaining bits in the base it would be almost like the entire thing was carved from a single block of wood. There was no going back now that his father had fitted the two together. And William had been so sure that he’d done his job right this time.

“W-which bit did I miss?” he asked hesitantly, a sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

“You missed this bit,” his father replied, reaching out to ruffle the shavings off the back of William’s hair.

It took the boy a moment to understand that he’d been duped, but then he let loose with a laugh of pure delight as only a child could. His father joined with his own chuckle and the two of them went back to examining the wooden pedestal.

It was a massive thing, nearly four feet tall and equally as wide across, and Gerard had put over forty hours of effort into shaving and sculpting the precisely dictated reliefs around the base and over the surface. The exact nature of the work had been dictated in exhausting detail by Gerard’s client, the exiled noble Sado Fendrel. Even in exile the name of House Fendrel held respect, and a project of this nature would bring a lot of business to Gerard’s doorstep.

William helped Gerard put the finishing touches on the pedestal, polishing and wrapping the piece in oiled wool before transferring it to the plain wooden box which would protect the pedestal in transit. Finished, the two of them slumped onto the bench just outside Gerard’s shop to watch the afternoon sun move lazily towards the treetops.

“So what story do you want today?” Gerard asked, letting the stress of the job slowly ebb from his sore muscles. It was a ritual of theirs that William would help Gerard with his work and then the two of them would sit and William would get to ask his father for a story. It worked out well for Gerard, who didn’t begrudge any time spent with his boy, and it worked equally as well for William, who not only got to learn the family trade, but got to learn a little bit more about the outside world with each passing day.

“I want to hear about the Gates of Bardin,” William said excitedly, wasting no time.

Gerard gave a gruff grunt of acknowledgment and then slumped down onto the bench, putting his arm out around William. “The Gates of Bardin, eh? Alright, that’s a good one.”

“So this story takes place a long time ago … “