Making (Or Breaking) Foundations

[Garamir Wakefield]

5th of Roalis, 2718 - Afternoon

The rainy season was over, yet the moisture in the air was still present. The humidity would do little to pester Garamir if hadn’t been for the fact that he had been chosen to do repairs on the pathways in the Western Gardens, since some of them had become damaged in the storms that had been raging throughout Brunnhold not too long ago. It was not surprising that Garamir had been put on this repair duty, seeing as he had grown into the reputation of being a somewhat skilled repairman. What was surprising was the influx of passives that Garamir had not seen on repair duty all that often. He had seen a couple of them before, his roommate Braxley being one of them. It wasn’t uncommon to get new hands in the repair job, but this particular one was taking place on a humid afternoon, in the West Gardens, which had already begun to unsettle Garamir with the amount of magical tension that ebbed throughout the location. As he took a glance at the group around him, some younger passives wilting under his gaze, he could tell the rest were having the same feeling as well.

The overseer at the front continued to explain what he expected of the group when it came to the repairs. It was simple enough, find any upturned stones that are meant for paths and put them where they are meant to be. Some of the walking paths had also become covered with natural debris and had generally turned “unacceptable” for the prissy golly students. It was essentially a routine clean and repair job, turned difficult due to time and location. The overseer took little time to explain, wanting the rest to get to work before the students became agitated at the state of the gardens. Garamir sighed as they were “turned loose” to get to work, resulting him in shouldering past the rest of the passives in front of him and grabbing the provided rakes and burlap sacks to collect debris in. He could tell most of the others were not used to the feeling of the Western Gardens, with Garamir sneaking glances as those newer to the location accidentally dropping some of their rakes, tired and unsettling visages coming over them. The Wakefield was quick to find any amount of shade to shelter from the heat, which had already begun to soak his clothing with sweat.

Braxley quickly found his way to the side of Garamir, his lithe form snaking through the crowd of servants.

“Getting the shade, plum smart...” his roommate rasped.

“Shut it.” Garamir blurted in response. He had no capacity for small talk right now, the heat and gardens getting to his head. He set forth in raking the leaves and twigs that practically littered the path in front of him, sweeping them into the sack he carried. This went on for a bit, with Garamir finding any excuse to take small breaks between raking and helping in re-paving the pathways. Eventually, Braxley made his signature cackle, tapping Garamir on the shoulder.

“Look at that one. Thinking he’s some clocking brute?” the pale roommate chattered.

Garamir took one glance at a lean, pale passive trying his best to heave forward a small boulder that had rolled down a small hill from where it normally lined a cobbled path. The passive’s hair had begun to plaster to their face due to the heat, causing Garamir to snort. He tried his best to get back to work, but was constantly interrupted with Braxley’s snickering, who had now decided to forgo their work and instead gape at the struggling passive. With a sigh and a drop of his rake, Garamir straightened up and walked over to the passive in question, a condescending look on his face all the while. Aware as a few stares from the servants followed his gait, Garamir quickly took hold of the boulder from the opposite side, pulling the rock towards its desired destination, now up the small hill it had rolled down. He then offered a glance towards the man he just stole a boulder from.

“You clean to do it the rest o’ the way?”

[Lars]

The Western Garden | Roalis 5, 2718 | Afternoon

Lars had come to find, after being made to do just about everything under the face of the sun for the galdori, that outside work was not one of his strong suits. If the man was given these maintenance and repair shifts more commonly, and made to spend a bit more time in the sun and fresh air, it was clear that he could grow into himself and find a better strength within his body. The infrequency of his attendance in the gardens, however, was perhaps due to the fact that he was better suited and talented in the ways of making food and dessert... not lifting and moving heavy objects.

He had spent his morning cleaning up the laundry rooms for their use by other passives later, but his afternoon was promised to hard labor. Though the laundry rooms were hot and steamy, and quite exhausting after an hour or so in the climate, he would much rather have spent the full day there. At least he was used to it, and he wouldn't feel like such a waste of space.

Out here, he was about as useful as a weed in the flowers.

The man knew what the others thought of him--knew that the passives who worked out here normally found him pathetic, but he wasn't the one who made the schedules. It was just as painful for him as it was for them, and he knew how they disliked his presence. It was clear in their little snarky laughs and remarks, overheard by the struggling passive as he fought to lift the small boulder. It had strayed from its place in the storms, like much of the rest of the gardens, but gods was it heavy. Did they really need to move each individual thing? Could they not just... let nature take its course?

Apparently his struggles were too much for one servant to bear any longer, as a taller, obviously stronger man strode quickly to his aid. He moved the small boulder with apparent ease, earning both the gratefulness and embarrassment from Lars. A faint redness took to his cheeks, noticing a few heads staring in their direction, but bowed his head to clear them from sight.

"He thanks you," said the older man, stepping up the little hill, "yes, he... thinks he can."

He glanced upwards then, looking to his fellow servant with a note of curiosity in his gaze.

"His name is Lars," he offered, "what's yours?"

Not many servants cared to help the others out, and the rare occasion was cause to at least meet properly, he thought. There was no downside to making friends in a place like this; they had absolutely nothing to lose, and everything to give. He couldn't speak for the others, but even a small amount of kindness was always appreciated by Lars.

[Garamir Wakefield]

5th of Roalis, 2718 - Afternoon

As a response to the word of thanks given, Garamir simply replied with a grunt, beginning to turn away confusedly as he was given some semblance of confirmation that Lars could move the boulder to the path. Just as he was rubbing the dust off his hands, preparing to make his way back to Braxley, the older passive spoke up again. This time he offered his name, asking Garamir for his own.

Lars… I’ve heard o’ him before…

Yes, of course, Braxley’s group of friends had talked about the same name before. They claimed the one named Lars to be some lingually challenged cook who had been here even before their time. Almost a part of Brunnhold at this point, they had joked. They had also jested that he was a pushover for the galdori, constantly rubbing shoulders with the students at the Brunnhold mess hall. Whether or not the rumor was true, it still soured Garamir’s mouth to think that the cook spent an inordinate amount of time with the galdori, and managed to tolerate it. The younger passive couldn’t imagine working on a daily basis with the very race that commanded him to complete the unsavory tasks he did every day. At the very least, he might roughen a young golly up in that situation, just to let off steam. Not worth the punishment that he would receive, albeit it probably being very satisfying. Perhaps Lars really was cooperating with the gollies, explaining why he hadn’t gone through his own outburst.

Yet… he mentally added.

Thus, Garamir turned towards Lars, forgoing returning to Braxley quite just yet.

”Garamir.” the oafish servant grunted back, regarding the other man with slight intrigue. ”You’ve quite the moony way of saying things, y’know that? I’d pin you as sloshed if it wasn’t the middle of the day.” Garamir continued, chuckling harshly as he did so.

Garamir decided to start picking up stray twigs off the ground with his hands, stuffing them into the burlap sack he had kept with him. The overseer wouldn’t be happy if he saw two passives dawdling in the middle of the field. As he continued to work, he tried to keep the conversation going so as to get to know more out of this elusive figure. He hadn’t seen him around very often and seemed to have some reputation to himself already.

”Also heard you’re quite the cook. Gotten any pats on the back from the gollies yet?” Garamir proceeded to ask, slightly goading the man across from him so as to garner a reaction. If Lars truly was some pushover with the galdori, there wouldn’t be as much room to get to know each other as there would be to potentially “discipline” the older man. Only as a lesson to show that there is no true affection from gollies in Brunnhold, only coldness.

”I’d assume you’d have learned some better language from them if that were the case, though.” quipped the brute, peering upwards from the ground as he did so.

[Lars]

The Western Garden | Roalis 5, 2718 | Afternoon

It wasn't uncommon for comments to be made regarding his speech. In sixteen years, most figured the man would have had ample time to learn and correct his ways, as well as perhaps learn to read, but it had never been important to Lars. His incorrect usage made sense to him, made him feel comfortable, and perhaps something inside would always cling to it. It was a remnant of his childhood, one he had never let go of and hadn't ever... wanted to. That didn't stop the other servants from gossiping, and the students from criticizing when he dealt with them, but he felt no obligation to change the way he spoke for any of them.

A slight annoyance--perhaps more disappointment--showed in his face, but the older passive didn't respond to that particular comment, instead focusing on the other things he had been given. A name, for one, and one he couldn't say he recognized. Garamir must have been a regular for the outdoors and physical labor; his body was a testament to that, and he certainly hadn't seen him lingering about the kitchens. Lars knew many a passive in Brunnhold, but given the nature of their lives, he had never made an effort to meet anyone outside of his regular shifts.

Apparently the other had heard of him, though, as his mention of cooking for the galdori reached his ears. Noticing the bigger man lean down to continue cleaning up as they conversed, Lars moved down to do the same, grabbing the smaller rocks that had strayed from the path.

"The galdori... aren't the back patting type, for any of us," he countered, "though he admits he stays out of troubles. He does his best to not be seen or heard, when possible."

He tossed the rocks back into the path, afterwards going to try and push the little boulder the rest of the way. An attempt was made, and the stone budged, but it hadn't gotten nearly as far as he'd wished.

"Methinks they speak like pricks," the passive admitted, "he would rather speak this way."

Another attempt to move the stone--another few inches closed in the gap between him and the path, but still not there.

"He takes it you aren't a fan of them. They like to stick the ones they don't like far away from them, in the gardens."

[Garamir Wakefield]

5th of Roalis, 2718 - Afternoon

Garamir’s eyes followed Lars as he followed suit on picking up debris from the ground nearby, watching as the older passive stuffed his burlap sack with small stones. The Wakefield then let out a hollow chuckle as Lars went on to explain that the gollies weren't a "back-patting type", claiming that he sticks to himself to not draw any attention. Garamir took caution to make sure the overseer was further away as he leaned towards the older passive.

"They're more of the back-stabbing type if you were to ask me." Garamir conceded, a visible scowl on his face from the clear hatred presently dripping from his words. However, he was glad that the passive in front of him didn't think highly of the galdori either. The cook was smarter than some of the servants that come in as well, most younger ones making it a point to act out against the overseers. They all soon learned their place. Garamir wondered if Lars ever had to go through similar conditioning.

Garamir continued to watch as Lars finished his task with the strewn stones on the ground, moving back to the problem boulder in hopes of moving it back to its origin. His honest effort was met with only a slight movement from the rock, a pitiful response. This coupled with the cook's next comment triggered a genuine laugh from the younger passive. Finishing his own task with the twigs strewn on the ground, Garamir strode over to the same boulder.

Placing his hands on the boulder, he gave one swift push and the boulder found its place near the path. I quick push downwards on the rock set it into the ground, in hopes to have it be more stable in the future. Garamir then turned to Lars and snorted in response to his remark on his feelings towards the galdori.

"Am I that much of an open book?" the passive sarcastically asked, bending down to pick up a stray stick. As he straightened, his eyes drifted to a group of golly students making their way through the garden, staying a ways away from the repairs the servants were doing. A cold silence fell over Garamir as his mind raced, with him desperately wishing the horrible children could feel the hatred emanating from him.

"No. If they didn't like us, we wouldn't be here." the brute eventually spouted, his eyes returning to glance at Lars. "We wouldn't have to be doing their dirty work if they disliked us. They clocking despise us." The stick in Garamir's hand then snapped, causing him to look down and break out of his reverie. Swiftly collecting the stick pieces, he deposited them into his bag. The oaf then began to realize just how much trouble he could get into if his words were told to the overseer, especially if the passive in front of him harbored some kindness towards the gollies after his time in the kitchens. This caused Garamir to take a step closer to Lars.

"And I'm sure we can keep those words between us, can't we Lars?" the younger passive whispered, a sinister sneer on his face as he did so. "Would hate to find out you turn golly-sympathizer after our little talk." Garamir then moved to place a heavy hand on Lars' shoulder, presenting evidence to enforce his veiled threats.

[Lars]

The Western Garden | Roalis 5, 2718 | Afternoon

The back-stabbing type... that was an interesting way to look at them. Lars supposed he had never considered their situations in that capacity, but it felt about right. After all, it wasn't out of the kindness of their hearts that they took unfit children from their families and forced them into servitude.

His thoughts about the galdori had never been extremely kind, however the passive had never put up much of a fight, even when he had first come to Brunnhold. The day of his initiation had of course been a complete mess, and the child had kicked and screamed at those that so cruelly tore him from his old way of life, but afterwards he had been... complacent. He knew he couldn't do anything to improve his situation, but he could do everything to worsen it.

The older passive watched as Garamir took over once more, moving the boulder so easily compared to his own, pathetic attempts. It brought a somewhat embarrassed, somewhat done sigh from the servant, but he bowed his head in gratitude nonetheless. It wasn't Garamir's fault that Lars wasn't well-equipped for these tasks.

Lars moved from the path a few steps, bending down to continue picking up small pebbles and sticks. At the corner of his vision, student uniforms caught his eye, and the servant glanced over to note that Garamir had noticed the group as well. The younger's very essence gave away his rage; though silent it still permeated the air and made him worry for a moment that the other would act on it. Garamir could tear across the garden and push them all to the ground; stomp upon their uniforms and treat them just the same as they treated the passives--like dirt. He could pelt them with the stones meant to ensure an easy path across the gardens; show them they're not safe in the lands the passives kept clean for them.

The cook shook his head, shaking the thoughts out as soon as they came in. Those weren't kind things to be envisioning.

He was caught off-guard when Garamir leaned close, bringing the older passive to stand up straight again and listen. The other man's words fell over him uncomfortably, and the large hand that came to rest upon his shoulder made the passive tilt his head upwards slightly.

"He almost thinks you're threatening him, Garamir," murmured Lars, "he thinks that would be very unfortunate."

It was far easier for Lars to move away from the bigger passive and his hand than it was to push a boulder. The older's frame was well-suited for a quick, easy escape from most situations, but he didn't appear put-off by the little incident.

"He's no galdori pet," he offered in a lighter tone, moving then to continue working on picking things up, "your words are safe with him."

[Garamir Wakefield]

5th of Roalis, 2718 - Afternoon

Garamir exhaled a puff of air as his threat didn’t seem to take much effect on the older passive, removing his hand from the shoulder of Lars as soon as it was put there, its ineffectiveness clear.

”I’m making sure you aren’t a threat to me, Lars. Us passives can’t clocking say much without getting reprimanded.” he muttered.

Garamir then watched as the man in front of him continued to clean the garden, claiming that his words were safe with the cook. The brute simply gave the response a silent glare before going to pick up a rake not too far away so he could start clearing parts of the path. Once back with the tool, he went to work moving away stray leaves to the side of the path so other passives could gather them up.

Most of the servants that had watched Garamir associate with Lars had now gone back to their work, finally seeing that there wasn’t much to glean from the encounter. Braxley occasionally looked towards him, giving him a questioning glance. A simple frown was the response given. Garamir debated heading back to his scrawny roommate but eventually decided against it. Braxley always acted as if he was against the galdori ruling class, but Garamir had “talked” with the passive for too long to think that. He was a coward that took things as they came. Truth be told, most passives were in that boat. However, as the brute stole a glance back at Lars, he wondered if the indifference towards his threat showed he cared not for the threat the galdori presented as well.

Garamir decided to take a risk.

”I know you aren’t a pet, Lars,” he began quietly, raking leaves towards the older passive’s general direction. ”Although you don’t seem to be too peeved about your state of affairs as a cook. Sure, you don’t like the gollies…” Garamir continued to rake, scattering leaves between the two of them. ”But as does everyone. That is, save for the gollies themselves.”

Garamir stayed silent, allowing what he said to drift in the air. He momentarily stood still, taking a look around the garden as he did so. He could still feel the pressure of magical energy across his skin as if it was squeezing him. He wondered if the effect was purposeful by the galdori, to make those not of magical inclination feel unwelcome. Garamir wiped errant sweat off his brow.

If that is the case… they’ve succeeded.

The younger passive intentionally let his rake fall to the ground, not too far from Lars. Garamir stooped to retrieve it, facing the cook as he straightened.

”I greatly despise being here.” the oaf practically whispered. ”The work, the people, and the buildings. We are treated like sheep, yet not given the ground to run free.” Garamir stood to his full height. ”Where do you stand, Lars? Does every piece of you scream to leave this prison? Or are you content with dying as the gollies’ stew-maker?”

Any look towards Garamir would show a blank expression, his eyes intensely focused on Lars. After a few seconds, the younger servant put his rake to the ground again, sweeping debris into his sack. He half-expected no response. Yet, as Garamir continued to work, he secretly hoped there would be an answer. He had seen too many passives fall into their state of life, become resigned to their assigned routines. No one ever truly spoke out against the gollies, in fear of them hearing. Only in hushed tones were words like that spoken. Or maybe because there truly was no other alternative to passives being stuck in servitude. Subconsciously or consciously, Garamir was looking for someone to potentially echo his own thoughts, to give hope that there perhaps could be something else in store for people like them.

[Lars]

The Western Garden | Roalis 5, 2718 | Afternoon

The passive was a bit surprised to hear that Garamir was inquiring if he was a threat--how could he be? Lars was nothing. He was a servant just like the rest of them; he held no more power than any of them did here. Brunnhold was no stranger to infighting within the passives and whatnot, sure, but Lars had never been involved in anything of the sort. His name, though passed around for peculiar reasons, had never been uttered in the same sentence as threatening.

He glanced over to Garamir as he continued working, a curious expression taking over his face. He couldn't argue with his words; Lars didn't put up a fight when it came to being bossed around by the galdori and being subjected to their every whim. He was a polite and dutiful servant, one that knew how to keep out of trouble for the most part. Now and then he might make mistakes... spill things, trip over things, but it was all a product of his natural clumsiness and nothing more, not some innate hostility making him do it.

That wasn't to say he enjoyed his situation. None of them did, save for maybe the passive pets that served sympathetic professors and such, but he couldn't imagine it was an ideal situation even for them.

The older man looked to the rake as Garamir let it drop to the ground, watching as the other servant stooped to pick it up and continue speaking, this time in an even quieter tone. Lars listened with an almost mirrored expression; the passive's gaze seemingly always dreamy and glazed over, as if nothing really went on beneath the surface. He wasn't sure when he had developed that habitual look; that dim-witted demeanor that made most people look right over him.

Lars took a breath as the other man went back to raking up the leaves, glancing away for a moment in thought. He tended to avoid conversations like these, conversations with most passives really--he couldn't disagree with them, but he couldn't actively speak out either. Though he had served Brunnhold for almost seventeen years, he held no sway with anyone there. His words didn't matter, whether he voiced them or not.

"Well," began the servant quietly, "there's nothing he can do."

It was said with a hint of contempt, the passive still looking away from the other man even as he continued to work.

"He hates it here, of course he does. All of us are pawns and that's all we'll ever be, he hates it but what can he do? He doesn't have any choice," Lars continued, "as you said, he just makes stew."

Finally that dreamy gaze flicked over, seeming to consider Garamir for a moment, "do you know how many he serves, Garamir? All of them. He makes a good stew. One day, that stew might not be so good, methinks. That stew might screw them all over. They'd be good as the old lives they took us from. Gone."

Lars continued to stare for just a moment, but ended up looking down to observe his hands; bony fingers reaching for yet another stone to toss into his bag.

"Don't mistake his submission for contentment. He has no voice here, but he can make a gods-damned good stew."