“What do you know of the Magorians?” The question took him by surprise. Marten did not often focus on ancient history. It took Edaran a while to gather up what he knew of them to create a worthwile answer.
                “They are out ancestors.” He started. “They lived in Old Magoria many tens of thousands of years ago. But there was some disaster that nobody in our age remembers. Old Magoria became known as Aridia, or in the ancient tongue ‘Scorched Land’. When this happened, they travelled north and landed here, on Louena.” That was the extent of his knowledge, though it was a struggle to get out.
                “So can you tell me of the Rouenites, in relation to these?” Marten pressed, pleased with his progress today.
                “They were once Magorians. But—something happened and they left later, so they became deformed. They’ve hated the Magorians ever since. Because of that, they hate the Louenans. Around twenty years ago, they began a war with us. But we fought them back to Rouen.
                “Very good.” He muttered, more to himself than to Edaran, as he pulled out a thick tome. “This is my gift to you.” He blew on the cover and up fluttered a veil of dust. Edaran read the front A History of the Rouenite War. It looked like a boring read, but he dare not insult his Uncle any more than he already had.
                “Erm---“should he say thankyou? He guessed so. But Marten saved him.
                “I wrote this book. In this is a brief recounting of the war from 20 years ago, including tales of your father and I. We fought together in the war.” Edaran’s mouth hung agape. He hadn’t realised Marten was a fighter. He thought anybody as clever as he mustn’t be good with a sword. But to think that his father had fought alongside Edaran’s mother’s brother astounded him. “In this book, there may be many answers. The war was hard, it made men harder. Do not judge your father too harshly, young one.” Marten smiled, though grim.
                “Thankyou!” he finally managed to gasp.
                “You are most welcome. I hope the day never comes that you will have to add to that book however. The Rouenites are a vile folk.” The little he did know about the war, it had been very bloody.
                “Why are you giving me this?” he suddenly wondered. It seemed an odd thing to do, if it was his personal book.
                “This is my parting gift.” Marten looked down then, thinking heavily on his words. “You are my nephew, and I have imparted upon you much of the knowledge I can, but the rest is upon you to learn.” And his smile was hopeful.
                He realise now that the man had already given him much. But there was one thing he really wanted to know. He just had to ask, if it was their final lesson.
                “Why did you choose to be a Steward, Uncle?”
                He was almost certain that his Uncle would accommodate his curiosity. He looked deeply at Edaran, something there that he could not understand. For a very long time he said absolutely nothing, but looked down again, thinking. Edaran said nothing and all was still and silent but for the distant ringing of a hammer on an anvil.
                Finally, his Uncle spoke, still looking down.
                “Now is still not the time. If I did tell you, I doubt that you would understand it. But I promise, one day we shall meet again, and I will tell you.” Then he looked up, that same sad smile on his elderly face. “Ask no more of this for the present.” He commanded.
                And that was that, again.

The End

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