"Youth offers the promise of happiness, but life offers the realities of grief." - Nicholas Sparks

He made his way back to the maids' rooms, remembering that he once saw a steep staircase there that led into the unknown. If the guards thought it odd that he passed them so soon again, they didn't give any inclination of their suspicions.

He reached the stairs, barely hesitating as he took them, his hands trembling in excitement as he clutched the iron rails. They seemed never-ending as he passed the second floor, stealthily creeping up towards the next. His climb continued until he arrived on, what he reckoned was, the fifth floor.

Peeping around the corner, not a soul was in sight. The hall stretched on, its glass windows arching up into the sun. He crept through the hall, noticing corridors branching between the windows.

He had to be clever, otherwise, he'd map it all wrong in his brain. Starting with the last corridor on the left, Rorith started to sketch Catel Alesam in his mind.

The map continued to grow as Mrs Reuben's health declined - necessitating Elfridé to take her son to Alesam more often than she would like. Rorith didn't know that this map, some thirteen years later, would shape his destiny.

He never explored more than two, at most three, corridors at a time, so he could have enough time to show face in the gardens, should his mother ever ask the people there how he spends his time.

The first few corridors led nowhere of note - more galleries and libraries, full of things that bore children.

It was only on his fifth expedition that he started to discover the secrets of Alesam. The tunnel he took, the sixth one on the left, looked different to the others the moment he entered. He could smell it in the air. The bricks were older, and he could see patches of moss speckled on them.

It led him to an octagonal room, the entrance on one side. The other sides each held an enclave with an ancient stone statue hidden in its shadows. Dim candlelight from sturdy candles in nooks above the statues lit the room, allowing Rorith enough light to study them.

He started clockwise, working forwards from the First. The five faces were familiar to Rorith - Catel Alesam being full of likenesses of the Council.

It was the Sixth that caught his attention, as he had never seen a likeness of him. The stone eyes held an emotion unlike those of the other statues. The curls were tied at his nape with a stone ribbon, a few escaping at his temples. His chin was resting on his knuckles, his eyes looking into the distance, pondering who knows what. Rorith could feel the man's eyes on him, pulling at his soul.

He scrambled away from that tunnel.

Rorith woke to a new day and dragged himself out of bed, immediately feeling sour from the dreams of the past. He flicked his fingers and the coals reignited, boiling his water in a matter of seconds. Touching the iron kettle without a cloth, he poured his coffee. With a groan, he sat down on the step at his door and gazed out over Clearview-Riversmeet while drinking his liquid bliss.

From his vantage point, he could see the whole town and some of the other scattered farms. The town was beautiful yet simple with stone houses each with its own animal pens and fruit trees. The magnificent emerald trees of ArBrae Forest bordering on the town's edges transfixed him, stretching into a white mist of eternity.

The fresh air filled his lungs as he watched the old woman Beata struggle with her cart's wheel in the mud. A young boy with muddy clothes and rosy cheeks grabbed one of the peaches from the unsuspecting woman's cart. Her curses filled the air, but Rorith blocked them out - not wanting to spoil his peace of mind.

His mind could not help but wander to his mother and how her face used to light up whenever she told him about this town where she grew up. It's been three years since Rorith first arrived here, hoping to find the same happiness, yet all he had found thus far was a kinship in old Walker, his grandfather's trusted friend that had taken care of the farm for more than twenty years.

His restless heart missed the excitement of his old occupation, yet the tranquillity and isolation of the town were all that stood between him and certain death. The town rarely received any outside visitors, and never any sheriffs or guards: he was safe from discovery.

He ached for the excitement of his previous life in Alesam, yet for the first time since his mother's death, he was able to provide for himself in an honest way.

ArBrae drew his eyes again. Perhaps he should venture there for a few days. It might be quite exciting to discover the forest's secrets, but he knew the elves would not take kindly to humans trespassing into their realm.

He had not yet seen an elf in Clearview-Riversmeet, but old Jann, the village butcher, claimed to be the descendant of a half-elf. Rorith did not know if that was true, but the rest of the villagers doubted his claim. They constantly told Jann that there was no such thing as a half-elf, at least not for the last millennium.

Instead, Rorith sighed, got dressed and went to work in his vegetable patch - revelling in basking back in the warm sunlight.