For the first time in years Jon woke up in his own bed. When the rising sun woke him up from a dreamless sleep, that was the first thought that dawned on him. He opened his eyes to appreciate the colors of sunrise slowly lighting up the wall opposite him, but quickly closed them again. This might have been his room once, but since he’d been gone the new owners had ruined it. All visible traces of the happy simple life he’d once known here were gone, replaced by oil paintings, flowers, lace frills, a bed canopy, and throw rugs. It was like someone had vomited money all over the room because they were dreadfully afraid that if their home looked like a poor person’s they might become impoverished themselves. He’d seen it often in his travels - how the wealthy wore finery almost as a talisman to ward off the lower classes. 

They had cut at least one corner though. They’d decided to keep his old mattress, covering it with nice linens and hoping no one would notice that it didn’t quite fit with everything else, he supposed. Jon did though, and so as long as he kept his eyes closed and lay here, he could imagine that the last five years had never really happened and he’d never left this familiar, comfortable spot. He would have given a lot for a soft mattress when he was in the deeps, or a mattress that was long enough that his feet weren’t on the floor. He would have given even more for the insulating warmth after his escape into the mountains though. He’d spent too many nights sleeping on packed earth and hard stones. It was a shame he’d be leaving so soon. Too many plans were already in motion, and all of them would come apart without him. 

Reluctantly he got up, stretching indulgently before he turned and looked out the window. The sun was above the horizon now. If this were the old days he’d already be in Boriv’s office scribbling away. He’d almost never gotten to sleep in back then, so why should now be any different? He dug through his bag and pulled out one of his last clean pairs of clothes. He’d have to get Miss Marne to do his laundry before he set off again in a few days, but for today at least he looked respectable enough. 

Jon was about to go downstairs when he noticed one particularly ostentatious painting on the wall near the door. It was a view of the capital from the perspective of the harbor - a famous, almost classic view that was almost common in the fanciest homes he’d been inside. Nobles never seemed to tire of this view. Lloren - the white city - it was where they all wanted to go eventually. To be close to the court and feed at the same trough of suffering as King Marin. The idea made Jon sick. It was the white city because it was bloodless - it was a soul sucking leach on the rest of the land, and he’d bring it down or die trying. If people were being honest it would be called the red city, because of all the carnage it had been responsible for over the decades. Maybe they would be the time he was done with it. 

On a whim he took the gilded frame of the offending picture off the wall and set it aside. Even if he was only here a few days this was the last thing he wanted to look at. He could decide later if he wanted to burn it or give it away. A fire had been lit inside of him though, and once he’d set that aside he started to pull other paintings off the walls. Minutes later the walls were empty, but that wasn’t enough either. He’d wanted to come back home, not to a gilded cage. Jon felt like he was suffocating here, and for a brief moment he thought that Clara had snuck back into his house, intent on smothering him. A few deep breaths made him realize it was all in his head though, so he opened the window to tell some fresh air into this stuffy place, and then he saw what else could go. 

He opened the door and started setting out everything that didn’t belong. The velvet curtains. The slender vases. The pewter chamber pot and the rich down comforters. In another twenty minutes everything in his room but the bed would have been in the hallway or the nearby sitting room if Miss Marne hadn’t called from downstairs. “Will you be taking breakfast upstairs my lord, or would you like to tear apart the manor until lunch is served.” 

“I’ll be down in a moment,” Jon called, flushing as he realized how he must seem and forced himself to stop. He’d lived out of his bag for so long that everything else seemed like luxury. Even though there hadn’t been rich oil paintings in his room as a child, there had certainly been some in the parlor, and his father’s study. Even noble families like the Shaws had to keep up appearances to some degree - but this was all too much. How many backs were broken for such luxury? How many children starved so every room in this house could look like a gallery?

He closed the door to his room and walked down the stairs trying to pretend he hadn’t thrown the adult version of a temper tantrum. His family's maid, ever the dignified woman, was happy to help with that, and said nothing of it as he sat down to a breakfast that was much smaller than he’d expected. Rather than sitting down to the banquet he’d imagined - the one he always missed because of his apprenticeship at the station, he was instead being served the breakfast of toast and boiled oats that he’d always had before leaving the house at the crack of dawn.

“Without the rest of the cooking staff I’m afraid things will be a bit simpler until other arrangements can be made,” the maid said, unprompted, standing behind his seat and to the right where a footman would usually be. If they’d still had a footman or two around. 

“No need for apologies Miss Marne,” Jon said, hiding his disappointment as he picked up a slice of toast. “This will do just fine.” 

“That’s good, because I’m not apologizing.” She said mirthlessly upbraiding him in the subtlest possible way. “After all - for once I’m not the one that scared off the help.” He had a feeling she was smiling at the last line, but it would have been inappropriate to check. 

“Don’t worry too much about that,” Jon said, trying to regain control of the conversation. “Later today I’m going to call the townsfolk together and give a speech. Those who didn’t flee with the Burton’s will likely come back after that.” 

“That they might,” she agreed, “Unless by now they’ve heard about how many of the former Warden’s servants you’ve already slain. That might give even the stout hearted among those that remain a doubt or two…”

Jon took a deep breath, willing away his annoyance. He’d seen her do the same thing with his father time and again, though usually in the privacy of his study. He used to say that surrounding yourself with servants afraid to disagree with you was a terrible weakness… but that Miss Marne took the privilege a bit too far. Jon was forced to agree, but tried to keep his cool just the same. 

“We’ll just have to see,” he said neutrally before finishing his toast and reaching for his tea while feeling just how much fire it had, and lowering the temperature slightly before taking a sip. 

“We will,” she answered sharply. “I’ll also have to see how the orchard fared after the fireworks display you put on last night. Everyone will have heard how you scared off those—” She stopped speaking when he put his cup down on the saucer sharply enough to express his annoyance. 

“I’ll attend to it after breakfast,” he said, forcing himself to smile as he turned to face her, “You’ll be happy to know that I don’t think I burned a single tree in the orchard down. I might have singed one or two though.” He didn’t want the old woman to do was go outside and find the body’s he’d left in his wake after last night’s fight. She’d never understand realities like this - they were simply beyond her station. He’d have to go pay the grave digger to get a couple men and a wagon tonight and make them disappear. The last thing he wanted before he spoke to the townspeople were more discussions about massacres, and like it or not that’s what Jon had become these days. He was a living breathing masacre, and no matter how good his reasons were, some people would only ever see the blood on his hands at this point. 

He swallowed hard, searching for some words to break the chilly silence he’d caused. “The toast was a bit dry - could you get me some water from the kitchen Miss Marne,” was the best he could come up with, but she still curtsied silently and left the room to obey. Not that she’d be happy about it. He wasn’t sure she was even capable of being happy at this point. While she was gone he berated himself silently. It was his job to be calm and implacable. The last thing he should be doing is letting his anger show whenever anyone challenged him - especially when that someone was his family’s faithful servant. Everyone knew she was like this. It was practically her job to be like this. 

“So what’s next then my Lord,” she asked as she came out with his water. “Are you going to fight the whole world by yourself, or do you plan to enlist the people of Dalmarin to fight and die in your name as well? Perhaps after your show of strength you could reach an agreement or make an accord…” Now that they’d both had a minute to cool down, the judgemental tone that had grated on him so much was gone from her voice, and her disagreements didn’t irritate him half so much. 

“If you make an agreement with evil men Miss Marne, then what exactly does that make you?” he countered in an even tone. When she had no answer he continued. “I want nothing more than peace - and when we reach the point where that is an option I will be the first to sue for it, but there is a lot of fighting left between that place and this one. I’ve made many allies in the last few years. You don’t need to worry. Help is already on the way. 

His maid opened his mouth to protest something, but decided better of it and shut it again. “As you say my lord,” she said finally, effectively ending the conversation. 

The remainder of breakfast was silent, while Jon alternated between worrying about what his maid must think of him, and wondering if he was living up to the standards his father had set for him. That was a question he could never ask her though, and even if he did she wouldn’t be able to answer it. So instead he finished eating, thanked her for the meal, and then set about getting ready for the day. Before he stopped by the temple he’d have to stop by the graveyard and pay that drunk twice. Once to do the work, and again to keep his mouth shut about it.