Matthew, Cutter of Flowers
Everybody laughed at Matthew.
When young men are supposed to yearn for the battlefield and swordplay, Matthew found joy in flowers. Even as a baby, a brilliant bouquet of red roses or yellow sunflowers made him squeal in delight.
As he grew up, Matthew didn’t want for spears or morning stars. He constantly found himself wandering along trails and streams in the forest, amazed at the floral world around him. It didn’t matter if he was in danger of bandits or ambitious highwaymen, Matthew was with his flowers.
Unfortunately, the other boys didn’t like flowers as much as Matthew. They didn’t think about flowers at all. And when Matthew’s arms shook holding up his shield, or he was slow to parry and thrust, the boys were lightning fast to make fun of him, push him to the ground, make Matthew rip out dandelions from the dirt and shove them in his mouth. While his bullies stood around him, watching him chew, Matthew would say a silent prayer for the flowers he was made to kill.
When others took apprenticeships or squired, Matthew tended the Regal Gardens, in Avalon.
The Groundskeeper in Avalon was an old man with no family and didn’t mind Matthew helping. He never thanked Matthew or asked for help, but he appreciated Matthew around the garden, mostly since it allowed him to spend earlier and earlier afternoons in his shack drinking ale alone.
The plants appreciated Matthew, too. Under Matthew the Cutter’s reign, the Regal Gardens flourished in ways they never had before. Avalon was known for its natural peace and calmness, situated in Elysian Fields, but the Regal Gardens were now home to some of the most beautiful seasonal blooms this side of the Quantum Shadow. There were Moon Lilies from the Ghoulish Boglands, Fiery Dovescorn from the Forest of the Imps, and even a Floating Methuselah from the Baobabs.
Matthew never told people where he got these far-off specimens, he never spoke of his adventures. It actually seemed like he never left his flowers.
There was no parade for Matthew. No fanfare. Nobody ever really expected much. But everybody loved Matthew’s flowers.
Not just the ladies-in-waiting, or maidens with idle time. Anyone who passed through the gardens couldn’t help but literally stop and smell the roses. They didn’t know it, but Matthew was often smiling nearby.
When travelers think of home, it’s their favorites of Matthew’s flowers they think of. And when knights return from battle, shaken from the horrors of war, it’s Matthews gardens they cry in.
Princesses, kings, queens, and scions. They’re all made the same by Matthew’s flowers. Anonymous observers of his garden. Matthew being completely necessary but totally irrelevant. Eyes to the ground, down only.
Entered by: 0x2C32…1A46 and preserved on chain (see transaction)
