In the lush green rolling hills of the English countryside stands a marvel of medieval engineering. His soaring stone walls face out, menacing and stalwart, toward the peaceful lands tilled and farmed by serfs and peasants. His towers capped with turrets and archery platforms gaze at the prideful eyes of the citizens as they look up to the home of their Lord. Over his sturdy drawbridge and through his intimidating iron portcullis lies his bustling courtyard filled with frantic servants rushing to finish their unknown and inconspicuous jobs, without which the castle would cease to function. In the atrium, luxurious couches and rare paintings can be seen, whose use is only to impress and intimidate the intruders into the Lord's castle. What the strangers and unknown visitors see is an indomitable and impregnable fortress which stands as a monument of the power of their Lord. What the occupants of the castle see is the home of the most powerful and noble man in their land. What the castle sees is a happy and joyful family as they grow and learn in his walls. Over the years of his life, he has seen many families grow up swaddled in the protection of his walls. As such, he has seen those same young, and innocent children march off to war in the name of their king and come back months or years later, battle-scarred and hardened to the realities of life. He has seen this multiple times, and each time he weeps as he watches his charges leave, but he knows that when they come back, they will be ready to take the name, title and responsibilities of their birthright like their fathers and their father's fathers. When they do not return, he silently mourns with the rest of his charges but then carries on, understanding the unpredictability of life. With the warriors in his charge come equal numbers of scholars and artisans. He watches in admiration as they spend countless hours on work and study. He winces and sighs in conjunction with them as they stumble and trip on their untrodden and veiled path, but he stares in awe as they get back up and proceed in defiance of the pressure on them to pursue a more socially acceptable calling for their time and station. He watches as the years pass, and new generations take over from their parents. As the cycle continues, he stands steadfast, holding his station as the last line of defence to the descendants of his creators. While he guards, time passes and the conventions of the past fall out of practice. As knights and archers are rendered redundant and the scholars that were scorned rise up to supremacy he still stands in preparation to protect his charges from anything and content to lay down his life in service of his Lord. However, now as he looks through his stone veins, he sees them devoid of servants or his charges and partitioned off as if, if one stepped into his preserved cells that used to house everything one would need he would crumble. Indignant, he scans his body and stares in confused wonder as hoards of strangers roam his halls and listen to the monotone dictation of his biography.