Chapter Text
Edwin Weber was not worth much. He didn’t have much at all, and in the eyes of the law, he was practically the lord of the land’s property. He woke up every morning with a sore back and little rest, because Germany was often cold, and his feeble, wooden, thatch-roofed house did very little to warm him up. It was not a comfortable life. He woke up at dawn and did back-breaking labor until dusk, and often worked past then just to make sure there was a tiny bit less work to do the next day (for the other workers, of course).
The days often blended together unless he was on his time off, and even then. Still, it was grueling, and Edwin couldn’t stand working for some rich man he’d never met or had any reason to respect at all. His family had been working for the Fischer family for around a century by now, and it angered Edwin. To be tied to the land, to be constantly in debt to this noble family. But alas, there wasn’t much he could do, was there? So he worked, as he was meant to, and as it seemed, as he was born to.
He didn’t make much a year; in fact, he’d have been lucky to earn an actual wage at all, since the land he and his peers had cultivated their produce on, and the harvest it produced, counted as both rent and wage. As it goes, a large chunk (or the best bits) of the produce went to the lord every harvest, and the serfs got the rest.
Edwin wished he had more than just a few animals and his crops. Something that he could hold onto, a thing that made him worth more than what the harvest brought every year. But as his circumstances had him predict, that wouldn't be remotely possible. At least, not soon. Not now. So until he found a way to set himself free, he tilled land with an aching back, he hauled grain bags with aching arms, and he watched and waited for the sun to set with aching and tired eyes. And he would do it again the next day, always.
Sometimes, after he lay his head down at night and fell into a light sleep, he could dream of a world where he was free to do whatever he liked, whenever he liked, and to have just as much money as he wanted (or needed). He could dream of a world where his mother and his father were still here to keep him company, since he didn't have any friends, not a single acquaintance, and he's never had a lover.
He adored his mother and father, since they had taught him everything they knew: how to fix thatch roofs, how to fix wheels, how to make bread, and how to gut freshly killed animals. Though no, he didn’t know how to read, he could count well. Up to about 34, anything after that, and you’ve lost him, but he was far from stupid. He just had a lack of resources, as all peasants did.
However, even with all the help he had received as a child, sometimes he wondered just how much more he could take.