The Beauty of a Normal Life

            A pair of hands grasped his shoulder and upper arm, shaking him hard.  Folco startled, bumping his head on the wall.  A brief flash of white clouded his vision. “OUCH!” he yelped, indignantly rubbing the side of his head and blinking wearily.  “Who…?” He was not particularly thrilled about someone waking him up when he’d finally managed sleep uninterrupted by dreams about the Pre-New Years Banquet. Then a very welcome face came into view. “Lindo! You’re back!” Folco exclaimed in surprise, propping himself up onto his arms.

            Lindo smiled, shaking his head and pressing a finger to his lips. “I’m back. No need to crack your head open over it.” He looked his friend up and down. “Goodness, I ought to have left you to your sleep. Forgive me, but you look like you could do with some." He crossed his arms, fixing Folco with a stare. "Been skimping, have you?”

            Folco smiled wryly. Only Lindo would dare be so blunt. Then again, at least he knew he could trust him where everyone else preferred flattery. “One could say that.” He hadn’t seen a looking-glass since the dreadful feast where everything had gone so wrong, but he didn’t want to know what he looked like after nearly a fortnight in the wilderness with nary a chance to bathe, scant hunting and a plethora of difficulty settling his mind enough to sleep. “Always so direct. But I’m glad to know you’re back!” 

"Well, of course I'm direct with you. Not many others would be, Your Highness." 

Folco grinned wryly. "Oh, Lindo, be grateful I have high tolerance for your insolence." He forced a laugh for the benefit of those around them though he felt no mirth; Lindo already would know he was joking. Once his face sobered, the prince asked, “Did Kiran and the others return, or have you split up?”

 “They’re back also. Well, Shemaro and Starla anyway."

Folco's stomach knotted with fear. He didn't like the sound of that. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice coming sharper than intended. "Are the Woodings all right? What happened?"

"No, nothing like that, don't worry!" said Lindo, throwing his hands in the air. "The Duke of Northchester said he wanted three to stay and help him figure out what we'd need for food, beds and the like since there's not many of our sort in Cancalia. So the Woodings stayed. As for Shemaro and Starla, they’re helping Kiran unload the cart his lord sent with him.” Cart? Folco stood, a quizzical look on his face. “Kiran told the Duke of Northchester we don’t have much of anything. So the Duke of Northchester sent food and blankets! What fit in the cart should cover at least a day or two of meals- maybe three or four or more if we go easy on the food and try to find as much of our own as possible. Isn’t that great?”

"Am I to take it that Kiran's lord believed him? That we've been granted asylum?"

"We've been granted asylum,"  said Lindo, who sounded as casual as though he were saying the stars were out at night. 

            Folco felt as though he could almost collapse from relief. There was hope yet! They wouldn't be out here until everyone froze or starved to death one by one! The one loss so far was one too many. “Can we go to the cart?” He wanted to see it for himself. It sounded almost too good to be true.

            “Of course,” said Lindo, helping Folco step out from behind the large stalagmites. The two adolescents carefully wove among the sleeping refugees, huddled in shivering groups all over the floor, to the mouth of the cave.

 

            It was as good as Lindo made it sound. There were several towering piles of blankets half his own size, and his fellow refugees, both the ones that went with Kiran and the ones on duty waiting for him, were unloading a bulging sack. The ones that stood guard wore blankets. A loaf of bread protruded from the top. His jaw dropped in astonishment. “I… I don’t know what to say...”

 

            “Supplies, Your Highness.” Kiran said in his most formal voice with an exaggerated bow, mouth twitching as he did so. “As for what to say, a simple thank you will suffice.” He peeked inside the wagon. “Really, Nont’im, you’re still sleeping?” Folco was even more bewildered. Who was Nont’im? Even as he opened his mouth to ask, Kiran said “Will one of you please wake that sluggard friend of mine?"

            “I’m on it,” Lindo said, climbing up onto the wagon and disappearing inside. The entreaties of “c’mon Nont’im, we’re here, get up.” There was a yawn and mumbling. Lindo poked his head back outside long enough to say “goodness, Prince Folco, he’s almost as bad as you are.”

 

            Presently, a very strange-looking creature with hair revealed to be golden-blonde by Kiran’s torchlight, sharply pointed ears like those of an elf, a round face and a fine-boned build descended from the wagon. Folco caught himself staring. The… person… was about the height of a dwarf, but looked nothing like a dwarf. “Your Highness, this is Nont’im, the friend I was telling you about last week,” Kiran said. Noticing the frowning Folco struggling to think of a way to ask Nont’im’s race that would not come across as rude, he added “my friend is as much a hybrid as he appears. He’s part elf and part hobbit. Anyhow.” Kiran cleared his throat. “Nont’im, this is His Royal Highness Folco Foxtrot, Prince of Drémeadow." Nont'im inclined his head. Kiran cleared his throat, then said "not that you're to go telling everyone who he is, given circumstances. But now you know who Prince Folco is.”

            Assuming I haven’t been disowned and stripped of my titles, which I probably have been… like Xenia, Folco thought, fidgeting slightly. Out loud, he said, “Nice meeting you…Kiran’s told me a lot about you.” So much, in fact, that Folco had reached the conclusion that Kiran and the hitherto unseen Nont’im were as close as Lindo and he had always been other than those awkward few months after Drémeadow’s restructure.

            “Pleasure, Your Highness,” Nont’im said with a small bow. “I hear you’ve had an interesting time lately.”

            “Interesting,” said Folco, “is right!”

            Nont’im chortled slightly, and then picked up a wooden crate. “I’ll be going to have a look at everyone in there,” he said. “If you’ve all been sleeping out in the cold and not eating at least three square meals a day, there’s bound to be a few sick hobbits.”  He took a brown woolen blanket off the pile and handed it to Folco. “Here, take this before you become one yourself, Your Highness. With your permission, I will look over everyone so I can attend to whoever needs it."

"Go ahead," said Folco, wrapping the blanket around himself, "there are a fair few sick hobbits in there." A yawn escaped him as he thought og how to say something that might make him look bad but needed to be said for the good of the refugee subjects. "We've been short on food so many are falling ill.."

"Then I shall look at them now." Nont'im stared for an uncomfortably long moment. "Get some sleep, Your Highness, you look exhausted."

~*~*~

            Just over an hour later, the rest of the blankets were unloaded. The sky was starting to look lighter, as though it was nearing dawn, but there was one watch left. Folco had managed a short nap, but one of those unpleasant dreams about New Years interrupted it.  Unable to sleep again, the prince sent those on duty for the previous watch to whatever spare patch of ground they could find and commanded them to let sleeping hobbits lie. “I’ve got this one,” he said. He was joined by Lindo and Kiran. Not long after, Nont’im emerged, fastening his box, and joined the three. For a long while, the four sat in silence. At long last, Kiran broke it. “Is now a good time to talk to you about my journey to Cancalia and back?” Folco nodded. “Well, as you know, I come from the city of Northchester, home of my lord, His Grace Ivan Benoit, brother to the Cancalian king.” Folco nodded a second time. He knew all that already. “We arrived a few nights ago and my lord offered his hospitality to your subjects. We dined in his hall and he noticed that your subjects were wolfing their food as though they hadn’t eaten properly for days- which of course they hadn’t, as I knew when I found out the date. January 6^th. Don’t worry, by the way, he wasn’t offended by it or anything, he just said I looked a lot thinner myself and asked how much we’d all had lately.”

            Folco was staggered. January sixth? They’d passed through Rheeding and arrived in Cancalia January sixth? That could only mean the eighth, his birthday, had come and gone, and he’d done absolutely nothing! Then again, there were much bigger worries than whether he celebrated turning nineteen. Given circumstances, there was nothing to celebrate anyhow. He would not have the heart for it. “Was he angry? With you, I mean?”

            Kiran pursed his lips. “Not exactly. I am fortunate to have a just patron who makes sure to get my side of the story. I told my lord that I did not wish to give it until after he had a chance to talk to Lindo and the others. He talked to me, all of them separately, and then me again. He told me he did not blame me, that clearly something was afoot outside my control. He also understands why you did not turn up yourself.” Folco had initially offered to accompany Kiran, but Kiran responded that his fellow refugees needed their prince present, suggesting that Lindo be sent in his stead to speak on his behalf. “Besides, he saw I’ve retained my abilities as a paladin.”

            Lindo drew his legs up, wrapping his arms about his knees. “You never told me,” he said, “what exactly is a paladin? Nont’im’s self-explanatory, he's a healer and a religious sort and all that, but what about you? Is he one too?”

            Kiran  stretched. “No. Paladins are a religious sort, but we’re much more strict about our religion than our counterparts who are gifted with purely the power to heal. It's also why everyone calls him a healer and not a physician."

            Nont’im beamed. “He’s right on that one. I’ve been a healer since before he was born. I was there when his mother gave birth to him, actually.”

            “No!” Folco said. “Really?”

            “Truly,” confirmed the half-elf, half-hobbit. “I watched him grow from infant to boy to your age- and now he’s getting his first wrinkles!” He smirked slightly at Kiran, who placed one hand over the single crease in his forehead and another over his eyes, which had small lines on the lower lids and in the outer corners. “In that sense, we’re different from you two in friendship. You were both always equally mature, whereas I was already a full adult when Kiran was born.”

            “He was there for me after my parents were killed,” said Kiran. “In Cancalia’s war with Spolingharrow. I was seven.” Folco remained silent. He had not yet been born, though he'd heard a little bit about that affair. Dremeadow had played no role other than selling food and raw materials to both sides. “Our good king sent them to defend the southeastern border. They were in one of the units Spolingharrow captured. A unit that ended up not having any survivors but for one, from whom I learned of their deaths.” The human’s eyes bored into his own. “It is not an easy thing, losing a parent.” The hobbit prince remained stubbornly silent, not wanting to collapse into weakness. “Anyhow, Nont’im always made sure to stop by the Heironean covenant I lived in until I was sixteen and received a small land grant from Duke Ivan for services I did him, and then he helped me settle into my new home. He’s always been a good friend to me. The gods know those are hard to come by.”

            “So you’re not a healer… but didn’t you cure one of my subjects’ wounds?” Folco said, confused. The hobbit in question had received a large gash during the skirmish in his father’s hall, and the paladin had fixed it simply by resting his hands in the area of the injury. How could Kiran say he wasn’t a healer after doing that?

"He did," Lindo said, "I saw it too. And one of the Woodings was getting pretty sick but Kiran cleared that up."

            “I do possess some healing abilities, in fact that is how I proved to Duke Ivan I still have my paladin abilities, but it is not my primary focus.” Kiran tightened his blanket around his shivering body. “My specialty is diplomacy, although I suspect you’ve both figured that out, I’m often my lord’s emissary. Hence how we met to begin with. I also run the City Watch in Northchester, I became constable a couple of months ago. It’s a great honor His Grace did me, too, considering I’m only 29.”  

            Nont’im interjected, “tell them about your other powers, I’m sure they know what a constable is.”

            Kiran smiled. “Just making certain they do. Anyhow, I can do a very small amount of magic. Mostly of the sort to protect others from evil, which is likely why we’ve thus far gone unattacked. I also don’t get sick. I haven’t had so much as the sniffles since I was fifteen. I also have a rather special horse who you’ll eventually meet- I just cannot call her right now, she’d draw far too much attention.”

            “Stealth isn’t his strong point, anyway, your Highness” Nont’im chimed in.

            Folco cleared his throat.  Nont’im looked at him. “There is no need for you to address me as that,” he said. “Besides…” he added, his eyes dropping to the ground, “I might not be a prince anymore… my father might have disinherited me and taken away all my titles by now like he did to my sister.” Just as the words were out, Folco rued them. His eyes went wide and he clapped a hand over his mouth. He had not meant to mention her, and now there would be even more painful recollections because of his inability to keep his mouth shut.

            Even Lindo looked surprised. “Folco!” the other hobbit exclaimed, “you’ve almost never spoken of her!” He looked between the other two. “He doesn’t mean either of the sisters you met, Kiran.”

            The paladin replied, “I figured as much.” His focus returned to the young hobbit, eyes concerned.”Do you mean Xenia?” he asked very quietly. “I thought you said she’d died.”

            Folco snapped, “It’s complicated.” What had possessed him to bring her up? He jammed his hands into his pockets, staring at the dead grass upon which he sat. “But no, if you must know, she’s not dead… or at least, she wasn’t. Who knows now! I haven’t seen her since I was fourteen!” He folded his hands in his lap, a faraway look coming to his dark brown eyes. He'd told Kiran she'd died when he'd accidentally stumbled across the archery awards she'd amassed in her school days. He'd had to say something, after all, and the truth, a closely guarded family secret, would not have been inappropriate. He had a few of his own, too, though he'd never get any again. Not as an outcast.

He could not brood on that now. He could not think about how much he wished he were back at school as he would be if his life were still normal. Well, normal for his standard. He had a very strange life even before his mother’s death. Like having to lie about Xenia. Or suddenly becoming royalty as the result of a complete government overhaul. Given that the disastrous Pre-New Years’ Banquet had ushered in the year 3015 by the Continental Calendar and that Nora was 33, Jillian 26, Odo 22 and Folco himself only eighteen when Kiran discovered Xenia’s awards, he’d realized none of the ages matched. Thus Folco had found himself in the awkward position of being shown Xenia’s awards and asked whose they were. He’d blurted “my sister” before realizing the dangerous ground on which he stood.  

Kiran looked contrite. “I apologize for intruding, but I was merely being overly curious for my own good.” 

Folco drew his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. “No, it’s fine.” He chewed the inside of his cheek slightly. A heavy sensation welled within his chest. His eyes closed briefly as he remembered back to that terrible day where her father, enraged by both his second-oldest sister’s choice to leave and his guards’ failure to locate the errant princess, declared that from that day forward she was not to be mentioned. Her disappearance and even her existence were not to be acknowledged. Her belongings had been discarded or locked in a storeroom and her bedchamber turned into  Jillian’s room. “She ran away. A few months after the monarchy started up. A bit over a month after I started my U2 year in school. My parents didn’t like that. At first, they were worried she’d been kidnapped or something, written the note she left behind under duress, but then realized she’d done it of her own free will. Xenia took some stuff with her. She stole a lot of platinum and gold from them too. They tried to get people to find her, but when nobody did…”

“They... erased her, for lack of a better term” Kiran finished for him.

Folco nodded, tightening his dirty cloak around him. His eyes lingered on the paladin, the human who’d landed him in the situation, not intentionally but through being the one accused of killing his mother. They then shifted to Nont’im, who he barely knew but who had healed the subjects whose health had suffered most from the last fortnight. Last, but not least, Lindo, who’d been there for him through every trial and tribulation from Xenia’s departure through now, the death of his mother and his subsequent exile, the latest and worst predicament he’d seen.

Lindo offered a quivery smile, folding his arms. “Well, nobody can erase you as far as I'm concerned. You being my best friend and all.”

“You made a poor choice for a best friend,” Folco quipped. “If you'd picked someone else, you’d be back home and in school talking about saying goodbye to upper school forever. Like a normal hobbit our age.” He was only half joking. 

Folco and Lindo had known each other since they were L1s, or  five-year-old first-year lower school students. He was still the son of a Councilhobbit back then,  hardly something he suspected most would deem normal, but he hadn’t had the responsibilities that were thrust on him when he was thirteen and finishing off his first year of upper school. As much as it bothered him knowing the burden Lindo bore being his friend, he appreciated the solidarity.

“It is fortunate, then,” said Lindo, “that I have no interest in a normal life.”

Folco blinked, wringing his hands. If only he could say the same. Maybe he would have seen Xenia more recently than five years ago. Maybe nobody would have poisoned his mother and she'd still be alive. Maybe his family wouldn't have been torn to shreds. Then again, his own foolishness was a factor. If he'd only been in the kitchen where he was supposed to be, then it might be none of this would've happened. Either those actually involved wouldn't have dared try anything as they'd dared with Kirk Sorefellow, a family friend not all of the kitchen servants even knew, or else he might've caught them at it. 

Ahem. Folco's dark eyes shifted sideways. Lindo was staring  at him. He had that look on his face he always wore when he was either suspicious, worried, pensive or some combination of the three. "What is it now?" he said brusquely.

"Can I speak with you?" Lindo glanced around. "Alone?" Kiran's mouth opened to speak. Lindo also saw, for he said "we won't go far, just over there, out of earshot unless we're talking loudly." He pointed at what looked as though it had once been an imposing tree before something, presumably a storm, had made it split clean down the middle of the trunk. 

"All right..." said Folco bemusedly. What was going on now?

Author's Note

Since this was written, I've actually inserted 3 chapters prior to this one showing the exchange. Please let me know if you see anything you think could be put on the cutting room floor, or if you see any inconsistencies or something needing more elaboration.

Also, please let me know if my blurbs on the Dremeadow educational system were at all confusing

Reviews

[NoelHC]

I believe I have reviewed the 3 additional chapters now as well, and have found the flow and pace still appeals to me.

[NoelHC]

Well written, I enjoy how you keep the "antiquated" feel in your word choice. I found the sections discussing the educational system slowed down for me somewhat, but I enjoyed the chapter overall.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Thanks! i'll have to try to clean up explaining their educational system and include it in supplements

[Jennie Baron]

A very sad time indeed, but this chapter proves you've given Folco true friends and I'm sure they'll help each other through. The relationships are genuine and heartwarming. Truly a "normal" life is overrated, though. Wonderfully written!

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Ya, definitely an awful time *hugs them*