The Price of Treason

            Lindo ran as fast as his short legs would carry him. He raced past the venues of several bakers, an ostler, a cobbler, and a scrivener before reaching a fork in the dirt road. The chubby-cheeked hobbit stopped only when he felt his legs would collapse beneath him. His lungs were on fire. It was as though a knife had been thrust just below his ribs, which felt as though they would burst asunder from the pounding of his heart. Doubling over gasping to clutch his side stitch, huffing and puffing, he stared down the fork. There was a crowd of humans, dwarves and elves down both that obscured his view of anything past the mass of trousers, beards, stocking caps and belts. The hobbit’s charcoal-grey eyes moved to the street sign. Ventnor Road and Eleuevite Way. Which path had Folco taken?

            Deciding he would try the busier road first, Lindo turned down Ventnor towards the first merchant.  The booth was selling coin pouches of various sizes and colors. The edge of the wooden table displaying the pouches was exactly.the level of his chin.“Excuse me?” Lindo wheezed, standing on tiptoe and gripping the tabletop.

 The shopkeeper looked down to see Lindo’s slightly pointed ears, frowning slightly. “Oh, you’re a halfling.”

            “Right,” said Lindo. He wanted to point out that his race preferred the term “hobbit,” given that they were not half of anything. Most loathed the belittling term. However, he was not exactly in a position to lecture humans on proper manners. “Well, have you seen another hobbit? He’s the same age as me, eighteen… well, he just turned nineteen so actually, I suppose a year older. Though, my birthday’s only a few months away.” The shopkeeper cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head sideways. “Anyway. He’s a bit taller than me…”

            The corpulent human shook his head. “There aren’t many of your kind around here.  You’re the only halfling I’ve seen.”

            Lindo sighed inwardly. Had the man not just heard him refer to Folco and himself as hobbits? Humans… they never learn.However, there were much bigger things at stake than this man’s lack of manners. If he tarried too long, something might happen to his friend. Despite the heated argument earlier, he did not want Folco to fall upon misfortune. “Well, thank you…” He proceeded through the next few booths on Ventnor. None had seen a hobbit of any age. By the fifth merchant, Lindo was grumbling with frustration. That jeweler had been quite disdainful after eying the boy’s torn clothes. Perhaps I’ll try Eluveitie Way.

           The first three booths were no luckier than Ventnor Road. At the fourth, he finally struck gold. The merchant, a ruddy-faced woman selling clay pots, inquired “a half-, no, hobbit, you said? Funny you ask. I did see one as young as you. Was he about this tall?”  The chubby woman held her hand several inches above Lindo’s head. 

            His heart leapt. “Yes!” Lindo exclaimed.“Tan jacket, green cuffs and pockets and collar? Gol- I mean brassy buttons?” They were gold, but telling what they really were was a bad idea. Since they were begrimed from over a fortnight in the wilderness, it was prudent to pretend they were a metal not associated with royalty and the more affluent nobility.

            “Yes, and olive hose and a burgundy cloak with a dingy brooch- no offense meant to your friend. I’m assuming its brass like his buttons?”

            Lindo smiled for the first time. “Thank you. Which way’d he go?” The woman pointed further down the road. “Thank you!” the hobbit called back as he hustled further along Eluveitie Way. He still felt deeply worried, but at least he knew where to go. Folco, why in all creation did you have to go off on your own? Are you out of your mind? Don’t you know what could happen? It then occurred to him exactly what made him want to seek solitude. Guilt at his caustic words earlier washed over the adolescent like a tidal wave.

 He had been furious about Folco lashing out at him, that was true. Their argument had happened when the hobbits between five and nineteen were released from the curtained-off area meant to serve as a classroom and either rejoined their parents or gone straight outside to both explore and escape the overcrowded attic of the Cancalian noble’s estate. When the hobbits had first reached Cancalia, he and everyone else had been simply relieved to be out of the cold and have three guaranteed meals, but morale was wearing thin with the cramped conditions. “At least you have the option of going back to your family!” the prince had snapped. Lindo’s retort was “that’s if they haven’t been arrested or killed because of YOUR family! YOU don’t have to worry about that happening to yours. They’re the ones causing the troubles!” Folco blanched, recoiling as though Lindo had struck him in the face, before storming off.  

            Lindo and Folco had been friends since they were five. He knew of many things that were “family business”, including the perplexing story of Xenia. She had left Drémeadow for good in early 3010, several months after Dremeadow’s monarchy had begun. The flight of Folco’s second-oldest sister might have been reason for alarm bells, Lindo surmised. However, it had been no secret that Xenia and her father were often at loggerheads; they had clashed as long as Lindo had known Folco. 

            The decision for the reorganization had been made in one of the final Council meetings. There had been disapprobation from a slight minority in the population, but Hrothgar Foxtrot had proved effective at improving things the Council had proved inept at remedying, so the hobbits had come to accept the drastic change. Besides, comfort, family, friendships, neighborliness, and fun were higher priorities with the vast majority than politics. The denizens of Drémeadow cared not whether their homeland was a monarchy, oligarchy, magocracy, or the republic it had been so long as they had their family, friends, food, fun and comfort ensured by those willing to assume the burden of running the place. Folco’s father had certainly done that.

            The trouble was, from what he’d heard, things were no longer comfortable in Drémeadow. As for Lindo, his life had become an absolute nightmare. He thought of his family quite often. Where were they? Had anything happened to them because of him, or were they left alone? Had the Foxtrots and their people accepted that he’d made an independent decision to leave, or was his family being harassed as the result of assumptions they were in cahoots with their son? Lindo did not want to imagine what might be done if it was decided his family shared blame for his actions. It was enough of a struggle to shake the suspicion he would never see them again after that last conversation as it was, the hasty conversation that transpired after Folco’s father had ordered an attack on Kiran’s supporters.

~*~*~

            “I must talk to my family, I should tell them to leave, too…” Lindo beseeched. “Please…”

            “Very well,” said a grey-faced Folco, voice deadpan. He surreptitiously glanced around. “Meet me in the back chamber. I intend to make it as easy as possible for them to get out.  I’ll tell the guards outside my father to reopen the gates to permit latecomers… that ought to work…”

            “What about you?” Lindo said, dizzy at the magnitude of the prince’s dour words. “What happens when your father finds out you helped the ‘traitors’? Won’t you be in terrible trouble?”

            Folco’s face was grim. “I would. It would make that time I forgot about that banquet for Gloomf’s Spivaks seem a jaunt in the woods.”

            Cold fear seized Lindo’s heart. “What would…” He swallowed hard, not wanting to complete the sentence.

            “Happen to me?”Folco finished for him. “Dunno. I’d never thought… he’d be like this… it’s frightening. I don’t want to find out what else he might do. I’m leaving with them.”

            Lindo, shocked, said “You should get your money.  Your bow and arrow…”

            “I will. Once I’ve seen to everyone’s escape.  If I can,” replied Folco darkly. 

            Lindo gave the taller hobbit’s arm a squeeze. “Be careful.” He raced to where his mother and siblings were seeking refuge under the table and retold what he and Folco had discussed. 

“You’re sure of this?” Molla Rivers asked, grasping Lindo’s shoulder. Behind his mother, Linda gripped his two youngest siblings, both of whom were crying, to her side. Linus, the second oldest of the six Riverses, stared at his oldest brother in stark disbelief. Lamar clasped his knees anxiously to his chest, rocking back and forth in terror. 

            “Afraid so. Look around you. Those orcs are attacking us. Because His Majesty said so. We need to get out of here. The king’s gone mad. We could be killed!” There was a heavy thud above them. An orc’s head rolled off the top of the table, bounced off the bench and landed next to Linnie. She screamed, scrambling over Linda’s lap to Lago’s other side, nearly knocking her little brother over in the process.

            A snarling guard bent under the table, leering at them. It reached out to grab Linus, who was blocked from retreat by another family, but a hobbit’s voice shouted “leave them, they’re not doing anything! We’re supposed to arrest traitors, His Majesty said!”

            “That’s a child! The traitors are the ones trying to flee!”

            The orc was staring at Lindo. It was over. He would be arrested. No. It had lost interest, rejoining the fray. Several other orcs had dropped wounded or dead, as had two hobbit guards. Kiran was locked in a battle with several orcs simultaneously.  By the door, hobbits who had been up front were rushing the guards armed only with forks and knives grabbed off the table.

            Lindo tore his eyes away, unable to bear the sight of hobbits raising arms against each other. “We need to get out of Drémeadow… Folco himself said so… he’s leaving.”

            “Lago and Linnie are too young to travel!” protested his mother.

            “Mother… I’m afraid of what will happen if we stay… please… I must go.”

            “You’re needed at home,” Molla said sadly. “Your brothers and sisters need you. They already lost their father… please, don’t make them lose you too! You’re the eldest, you finish school this year.  I need you to take over your father’s shop!”

            Grief  seized him. “Mother… I could do that if… when things settle down here.”  

            Mistress Rivers’ voice dropped to a fearful whisper. “My son… what if you do not come back?”

            A sense of icy cold washed over the young hobbit at what she implied. He mustered a smile. “I suppose management of the shop would fall to Linus, wouldn’t it?”

            A lone tear escaped his mother’s eye.. Lindo averted his eyes; he hated to see his mother cry. “Please… please stay home with the rest of us…” More fell, streaming in rivulets.

            “Things aren’t right. I’m Folco’s friend, He’s going to help the people up there escape. Or are you saying you think the paladin killed the queen?”

           “I don’t think that… he only ever helped others while here,” his mother said. “He had nothing to gain out of it, but he did anyway.”

            “So you disagree with the king,” he whispered.

            She nodded. “But that’s not the point! We can’t just leave. It’s winter. It will be too cold for tiny children like Linnie and Lago, and… 

            . A desperate thought occurred to Lindo. “The king knows Folco is close to me. He knows Folco talks to me. When he finds out what Folco did… you know he will… Folco will be gone but if I’m here…”

            His mother blanched. “You should go then.” She threw her arms around her youngest son. “Lindo, please… come back one day, will you? I don’t wish to lose my son as I did my husband.”

            Lindo swallowed painfully. He returned his mother’s embrace, kissing her on the cheek. “Goodbye mother… I will see you again one day… goodbye, all of you. Linus…” his brother’s grey eyes looked into his own identical ones, “take care of the others for me. Promise me you’ll look after everyone.”

            “I will.” Lindo gave Linus a grateful hug of farewell before rushing towards the back chamber. He did not look back.       

~*~*~

            Lindo swallowed the bile rising in his throat in response to the jumble of dark memories. The queen’s collapse. How terrified and shocked Folco’s siblings were. The accusation of Kiran and the confusion Lindo had felt; Kiran had been with him, his cousins and siblings, and Folco the entire afternoon. The king’s adamant refusal to listen to Kiran, Lindo or his son. The others joining in the entreaty on Kiran’s behalf. The king ordering an attack. The trials and tribulations in the wilderness. How hungry, cold and sick everyone had become. He’d thought, for a few wonderful days, that things were back to normal, or at least as normal as could be when living in a foreign Duke’s attic awaiting the construction of refugee barracks.

But now Folco had gone wandering off on his own, and if anything happened to him… Lindo did not want to imagine the consequences.

Reviews

[C. Rose]

clutching the stitch?
belittling time - term

Perhaps forks should be singular.

Because there was no review of mine here I began to review in detail, but after skimming ahead I am convinced I have read this already. Ah well. It was a nice refresher.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

I think you are right, I did mess around with my story by splitting a couple of chapters into two smaller ones. Jumping over to manage writing to add those edits before I spend a few hours of hopefully quality time with my bed [=

[wordman]

a great story with a real message

[Mila]

I stand in agreement with those who have reviewed before me. Good job!

[NoelHC]

I was amused by Lindo's garrulousness in describing Folco to the first merchant he queried, in typical rambling fashion. It added a human, or should I say hobbit, touch to Lindo.

One small thing I have noted is that in quotes, often the first letter is not capitalized, otherwise I saw nothing to correct here.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Duly noted. Do I always need to capitalize quotes, or just when sentence starts with quote?
read moreDuly noted. Do I always need to capitalize quotes, or just when sentence starts with quote?

EG the following sentences as example, am I right or wrong to stay lowercase the beginning of the quote.

"That class is boring," said Xenia, "because it's too much listening to people talk."
Folco complained "where's the food? I'm hungry!"

[NoelHC]

The first letter inside quote marks is capitalized, like the normal start of a sentence. If you split the quote: "Oh my," Lindo said "what are we to do now, Folco." for example.