The Ill-Fated Feast

Kiran, a young paladin visiting the land of Dremeadow on a diplomatic mission for his lord, unexpectedly finds himself accused of causing the death of Dremeadow's queen.

            This was a most unusual way to spend the last day of the year, Kiran Mani thought, adjusting the fastening on his cloak and straightening his muffler before passing through the wooden main doors of the palace of Hrothgar Foxtrot, the king of Drémeadow. He’d never expected to abroad celebrating with a kingdom other than the one from whence he’d come. He’d  anticipated being in Cancalia conducting his duties as the constable of the Northchester city guard under Duke Ivan’s instructions, celebrating at a tavern or inn with Nont’im and the latest women of the cleric’s fancy, or perhaps even visiting his adoptive father down in the city of Cadvashire. That was a typical new year.

            However, a week ago the paladin had been dispatched to Drémeadow by Duke Ivan’s son, ruling on the behalf of his father while the Duke visited the Cancalian royal family, to discuss medical supplies with the Drémeadow hobbits’ king. The journey north had passed smoothly. It was only when he had reached Drémeadow that Kiran had felt as though something were terribly wrong, even though visibly everything seemed well. Ultimately, the young paladin had decided that perhaps it was the merely absence of trouble putting him on edge. He was too accustomed to trouble to feel at ease when things were going right.

 Despite his persistent misgivings and the persistent uneasy feeling, the diplomatic visit had gone well. Kiran had learned that the king and his people had been put on edge by several incidences of narrow misses with marauders bent on bullying the small folk for whose safety Hrothgar Foxtrot was held responsible, and there had been injuries to several hobbits patrolling the borders. In response, the paladin had negotiated a trade in which Drémeadow would send supplies with the understanding that Cancalia was expected to send back a unit of trustworthy men to assist in protecting the more exposed areas of the border while the hobbits safeguarded the parts where they might take cover and vigilantly watch for foreign troublemakers from the shadows. At that point, the king had invited the paladin to stay through the New Year. Kiran accepted the invitation, knowing accepting Drémeadow’s hospitality would prove to Cancalia’s advantage. Besides, it was uncharacteristic of a notoriously generous land to turn stingy without reason. Refusal to give up some of their surplus of medical supplies to help a country needing them was uncharacteristic of the hobbits.  Kiran felt it his duty to establish whether the matter ran deeper than marauder attacks.

Therefore, Kiran was in Hardscrabble, Drémeadow with the halflings.  No, hobbits, Kiran corrected himself. He’d learned that although his fellow humans, dwarves, elves, and even gnomes referred to the smallest sized race as halflings, they themselves despised the term and found it rather belittling. “It implies we’re only half of something rather than whole... like how you’d rather have a whole apple than just half. Wouldn’t you find it offensive if we hobbits started calling all humans… oh, I don’t know, the too-talls or something to that effect?” the king’s spunky eighteen-year-old son Folco had said, punctuating the rhetorical question with a grin.  Kiran had answered with a laugh but made a mental note to never use the term “halfling.”

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The young man walked down the long cobblestone walkway and through the ornately decorated wooden gate, intending to head towards the village to grab a drink at a local tavern before it closed for the holiday. Kiran’s dark eyes vigilantly swept his surroundings looking for signs of trouble. The hobbits around him were in high spirits. Tiny hobbit children barely surpassing Kiran’s knee were racing up and down pathways, chasing balls and each other, shouting and shrieking with delight. Carts were trundling along the cobblestone roads in both directions, most headed towards the city’s commercial district but some back towards what Kiran knew to be Hardscrabble’s residential areas. Groups of them were clustered outside shops, laughing and gossiping merrily. Even some of the feral cats were at play- a pair of them was alternating between chasing each other around the doorstep of a shop that sold fish and placing their front paws on the door as though hoping to get fed fish. The only people who seemed to be showing signs of stress were the royal family and their staff themselves, but Kiran knew it was because they were getting ready for the Pre-New Year’s Banquet- they had quite a lot to do. The two sons and two daughters, who ranged in age from eighteen to thirty-one, had been sent off in various directions that morning to procure chairs from relatives. All of them had since returned and proceeded to other duties, but everything appeared to be in order. So why was the paladin unable to shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong?

Shaking his head, the young man entered a tavern called the Banging Hedgehog and ordered a barley ale at the bar. Once he received his drink, the paladin selected a table near the back of the crowded tavern where he would have a vantage point of watching the crowd of hobbits. One table seemed immersed in a card game. Another group was swatting a wooden ball back and forth to each other. Still another seemed to be drinking out of each other’s glasses, all of which had a different drink in it. A fourth table was belting out a drinking song Kiran could only assume was a local one, as he’d never heard it before.  Several tables were covered in plates of food. He could overhear snippets of several conversations, all of which seemed to feature exchanges of local news, family news, comments on the holiday and the crowd and the frigid weather, and discussion of the king’s upcoming feast, with questions such as “what’s your placement number?”, “what food and drink do you suppose his Majesty’s going to have?”, or “who else do you suppose will be going to the king’s banquet? Do you know who is sitting near you yet? Do you know anyone else’s placement number? ”

            Kiran heaved a long, low sigh, taking another sip. His drink was doing nothing to assuage his discomfiture. He took another glance around, but the worst misdeed he could see was hobbits sneaking food off the plates of relatives or friends, and there was nobody lurking acting in a manner that suggested they were up to no good. Nobody was lurking near the box containing gold, silver, and copper, nor was anyone paying more attention to another patron of the tavern than they ought. People back in Northchester often behaved much worse, although his status as constable might skew his viewpoint, Kiran thought. He knew far too much about crime in the city there because of his occupation.  He had yet to witness anything remotely resembling a tavern brawl break out in Drémeadow. The worst he had personally seen here was reckless cart driving.

            Not that life was perfect here. Far from it. Kiran had learned of several things that did not sit well with him since the paladin had entered Drémeadow.  Firstly, there was the matter of the orc guards, which had troubled Kiran the instant he had seen them. When he had inquired about their presence, he had found out that the orcs had been brought in after trouble with bandits in the southern region of the kingdom. Kiran had also learned that the individual behind that decision, which he privately felt to be a bad idea, was an adviser named Jarmir Esteel.

 Esteel was Kiran’s second concern. Evidently, he had persuaded the king that the hobbits would be unable to defend themselves against foreign bandits unless they had assistance from larger and fiercer race than themselves, hence the presence of the orcs. It also seemed that Jarmir Esteel was encouraging Drémeadow to cut itself off from other lands. Kiran had overheard him discouraging the king from giving food to an elf nation that had suffered a loss of vegetation from fire, insisting that Drémeadow had been overly generous to other lands in the past and suggesting that other kingdoms were taking advantage of the kindness of Drémeadow and “exaggerating minor problems to garner sympathy.” Even if Kiran had not possessed the uncanny ability to discern the taint of evil in the souls of other sentient beings, simply seeing him manipulating the king of Drémeadow was enough to suggest that Esteel did not mean well. The paladin was now in a quandary over how to handle the situation. It did not help that Hrothgar Foxtrot was Drémeadow’s first-ever king. Drémeadow had been governed by an elected body called the Council that had been voted upon every four years from whenever it was founded until 3010 by the Standard Calendar, during which Drémeadow had converted to a monarchy after suffering over a decade of economic hardship and instability. One of the most prominent and respected Councilors, Hrothgar Foxtrot, had been selected in the Drémeadow Council’s final meeting and the Foxtrots became the royal line.

The third concern was a matter of the royal family itself. When the paladin had entered the kingdom, he’d  been under the impression that there were two princesses and two princes: 31-year-old Nora, 26-year-old Jillian, 22-year-old Odo, and 18-year-old Folco. However, Kiran had overheard a conversation between Folco and what turned out to be the unnerving Jarmir Esteel. In this exchange, during which the young prince had sounded a combination of nervous and defiant while the king’s adviser sounded almost amused, Esteel had superciliously uttered words Kiran could not shake from his head. “You really ought to be more careful, Folco Foxtrot. I daresay you wouldn’t want to end up like your sister, now, would you?” he had said. After Jarmir had left the cell in which the prince was to be locked for three days as retribution for a serious mishap that had nearly gotten a ten-year-old child killed, a deeply concerned Kiran had entered and inquired about the conversation. Folco had responded with evasiveness. When pressed, he had told Kiran he was talking about Jillian. However, the paladin suspected he was not being truthful because Folco had fidgeted with his clothes and looked own while saying it. However, the young prince had also mentioned that the family archives. The next morning, Kiran accessed these and noticed that some of the records had been tampered with. He had also located a box that contained ribbons and medals related to archery including one for a lass who had been sixteen in 3002. There was a major issue. Someone who was sixteen in 3002 would be twenty-eight or twenty-nine now. Neither of King Hrothgar and Queen Arabella’s known daughters were that age.

When Kiran returned to tell Folco his findings, the young hobbit looked exceptionally uncomfortable. After gentle coaxing from the paladin, the youth muttered that he’d had a sister named Xenia who had died, then made him promise not to tell anyone at all he’d said anything. “It would greatly upset my parents. It was really hard on us all, you have no idea…” the prince said in an odd voice. “Don’t bring my sister up or mention her to anyone.Please.”

Kiran, who had agreed in alarm, still wondered about the truth of Folco’s claim. There had been no sign of the possibility that any member of the king’s immediate family had an untimely death among the documents. However, he had tactfully chosen not to press the matter, believing that if Folco was misrepresenting the matter in any way it was not out of malicious intent. He could not, however, repress the feeling that there was a lot more to the story of Xenia Foxtrot than her younger brother was willing or permitted to tell. Regardless, the paladin hoped to learn more of the matter, especially since Jarmir Esteel had obviously reminded the young prince of what had happened to the girl in order to intimidate him. What happened to Xenia?

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After Kiran finished his drink, he returned to the Halfling palace, intending to inquire whether there was any way he could help his hosts with preparations for the feast. The king had granted free rein in the palace, so the paladin did not need to go through any of the king’s staff to talk to Hrothgar. When he approached the king’s study, he paused at the door. The four sons and daughters were standing in front of their father’s desk. The older three were dutifully nodding, evidently having just received instructions, but the youngest looked quite frustrated.

“Father!”  the young prince complained, throwing his hands up. “You never said we had to be doing stuff all day!”

The harried king raised both eyebrows at his son before his golden brown eyes met Kiran’s. He held up one hand indicating that Kiran wait in the doorway and mouthed “one moment, please” before returning his sharp gaze to his child. “Folco. You knew there was to be a major banquet tonight. You have known this for a long while. You are perfectly aware that when we have major events, you are expected to be assisting with tasks related to the event. Stop…”

 “I helped to bring extra chairs all the way from the other side of Hardscrabble this morning!” interjected the adolescent, who was met with a stern look the instant he’d interrupted his father.

“Folco. Your sisters and brother are accepting their duties without complaint. They, too, have other things they prefer doing, yet they are doing their share to ensure everything goes smoothly. I need you to do the same. Furthermore, we have a guest waiting to speak with me, and you are being indecorous.”

“But…”

“Silence!” Folco fell quiet. “As I told you before, give as much help in the kitchen as is needed.”

“But Lindo and Linda have a whole bunch of their cousins over from the Hills East! The other Riverses, the Shores AND the Gladdens! I haven’t seen their cousins since September! They’re only here until tomorrow and  I promised Lindo I’d drop by to visit with them all. It’s not like I’ll be able to during the feast since obviously I have to be with the family for that! This is so unf-”

Hrothgar Foxtrot rubbed the skin over his left temple hard, glowering. “What is unfair is how you are currently wasting valuable preparation time by acting like a petulant child. You will need to explain to your friend that you have obligations to the family and Drémeadow that currently supersede your plans. Do I make myself clear?” The adolescent grudgingly nodded, biting back a retort. “Now then. You all have my leave to go help where I told you. That includes you, Folco Foxtrot.”

The young Foxtrots all inclined their heads towards their father- Folco was still scowling- and departed the room. Kiran inclined his own head as they passed before entering the study. Once inside, Kiran gave a respectful bow. “Your Majesty.”

“Good afternoon, Kiran,” Hrothgar said, sounding weary. He rubbed a hand unconsciously against his temple, pushing age-loosened skin upwards. “How is your day so far? How may I be of assistance?”

“It is well, thanks, Your Majesty,” replied Kiran. “I was just wondering whether I might be of assistance in any way, since I know you have much to do to prepare for tonight?”

The king delivered a small smile. “Everything is proceeding well for now. I apologize for my son’s misbehavior, by the way, he knows he ought not to conduct himself as he did just now. We will need help with welcoming the lines into the Great Hall, and ensuring that everyone is in their proper place in line, for that matter. I do not doubt there will be hobbits who believe they could enter sooner than their place number, nor that there will be some who will attempt to sneak in. “

“I would be happy to help, Your Highness.”

The king gave an appreciative nod, and then commenced explaining what the paladin was to do. “There are 285 numbers. It was checked and double-checked to ensure there are no duplicates or missing numbers. In my guest instructions, I informed them that they would be in danger of losing their place if they lost their placecards. There is to be another line for anyone who wishes to enter but did not get a place or who has lost their card. There is a list of who corresponds to what number, so if someone gives both their name and number, whoever has the line they’re in can check and make sure the name and claimed number correspond to one other. If the guest claims not to remember their missing number, they will have no choice but to go in the line for people who are not guaranteed entry. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Do you need me to repeat the information?”

“I just want to make sure I heard right, sire,” Kiran said. “So the cards from one through 285, and every number has a name with it on a list we will be given? Everyone must stand in numerical order and show their place cards or correctly state their name and number?”

“That is correct,” replied King Hrothgar. “The list of who has what number will be given to you when the lines start. I have instructed my queen and children to be ready at five-thirty for the lines to start at six. I know people will try to come early, but my guards will not permit them onto the grounds until we are ready for them to do so. Do you have any questions?”

“No, Your Majesty.”

“Excellent,” said the king. “Thank you. You have my leave to go.”

Kiran exited the room with a bow. He was thinking that he would briefly visit Nont’im at the nearby inn in which the cleric was staying when he noticed Folco talking to a hobbit who looked to be somewhere from his late thirties to his forties. The hobbit was gesturing towards the kitchen, and he caught the phrase “in your stead”. Kiran immediately gathered that the older hobbit was offering to take over Folco’s post in the kitchens.

“I don’t know, my father said I must…” Folco said dubiously, his dark brown eyes wandering longingly towards the main entrance of the palace.

“I will tell your father if he comes in that I offered to take your place, Your Highness,” the older hobbit replied, unconsciously running his hand through his graying hair. “If you wish, I will assure him that you were properly carrying your weight before I came in and noticed that you looked tired and needed a break. You did have an archery tournament two days ago and spent all day yesterday traveling all over Drémeadow delivering placecards to speed up the post’s process, did you not, if I remember what your mother said correctly? And were you not fetching chairs today because there was nobody on the staff who could because they had other tasks?”

Folco nodded, and then crinkled his brow. “Are you sure, Kirk? Didn’t you just get back from a journey abroad? Don’t you want to rest?”

Kirk shook his head. “Thank you, Your Highness, but I’m not tired. Besides, I know you to be an honorable sort of fellow who does not generally renege on promises to friends.”

Folco beamed. “All right then. Thanks, I owe you one!” he said brightly before running towards the main door leading out of the Halfling palace. He stopped a few feet from this exit, calling over his shoulder, “Send word if you need my help, will you? The Riverses and I will not be far from the palace. Lindo said something about his siblings- they’re younger- wanting to play Hide and Seek and this area will be far better than downtown, which is bound to be crowded, or his place. More places for everyone to hide.” He turned to directly face Kirk.  “Anyway, send word.”

“Naturally, Your Highness,” the hobbit called Kirk said before passing through the door to the kitchens. Folco gave Kiran a nod of acknowledgement before exiting with an excited spring in his step.

            Kiran spent the next several hours praying to his deity, making himself as tidy and clean as possible, and getting the best outfit he had brought with him ready. Ever the one to keep his belongings at close proximity to each other, he stowed his armor near his bags. He had brought a lot with him because he had an exceptionally strong steed. It was a mount not of the world but another realm of existence that no human could see unless in death, provided they had lived well.  Most of the time, the paladin strove to function without his horse, but at times such as during a battle or particularly dangerous quest, when he needed to travel quickly, and on diplomatic missions directly commissioned by his church or his lord, he would call the mount to aid and abet him. He had called the mount to service to travel to Drémeadow and released it once he had crossed the border into the land of the Halflings.

By a quarter after seven, all of the guests had been ushered to their appropriate places in the king’s Great Hall. The lines had gone relatively smoothly with the four Foxtrot children, the Queen Arabella, and Kiran each heading a line. There had been clumps and jostling, but the bulk of it had dispersed with Kiran reminding the crowd that everyone was to be in a straight line and the queen pointing out that the less cooperative they were in the lines, the later the feast would begin. The queen’s words in particular calmed the overexcited guests down. Other than the lines, the only major incidents had involved one person in Kiran’s line attempting to forge a place card so that two people in the line ended up having the same number, 227, but that had been easy to resolve- a name intended for males was next to the number on the list, and the forger had been a woman, so she had been sent to the very back of the line for people hoping to gain entry, as had a hobbit who had claimed to be number 403 and two without place cards  who claimed to not know their number.

Kiran, as the messenger of an important noble in Cancalia, had been granted a place at the end of the High Table. The king and queen sat in the center, the king to the left of the queen. Princess Nora had a place next to her father with Prince Folco on her other side, and Princess Jillian sat next to her mother with Prince Odo to her right.  Kiran was placed at the far end of the queen’s side of the table. Others granted the honor of seating at the High Table included close royal relatives and several of the more trusted advisors. He noticed that guests were in attire on the dressier side of casual- comfortable enough for a long feast and travel, yet presentable and put-together rather than sloppy. The royal family, however, were in formal attire. The princesses and queen had their hair elaborately styled- the princesses with complicated braiding and ribbons woven through and the queen with gold hair ornaments- and they wore many-layered dresses of silk - Nora in mauve, Jillian in a light pink, the queen in burgundy. The two princes both wore thick-soled calf-high boots and reddish-brown hose and silken white tunics, but Odo had a velvet blue vest with gold buttons trimmed with  while Folco had green with silver buttons. The entire royal family had the edges of their sleeves, collars, and cloaks trimmed with ermine. Kiran noted from afar that the Foxtrots eschewed the use of jewels embedded in their clothes, but perhaps that was not such a surprise- hobbits did tend to favor comfort over flashiness.

            The royal family sat quietly, watching over the guests as they removed their winter clothing and laid it over the benches. The guests would not need their coats, scarves, mittens or stocking caps in the hall, which had all eight of the large, ornately decorated fireplaces around the room lit. It still appeared to be the time in which the guests made their initial greetings to those they know and introductions to those whom they did not know. Hobbits were shaking hands with others at their tables and turning about in their seats to speak with their neighbors. Kiran inclined his head at the royal relatives with who he made eye contact, and they nodded in response. He then scanned the hall. Several servants had emerged with quills, blank booklets and notepads. They were starting to take drink orders from the guests. Another servant had emerged from the chamber concealed with curtains behind the High Table and was requesting the orders of the royal family, relatives, and guests. When the servant, a corpulent middle-aged hobbit with ruddy cheeks and closely cropped curls came to Kiran, the paladin responded “Barley ale, please.” The servant nodded and scribbled the requested item onto a notepad. “Thank you,” he said after the retreating back of the hobbit, who had already proceeded to the next occupant of the High Table.

 Inhaling deeply, he took another glance around the hall, studying the faces of the guests. Kiran recognized several of the hobbits. Some of the adolescent ones he knew as teammates of Folco in archery at the prince’s school. Unlike many other lands, all hobbits seemed to have some form of schooling in their youth when it wasn’t planting or harvest season, and the Foxtrot progeny attended school alongside the commoners- or at least, Folco did. The older three had aged past both lower and upper school to which all the children of Drémeadow were entitled. He recognized Folco’s friend Lindo Rivers, a pudgy lad who wore his hair cut close to his head, Lindo’s younger siblings, and a woman who had to be Lindo’s mother- she was holding Lindo’s two-year-old sibling in her lap. Lindo was be exchanging silly faces with the younger prince when neither his parents nor the king and queen were watching their respective sons. He also recognized several local merchants, including the seamstress who had mended his torn cloak after it snagged on thorns four days previous, the arms store owner that often sold his merchandise to the parents of human boys, a cart driver who brought hobbits without their own family cart and ponies around Drémeadow for a nominal fee, and a miller. Several smiled when Kiran caught their eye, and the paladin returned the gesture.

After an exchange of nods between Kiran and the two black-haired hobbits that had come to Cancalia with the king’s message denying supplies, King Hrothgar and Queen Arabella stood. The paladin immediately turned his head towards Drémeadow’s reigning couple, as did the rest of the High Table. Jillian dropped her hands from her curls to her lap, Nora primly folded her right hand over her left, Odo straightened very tall in his chair, and Folco, who had idly been toying with his utensils, replaced them where they belonged. At the long guest tables, the din of conversations gradually died down as hobbits saw their ruler and alerted their neighbors.

The king was the first to speak. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the annual Pre-New Years Banquet in my palace. I am pleased to see each and every one of you present in my hall, and I would like to thank my staff for ensuring that this banquet would be possible. I would like everyone to stand to join in singing the national anthem. My daughter, Her Highness Princess Jillian, will be leading you.”

The princess stood up. There was a scraping of benches as the hobbits rose to their feet, and Kiran followed suit. Jillian began to sing in a clear soprano voice, and the rest of the hall immediately joined in. The paladin had not learned the words, but he respectfully kept his eyes on the princess and imitated the gesture that all of the hobbits were making, bowed heads, chins tucked into their necks, and hands folded before them.  Once the song had finished, the king bade everyone sit.

“Thank you. I intend to keep my speech short-“ there were several appreciative smiles among the guests “as I know everyone is very hungry and would like to eat, but first I wish to introduce everyone at my table for those who do not know all the names.” At the same time, servants began emerging with the drinks. The hobbit king started with his wife, “Her Majesty Queen Arabella,” then his children from the oldest “Her Highness Princess Nora” to the youngest, then the royal relatives most closely related to himself and his wife, during which time Kiran’s barley ale arrived, and finally the guests. “This gentleman is visiting us from the land of Cancalia- Lord Kiran Mani, a paladin and the constable in the Cancalian Duke Ivan’s city of Northchester.” Kiran gave the room a wave as the previously introduced had done. Like all those before, Kiran was the recipient of applause, and the volume was rather higher than several others who had been introduced before him.

The King proceeded through the few left after Kiran, waited for the applause to die down, and then said “Now then, we will commence our feast with the Queen leading us all in a toast. If you have not yet received your beverage, please signal your servers.” A smattering of hobbits at the second table from the left partially raised their right hands, and several servants converged on the one in charge of the table, a sheepish-looking lass who looked to be around the same age as Princess Jillian that gave the king a quick apologetic look before showing her notepad to the servants who had come to her rescue. The lag was quickly rectified as the more experienced servants brought several of the youngest one’s orders in her stead to the guests.

Once the hands went down as the last of the hobbits received their drinks, Queen Arabella held her glass of wine aloft in the air. “My dear hobbits, thank you all for making the time and effort to travel here tonight in the cold. I greatly appreciate seeing each and every one of you gathered here, as do my king and my sons and daughters. Now, I invite you all to take part in a toast. Please raise your glasses.” Kiran tentatively took hold of his glass and cast a quick glance along the High Table to see how the locals did it. Like Cancalia, it seemed Drémeadow denizens held their drinks aloft in their right hand. The paladin did the same.

“To the feast!” Arabella said. The rest of the hall echoed her. “To family and friendship!” Another echo of the queen’s words. “To the health of all present in this room!”

At that, the Queen began to drain her glass, followed by the king, princes, princesses, Kiran, the others at the High Table and all of the guests.

The first indication Kiran saw of anything wrong was Queen Arabella’s eyes widening, followed by the rapid blanching of her skin to white, then grey, then an ominous greenish hue. Some of the hobbits at High Table and guest tables alike noticed immediately- Folco had a confused look on his face and Nora mouthed “Are you well, mother?”, and some of the guests were muttering to their neighbors and nodding at the Queen, but most were thus far oblivious. The king himself was occupied with speaking to Prince Odo. Kiran pushed his chair back, wondering whether he ought to try to help or whether it would do the Queen more harm than good, or if she would even want the assistance- it was a frequent habit of royalty to not wish to be made to look weak, and Arabella Foxtrot might prefer concealing her sudden illness. All the same, he wished Nont’im were there. The cleric was also a trained and skilled healer, and had grown up learning how to care for the sick and injured.

When the Queen started shaking for a second or two, however, before collapsing to the ground with a crash, there were several cries from among the guests. Now everyone’s attention was fixated on the High Table with all the horrified fascination of people watching a tavern brawl that had escalated to drawn weapons, a cart overturning or colliding with another cart, and other such events. Several of the royal relatives and all four of Hrothgar and Arabella’s children left their seats, crowding around the convulsing queen so that she was out of sight.

“Stand back! Give her room!” shouted the king. His voice sounded significantly less composed than usual, almost fearful. “Out of the way! I need a healer now!  Fetch me a healer! Odo Foxtrot, move! You too, Jillian!”  The group dispersed, revealing the queen, who had gone utterly still, her face turned away from the paladin. Kiran took a few tentative steps forward. “I could help,” he said but this voice was lost in the resonating clamor. Meanwhile, Jarmir Esteel had come forth and was bending over the queen, seizing her wrist to feel for a pulse, placing a hand just above her mouth to feel for breath, straightening her face, and finally checking her neck. Kiran’s heart sank as the purple-haired advisor touched the queen’s eyelids with his pinkies as though closing them and then whispered something to the king, whose face went stark white. This could only mean one thing in regards to Queen Arabella Foxtrot’s condition. The Foxtrot children were clinging to one another, sharing expressions of mingled shock, disbelief and terror. Nora had an arm around Jillian, who was visibly fighting back tears, and Odo, whose eyes were squeezing open and shut in rapid succession as though he hoped to see something different each time they opened anew. Folco was gripping his brother’s shoulder with one hand and pressing his cupped hand against his mouth, dark brown eyes the size of saucers. Jarmir summoned several servants, and the lifeless queen was borne out of the hall into the back chamber.

Kiran stepped forward, understanding what must have happened. He was already formulating a long list of questions he would ask if he were given permission to help the king’s people in investigating the matter of the queen’s murder, starting with learning the type of poison that had killed her and where it might be acquired, who had been present in the kitchen, and proceeding from there.

The king’s expression was at first unfathomable. He muttered something to Jarmir with his head tilted sideways, and his advisor issued a long reply in a whisper that was impossible to hear through the hullaballoo. The guests looked confused. Many of the younger children were tugging on the arms of their parents. He then stepped forward, extending his finger towards the paladin, his cheeks two bright red spots against a pale background, his golden-brown yes smoldering to almost wholly golden. Nothing could have prepared Kiran for what Drémeadow’s king said next. It was the last utterance he expected to ever hear in his life.

“Paladin! How dare you! You enter my land, we grant you hospitality, we grant you generosity that your land needed, and you repay us by taking away my wife’s breath and heartbeat and robbing her of life with your poison! Leave at once! Get out of Drémeadow!”

 

Author’s note: The term “hobbit” is borrowed from Tolkien. A few minor details, namely things like names of gods, were borrowed for Dungeons and Dragons. The borrowed details will disappear once we devise our own names. Also, is this too long? Too much exposition? Did I repeat myself on anything too much? I’ll greatly appreciate any reviews leaving advice on improving the story!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

Author’s note: The term “hobbit” is borrowed from Tolkien. A few minor details, namely things like names of gods, were borrowed for Dungeons and Dragons. The borrowed details will disappear once we devise our own names. Also, is this too long? Too much exposition? Did I repeat myself on anything too much? I’ll greatly appreciate any reviews leaving advice on improving the story!

Reviews

[Craig2591]

I think this is written well and saw no obvious errors. Good description. The characters seem believable. My only problem is with the orcs. Unless I missed something, they seemed to appear halfway through this chapter from out of nowhere. Also, as a huge Tolkien fan, I picture orcs as evil. What are they doing at this banquet?

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

What are they doing there indeed (= They are quite evil. I may add a chapter or two before this one where Kiran specifically asks about them after noticing them. I've been thinking about some buildup, though may need a new hook if I add that chapter or two. You have a very good point though

[Craig2591]

At this point I don't know what you have in mind, but if you just show him wondering to himself about the orcs and then explain their presence in a later chapter it might be a quick and easy fix.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Good idea, especially since the incidents I'm thinking of, for most part, don't do much more than show more depth to the characters' personalities, though there are a couple of things Kiran shrugs off at time that transpire to be of paramount significance as he realizes in hindsight.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

I'm trying out this paragraph: Kiran was grateful none of the orc guards were out here dealing with incoming partygoers. He’d known about and felt disquieted by their presence ever since he’d entered Drémeadow. King Hrothgar, when asked, had told him his advisor Jarmir Esteel had suggested the orcs. Jarmir’s reasoning was that orcs were bigger and thus useful for protecting Drémeadow denizens in ways his own race could not- through brute strength- but he was far from satisfied. Though none of the orcs had done anything, he did not trust them. He could not forget the way their eyes had malevolently followed him after they noticed the holy symbol of his god. Then there were the various horror stories about orcs around the continent to consider, not to mention his own personal experiences. Presumably the orcs in the employ of Drémeadow’s king were better behaved than most, as Kiran had seen no signs of wanton destruction, but it seemed too good to be true that the orcs were refraining from trouble. Orcs were notoriously difficult to control. What was keeping them from acting like orcs?

[Craig2591]

Perfect! It explains a lot.

[Oberon Duke]

As a former childhood devotee of Mr. Tolkien, this is a lot of fun. :) I didn't notice any obvious grammatical errors or major problems with the writing style. No complaints here. I'm definitely looking forward to continuing this story!

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Thanks so much!

[Skai Rain]

Just the thought of hobbit guards makes me giggle. Then in their little suits of armor, standing all tough. Your wording is brilliant and you paint a picture so vivid that there is no confusion as to the setting. I like how this is set in the future, when most stories with this feel are set around a Medieval period. Great work! I look forward to reading more.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Yass, they're probaly just soooo, cute! xD

[Larry Dyson]

wordsmith you are..! will read a lot this week..ty for introducing me to your books..!

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Thanks so much! [=

[C. Rose]

Folco's story about the actors freaking everyone out cracked me up.
Very dramatic. You've surely got your reader's attention.
I hope everyone gets out okay.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Yeah, here's hoping! Well, you already know the outcome xP

I wish I'd reread this review before revising; I actually changed hisstory (now in chapter 2) to a half-truth where he says something went wrong with food (but omits specificthat his mother was poisoned) Which do you think sounds more plausible for convincing the guards, since they end up opening the gate to let people "leave early"?

[C. Rose]

I think the actors story explains why the people leaving will be hurried and nervous. If there was something wrong with the food, I feel like people wouldn't run - they would complain - and that wouldn't explain why people looked frightened.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

What if I have both, where he comments on the food, then goes into the "actors"?

[C. Rose]

"did he care about his proving his innocence."

[C. Rose]

Sorry about lots of little reviews, but with such a long chapter it's easier for me to submit one line of editing before I forget it and then go back to reading.

[Kuandio]

I reviewed one of your chapters about hobbits a long time ago, but it seems it was a different story. Coming back now, I see that you have improved quite a bit all around in your craft.

Using the word silos gets me thinking about missiles, and this is a more medieval story

You might want to hone in on someone's pov near the beginning, and you wouldn't have to alter the description much to do that. As it is, it's kind of an omniscient intro, and somewhat throughout.

The characters don't feel quite like we are anchored through him, but a narrator's voice is giving more info through him instead of his own filter

Getting to the part where the queen dies brought my attention back completely

Overall there is interesting political intrigue between races. Though it is hard to believe that they wouldn't detain the human. The sudden action between the guards and the human is a little unclear

It is unique that there is a kingdom of hobbits, instead of just villages like in LOTR

I think you could be a little more creative in your descriptions. Not doing so at times actually leads to explaining more, and using more adverbs which can be reduced

Let it sit for a time, then go back over it. I know you will continue to improve it. You are a hard worker from what I gather

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

I tried to do some tweaking to ground it in Kiran. Definitely harder to anchor in one character for introductory chapter, but shall definitely work on honing into Kiran's mind!

[Kuandio]

looking back at my review, I'm afraid maybe I sounded too harsh. I'll try to point our more strengths in the future

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Nah, I hope to be published one day. As I like saying, have no mercy for publishers won't [=

I think you're right in that I can be neglectful or overly to-the-point, so to say, in the descriptions- perhaps because of my own preferences as a reader. I grow quickly bored with description overload, though I know some is necessary.

I also tried to go into a bit as to why he's being booted and detained in what is now the next chapter (I divided the chapter because length). It is medieval, but there are some modern elements, mostly in things like the strong presence of international relations and the existence of international law

[C. Rose]

"... I don't need you wasting anymore of my time.
(Missing end quotation mark.

[C. Rose]

"I would never do commit such a crime" Kiran made a typo. Bad Kiran. This was his first one.

[NoelHC]

He tries to remember to refer to them by the term the race prefers but old habits die hard.

Or "Old hobbits die hard." OK sorry, couldn't resist.

Shades of George R R Martin, killing off royalty in the first chapter, by poisoning.

I don"t have much to add as regards edits, I see C. Rose has done an admirable job of that. Personally in hobbit tales, I think the reader is accustomed to, and expecting to see archaic words, and a more complex vocabulary, so that part didn't bother me.

A good start to a tale, i will have to look at the rest of this soon.

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Hahaha, so true, old habits (hobbits! XD) definitely die hard. I'm glad you both noticed my interchanging terms and knew why I did it! Kiran's usually a very diplomatic sort (as I hopefully showed) and prefers to always have good manners, and he knows they consider the term "Halfling" patronizing at best and outright insulting at worst.

(If you notice me have a hobbit thinking Halfling in another chapter and it's not in the sense f "these a*****e humans need to stop calling me a Halfling, i'm not half of anything", definitely call me out on it!)

C. Rose is awesome, and I enjoy her work a lot. Definitely check her out if you're not already familiar with her as an author! [= I still have to apply her advice once I have a length of time to sit down and do hardcore revision, but it's very sound!

Please feel free to RR any books or stories you have that I haven't already reviewed [=

[Mila]

This was really good and I was so into it, I didn't even notice any actual errors that jumped out at me. Honestly it was like reading a novel in my hands; it flowed so nicely and the candence was steady when it needed to be and quick as well. That's still a quality I'm tinkering with and quite haven't gotten the hang of so hats off to you! I can't wait to read the rest!!

[SpeedyHobbit Armstrong]

Thanks so much, Mira! BTW, please feel free to RR me a story or book you want people to check out and I'll have it sitting there until I get to reading and reviewing!

A poem could work too but I'd need a message as well so I don't ignore it, I'm not usually a big poetry fan (I'm not the most helpful reviewer with poetry either) [=