No Home Here

On to the show! Here’s chappy # 3

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Chapter Three: No Home Here

The gatekeeper who was guarding the entrance to the small town was dozing off at his post. The night was cold and harsh snow was swirling around his small hut, but inside was warmed by a fire and lit by several lanterns. The portly old man was sitting in a high-backed chair by the fire, taking full advantage of the storm to allow him time inside and out of the cold.

After all, the man couldn’t think of anyone who would be out in a storm like this: everyone with any sense had hurried home at the sight of the impending clouds. A thick, badly bound book was laying forgotten on his lap, a few of the pages standing straight up in the air and giving the impression that the man hadn’t even remotely glanced at them for quite some time now.

As a matter fact he hadn’t been looking at anything for quite some time now. The man’s eyes were closed and his mouth open. A faint rumbling sound reverberated throughout the small room, and those who were unused to sleeping humans might have found it akin to a distant herd of stampeding mumakil.

The peacefulness of the scene inside the room was soon disturbed, however, as a loud thump came from directly outside the door. Though the noise was not quite enough to wake the man, it served to pull his out of the depths of his dreams. Another louder and more urgent whack was heard on the gate, and this time the elderly man was yanked fully out of his sleep and dropped back into his body in the armchair by the fire.

Like any normal person who has had their rest disrupted by duty, the fact that it was his job to wake up for a night traveler wasn’t any compensation for the fact that he was no longer blissfully asleep. A quieter, more desperate knock was heard upon the gate, but the man had absolutely no intention of getting out of his chair.

Perhaps if he waited for long enough the fool standing outside the little village would finally realize the absurdity of being outside on such a night as this. But just as the silence was stretching out for long enough to make him contemplate drifting back to sleep, the man heard something else from outside the gate, faintly blown into his cottage on the snow-laden wind.

Maybe he was just imagining it, but he could have sworn he had heard the tune of a familiar lullaby, one that his mother had sung to him long, long ago. But it most certainly couldn’t be the same song: unless he was very much mistaken a man and a young one at that sang this.

Frowning, the gatekeeper tried to recall the faces of his surrounding neighbors: perhaps one of the children next door was singing to the baby. But the more he thought about it the more frustrated the man became. He was too far away from any of his neighbors for a song to have drifted over the sounds of the howling storm. But he mentally shied away from the only other alternative, for this would mean that a young man, nay, a child was outside the gates in this weather!

Sighing deeply, the man knew that his conscience would never let him live with himself if he decided not to answer the gate. He twisted his neck around until he heard the pop of the bones, and then slowly levered himself out of the armchair, gnarled old hands grasping its overstuffed arms.

He shuffled to the door and opened it a crack, shuddering at the wave of icy coldness that came through such a small opening. Snow still fell thickly, and squinting out into the darkness the man could see that the road was already blanketed in a good two feet of the sleet-like substance.

‘Not at all like in the children’s picture books is this snow.’ He thought.’ No beautiful crystals and cheery snow men lining the streets.’ Sighing, he fished a long coat off of one of the pegs driven into the wall by the door, and slid it over his stooped shoulders.

Pushing the door open the rest of the way, he took a deep breath and plunged out into the darkness, letting the door slam shut behind him. Though his house backed right up to the weathered wooden gate, the walk still seemed to take an eternity. As he trudged through the feet of snow, he heard snatches of that haunting lullaby.

Once again the familiarity of the song made him curious, but in the bits and pieces of the melody that he could hear, the man ascertained that the words were most definitely not in Westron. They sounded much to fair, even if they were distorted to the point where they echoed hauntingly on the snowy wind.

Abruptly, however, the voice and the song stopped altogether, leaving the old man somewhat confused. The childhood melody was replaced by something far more eerie: choked sobs. The man realized once again that it was most definitely a child that had been singing and that now cried outside the village gate, and a pang of guilt reverberated throughout the man’s heart.

He frowned, and with a last spurt of effort he reached the gate in the palisade. Brushing away the snow from the iron handle of the gate, the man threw aside caution and did not even bother to open first the small round peephole in the gate’s wooden face, choosing instead to open up the entire door.

With a great deal of creaking, moaning, and shoving from both parties involved, the door finally opened, leaving the old man panting with his hands resting on bent knees. Raising his head up, he took tentative steps outside of the village towards the source of the sobbing.

The cries proved to be coming from a huddled figure perched atop what appeared to be a fine horse. The steed’s head was up, almond-shaped eyes staring boldly at the old man.

After a brief face-off between horse and man, the animal gave out a shrill whinny and cocked its long head back at the child in its saddle. The old man limped towards the horse and its oblivious rider, who was still sniffling. When he was close enough, he reached up to the child and carefully put a hand on the youth’s leg. An extremely startled head flew up, dislodging a loose hood and giving one startled old man a good look at the pale face of a frightened elfling!