Son of Dunland, Citizen of Dale (Part One)

     "I understand, son, but this ain't something of your choice. Either you stay here in Esgaroth or you stay, end of discussion," said the man wholly dressed on scale armor. His wrinkled face reflecting, at first, annoyance and afterwards empathy, "I'm aware you want to help, but listen... your old father has enough problems now with your mother sick, please don't make it worse on me."

     "But father, I-"

     "Please, that is all I'm asking of you."

     The young Farddenaid sighed, "Fine," he muttered and walked away, not before waving farewell to his father. He walked through the streets, tormented by the thought of his mother not able to recover from the illness that had struck her that early, yet cold winter. He walked a long way, out of the city and into the grassland on which various farms were scattered; among all of them, his family's. The sun hid and moon rose from behind the hills, followed by a cryptic cold and a thick mist as he walked one of the many muddy trails which he would have lost track of if it wasn't for the torches who's faint embers blazed and illuminated the ground below.

     He slowly opened the old, wooden door and looked around, trying to find a shade in the darkness. He narrowed his eyes and managed to distinguish his mother sleeping and wrapped in many blankets. Farddenaid stood closer and gently kissed his mother's sweaty forehead, then head to his own room.

    Hours passed, and the night became darker. It felt like an eternity for him to wait for his father to arrive home, and another eternity to wait for him to fall asleep. As silent as a robber, Farddenaid took his father's armor, boots, gloves and shoulders outside, barely slipping through the half-closed door without being noticed. While dressing with the guardsman's armor, he thought about the consequences of his incoming actions, and continued to doubt as he walked the muddy trail once again, but this time headed towards Esgaroth.
 

To be continued...