Interesting Times

As we rejoin our heroes, they are advancing on Prince George's native land of Karlavanc. Yes, it is a troubled time in Karlavanc, especially for royalty. The people have revolted against the ruling house, declairing it unfair and unjust, and that it had been denying them the basic rights due to all men. They said it not quite in that fashion, but that was the general meaning. And on the basis of thus, they had formed a revolution. A revolution in any case is not a happy thing, usually being violent and over-all-not-nice. However, it's even worse when we fling our mop-topped (or perhaps not so mop-topped) heroes into it's gaping jaws. And what shall they do? How could they ever conceivably stop such a radical group? After all, aren't our heroes lovers, not fighters? And how can they work with a prince and a war hero? It seems a bit out of proportion, our rag-tag group. War always has it's casualties, but with our young heroes there, it doesn't seem so casual. They must fight for their cause... but how do they know it's the right one?

Now, let us metaphorically zoom in on our odd crew and continue on with their story...

"So this is Karlavanc," whistled Ringo as he saw the land, bloody, barren and dark.

"Yes," said George grimly.

"Right mess, eh?" asked Paul.

"Not too bad..." muttered Jim as he stepped onto the land, laden with various baggage..

"Where do we start?" asked Paul.

Jim looked around, watching the marks left by bloody plays performed only hours earlier. He finally spied a small deserted looking farmhouse. Putting one finger to his lips, he motioned for the others to follow him and led the way. As they reached the door, Jim motioned for them to wait. He handed the bags to Ringo and shoved the door lightly with his foot. It creaked inwards.

Once inside, Jim could see a bare room. He explored more thoroughly, then allowed Paul and Ringo to bring George in.

"No guarantees, but I think we're safe here for now," assured Jim.

But as he was reassuring them, a noise came in from an adjacent closet. The door creaked ever so slightly, and a muffled sigh was heard. Jim once again motioned for silence. He tiptoed over to the door, staying carefully out of the line of vision of anyone who might be within. Ringo put the bags down and stood in front of George in a protecting manner. Paul tried to look innocent.

Jim wrenched the door open with a jerk, tearing it from it's frail hinges without any effort. When the dust cleared, he could see the contents of the closet: a worn blanket, a coat, a box, and a huddled figure. It was a little boy. The boy looked up quickly, his bright eyes glimmering.

"I'm not afraid of you," he whispered shakily, "I'm not..."

Jim picked up the boy roughly.

"Hey now!" objected Ringo," now then, he's only a boy."

"It's war," said Jim coldly.

"I don't care what it is," continued Ringo, "let him alone. He's done us no harm."

"Not yet," said Jim, through clenched teeth, but he set the boy back down, slightly more gently.

"Hey lad," said Paul, bending down, "what's your name?"

"I'm not afraid of you," repeated the child, shaking.

"That's all right then," said Paul, kneeling onto one knee, "I'm nobody to be afeard of. My name's Paul, what's yours?"

The boy eyed Paul warily.

"My daddy calls me James," said the boy.

"Oh great," Ringo whispered sardonically, "another James..."

"But my friends call me Tristian," the boy continued, happier.

"Odd friends," murmured Ringo.

"We'll call you Trist then, by your leave good sir," continued Paul, in an amiable fashion.

"Where's your daddy now, my good man?" asked Jim.

Tristian looked around anxiously, then whispered to Jim confidentially, "he's out."

"Out?" asked George.

The boy eyed George, astonished...."You're...."

Jim shot George a death look.

"...very tall," finished the boy still amazed.

George grinned confidentially, "not too tall, really."

"..wow..."continued Tristian.

Jim bent down to Tristian, and smiled at him, "Well lad, then when shall he be back?"

"'Dunno," said Tristian shortly, suddenly shy again, "he said he'd be back soon, an' for me to stay here, and he'd be back really soon. He left...and then... and then.. there was noise. I hid. But I wasn't afraid! There was more noise... I thought he was back, but he wasn't. Someone knocked, so I kept real quiet. Then... they went away. But Dad d'nt come back...I fell asleep."

"Ah well," said Paul quickly, "he's sure to be back before long."

"You think?" whispered Ringo.

"--hush--" said Jim sternly.

"Well," said George, turning to a bag he had brought, "are you hungry?"

While George was looking through the contents of the bag, Jim took up on the idea and went over to a small purse.

"Here," he said, almost too helpfully, "have a sandwich."

The boy took it and ate eagerly. George continued to look through the bag, while Paul and Ringo conversed in subdued tones over what they were going to do when they got back home.

Soon the boy finished his sandwich, then yawned.

"I'm tired," muttered Tristian, "wake me when dad gets ba..." Tristian dropped to the floor, asleep.

Jim smiled, then turned away.

"Now," said Jim, "We need to talk."

"What did you do to that boy?" asked George slightly angrily, "You can't hurt him--"

"He's not hurt, just asleep."

"Did you do it?" asked Paul.

"It's just a gentle sedative. He won't be hurt."

"He's just a kid!" argued Ringo, "what's your problem?! S'not like he's a spy."

"I've seen spies younger than him," said Jim grimly, "Anyhow, it's not like I poisoned him."

"You're too suspicious," accused Ringo.

"And you're too naive," finished Jim, "Ok," he continued," here's the deal. We are hiding out. It was far too much of a risk even to bring his majesty within a thousand miles of this place. But we're here. There's no turning back now. I'd like to make my job painfully clear. I am to protect Prince George to the death, and will go to any means to do so. Any means needed. No exceptions. Not even the innocent."