Of Prison
Bree's markets were always busy at Noon. The streets always full of merchants, merchandise, travelers, visitors and, worst of all, pick pockets. Flambard hated it, watching the children and young adults move through the crowd and silently pull coins, bracelets, and other baubles of value from unsuspecting victims. Flambard had been ordered not to intervene unless the traveler noticed. Until then, he would watch and cringe as he saw the younglings move through the crowd. His thoughts wandered as he swung his sling around, but mostly focused around his own younglings. How grateful he was that the Guards had hired him. Hobbits here in Bree were often thought little of, if anyone noticed them.
As a fight broke out near a vendor, Flambard jumped down from his elevated view of the square and southern street, his leather squeaking against his arm guard, wet from the misting rain that had been moistening the area all week. "Outta thee way," he yelled, shoving through the big folk that had formed a circle around the fight. A few wouldn't move, so he grasped the pocket of his sling and brought the leather strings across their backsides. They moved then, normally with a yelp and a curse directed at him. "Outta thee way, Guard comen thru!" He shouted again, now swishing the leather straps of his sling back and forth, striking everyone in his way, as it sounded like the fight escalated. He could see it now, it seemed that a shorter person in a cloak and hood was either trying to get out of the crowd, or stir them up. The latter happened more often then not, Flambard growled his breath and plunged into the tussle, his sling flaying this way and that, his voice raised over the noise of the brawl, many moved away now that the officials had arrived. The shorter happened to be a dwarf, his cowl pulled low over his head, shadows covering his frightened face. Flambard stood at the edge of the fight, digging in his pouch for a stone to sling at the fighters. The other two were big folk, who didn't appear to know what they were doing; the dwarf sure did though! Flambard raised his sling and stone, whirling it over his head as he watched the three attack each other. He loosed it at the dwarf, who fell onto his back. The other two, however did not back down from fighting, they continued to barrage the dwarf. " 'AY," Flambard yelled at them, running around to face them. "I said stop," he added as he loosed another stone as he moved, this one found its way to the buttox of the man who was barraging the dwarf, he stopped with a sharp shriek and a quick movement to feel the damaged muscle. The other dropped the dwarf, he had been holding him in a way do he couldn't fight back. Not that he would, he was out cold. The one with the bruised backside sneered at the guard hobbit, still rubbing his bruise. "Oi, let us handle this monster, he's too big fer ye!" "By the authority of-" Flambard was stuck by the second man, who stood above him with a mocking sneer. Flambard landed on his elbows and knees, his head reeling from the strike. "I remember you," he growled. "You're the one who took my woman!" Flambard cringed. He remembered this bloke too. He had been apart of many thefts, armed robberies, and other crimes, while his partner was his wife. When the Guard had enough evidence to convict them both, the Magistrate gave the man a plea deal, which he gladly took over whatever sentence the Magistrate would have decreed. The woman however, wasn't as lucky. She was sentenced to ten years in prison, and two years of community service after that. The man gave Flambard a powerful kick to his ribs, knocking what little breath he had out of him. Flambard cringed, his stomach threatening to leave through his mouth as he rolled across the cobbled streets. When he stopped, Flambard reached into his pouch, grabbing his little whistle, putting it to his bloody lip and blowing a long and clear note, followed by two short. As he took a deep breath to repeat the call, the second man kicked the whistle away from him and smashed his hand against the street, giving a horrible crunch. Flambard yelled out in pain, pushing at the heavy foot covering that pinned him to the ground, tears filling his eyes from the pain. Beyond the shoe, The hobbit could see the others on the street glancing at him, then walking away. Even with the possibility of having a community mocking, they wouldn't help him. How little the big folk think of them, the hobbits! They must think of them as a nuisance, a pest even! Flambard brought his teeth down on the man's ankle, which was sharply yanked out of his grip as the human howled in angry pain, holding his bloody foot. Flambard shakily stood, his breath short and raspy. The one who had pinned him was still screaming about his foot, but the other was getting his rear end handed to him by the, still frightened, still tired, dwarf. "OI, SCATTER!" Someone who had stuck around to watch yelled, pointing behind Flambard. The clipity clop of horse hooves emitted from the noise of the crowds behind him, along with the clanking of armor. "Master Flambard! Do you have any idea what you've done?!" The Captain paced behind his desk, a scowl wrinkling his already wrinkly face, his mustache was actually riding up his face however. Flambard wasn't sure if he was amused or enraged, it was quite hard to tell with him. The Hobbit's arm was in a cushioned sling, and he was leaned back in his chair, a cold steak on his face. How the Captain had convinced the Magistrate to give him a steak was beyond him! He could also only breath in short gasps, but otherwise he was alright. His job, however, was on the brink of dying. "As punishment, you are restricted to jail duty until further notice," The Captain said, snarling at the hobbit. "And if any of the criminals act out, if you dare even attempt to calm them, you'll wish you were still a brewer..." Flambard pulled his head off the back of the chair, his mouth open to give the captain a Tookish insult. Jailer's duty?! How wretchedly boring! And that was only if there were prisoners within the cells, otherwise it was making sure the armor was clean and polished, the barracks were also clean, and the fireplace was free of ash! But the fury hiding calmly behind his commander's eyes silently told him not to push further. With a tired salute, Flambard stood and shuffled to the jailer's desk, located just down the hall and a little to the left, directly opposite of the cells. They had only two prisoners today, thankfully. The woman from the crime couple had been there, but was sent to the northern jail, where she could be better taken care of as she served out her sentence. The cell furthest away from the Jailer's desk held a small boy who had picked a wealthy dwarf with a very large red beard, Flambard remembered the beard reminded him of pig tusks. The dwarf had, at first, asked that the boy be punished harshly, he had after all, stolen a very large golden chain from him, the dwarf said it was from his father. As the child was dragged away, Flambard was asked to get the dwarf's full report, as usual. The dwarf watched as the child was taken away, a grim look on his bushy face. The first thing he said was a plea to reduce the child's punishment, he then dug io his pockets and fished out several gold coins to give to the boy once he was released. Flambard was then very glad he had been the one to get the dwarf's report, because he then gave Flambard several coins as well. The other prisoner was the dwarf that had started the fight, he was currently sleeping, stirring ever so slightly in his sleep. The guard sitting at the table smiled at Flambard as he waked in to the room, his gaze still a little taller then the Hobbit's. "And the mighty warrior vanquishes the dragon again," he shouted, slapping his knee as he moved to stand, giving the seat and post to Flambard. "Aye, but I might have no hair left," Flambard said, gratefully taking the now empty seat. The guard laughed again, slapping Flambard's back. "But that ain't what matters Tookie, what matters is that you've-" "Shown I can handle my own, and that may get me promoted," Flambard finished with the guard, ending with a grumble. "How many times does that make it now, Stephen?! How much longer will I need to get the stuffing beat out of me?!" Before his friend could reply, the Captain walked past, casting a weary glance at the two as he passed, heading to the door at the end of the hallway that lead out to the street. As the door slammed shut, Stephen replied. "Maybe you're going about it the wrong way?" Flambard gave him a tired glare, Stephen shrugged as he snatched his coat off the desk. "Well, I'm off to have dinner with her folks," he said, slinging his coat over his shoulder and staring dreamily into nothing. Flambard rolled his eyes, adjusting his piece of steak so it wouldn't fall off his face. "So you think she's the one," Flambard asked with a light chuckle. "Oh, absolutely," he said, emphasizing the last two syllables, pulling his open hand towards himself, closing it as it neared his chest. "She's got the most beautiful voice, I bet the Magistrate would pay her just to speak at him," here he lowered his voice, "That is, if he could hear!" The two laughed, although Flambard was quite sure he said the same thing about the last girl. Stephen shrugged, a goofy grin on his face as he strode proudly towards the door. "Wish me luck," he called over his shoulder as he walked through the door. It shut with a loud thud as he kicked it, a habit Stephen had been warned about, but he never listened to the warnings. Flambard sighed as he leaned back in the old wooden chair, rotating his head as he settled into his chair.Three hours had gone by, he had eaten a meal with the prisoners, it happened to be the child's last one there before being released. He had stared at the golden coins as Flambard gave him instructions so he wouldn't end up back in the cells, or the stocks. The dwarf watched as the child ran out the door, he munched slowly on his gruel, and watched as Flambard shuffled back to the desk, hissing as he sat down. "Glad to see you can walk," he said, setting his half eaten bowl to the side. "What of you're hand?" Flambard looked at his bandaged hand, grimacing as he tried to move one of his fingers. "Well, Doc said it should be better, assuming he didn't completely shatter every bone, in a few months, but I can even move any fingers," He replied, pulling his mouth to one side as he lifted his hand up to show the dwarf. The dwarf's jaw rotated as he looked at the bandaged hand, the entire thing was covered and splinted, the only bit of skin on his arm between the end of the bandage and the cuff of his coat was a little green, but it otherwise looked like a hand. "My apologies," the dwarf said, standing and striding to the cell bars. "But I could have handled it." Flambard snorted, "And I'm seven foot eight! What were you even thinking, picking a fight like that?!" The dwarf pursed his lips slightly as he thought, a dark, frightening look crossed his eyes for a moment, before turning sorrowful. "I accidentally ran into the woman behind me, her courtier over reacted." Flambard snorted again, this time a tight smile graced his round face. "Well, that sounds like a good man! Any idea who threw the first punch?" "Sir Hobbit, I know you are doing your job," the dwarf said, growing impatient, by the tone in his voice. "But I am going to be late for a very important meeting." "Don't think I don't know what you're doing," Flambard said, his voice strained. "You probably cost me my yearly bonus, any use from my hand for the next quarter, and I very well might be fired because of you-" "As I said before, you shouldn't have gotten involved-" "Don't interrupt! And don't think you are getting out of that cell! You're staying there until morning, at the very least!" Silence fell between the two, only the fireplace crackled as it slowly warmed the room. The dwarf stuck his chin out and went back to the mattress in the corner of his cell, probably contemplating his actions as he rubbed his beard. Flambard stuck his own chin out and grumbled a quiet curse, directed at him, setting the steak on the desk as he moved to place more wood onto the fire. Most of the night passed without much more, the dwarf returned to sleeping, but he didn't get much. Every time he would find sleep, he would toss and turn, grumble, at one point he even woke up crying. Flambard kept his nose in his book, trying to ignore the dwarf's stifled sobs, but it was becoming increasingly harder to do as the night passed.
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