Brothers in Arms (Two Little Boys Edited)

Brothers in Arms
for john

Snow fell from the heavens, covering the wintry countryside in a thick blanket of purest white. Clouds cloaked the sky completely in a dull gray dome. A sleepy country village sat huddled against rolling hills. Its Tudor buildings clinging to each other like frightened children in the blizzard. Roofs seemed to be painted with the snow, icicles frozen in eternal falls dripped from their weathered tiles.
Two travelers trudged through the snow, heading for the village’s central tavern. The inn’s lights guided them, a lighthouse amidst a churning sea. Candles flickered from the frosted windows; projecting what little warmth they held to the blistering cold outside, as the taller of the two guided his diminutive companion through the less dense patches of snow. Nearing the door, the tall figure turned back to his friend, a benevolent smile on his youthful face.
“Here we are Dravin, in Gribble, right outside the Drunken Dragon Inn. Be cautious around here, I hear the Gribble Guard doesn’t have a very good sense of humor. I don’t want any little episode with you like we had in Lubton. Are we clear?” he said, a bemused look spreading across his face. Dravin, his three foot short companion, smiled awkwardly, his head slightly too big in proportion to the rest of his body.
“Aww…Joken, what did I do that was so bad in Lubton? I had a jolly time with that wench!”
“Yes...until her father discovered that poem you wrote for her. I think he probably must have been pretty distressed while he was reading about his daughter’s lips in such poetic and excruciating detail. You know that humans don’t take kindly to your Halfling kind!” replied Joken.
“Well…it would have worked if you hadn’t rushed me. That poem would have been safe, but I ran and it fell out of my pouch. Watch…one day I’ll find a human female that takes a fancy to midgets!”
“You shouldn’t call yourself that. Your kind is much more noble than mine. My kind is constantly warring, fighting, raping, stealing, plundering, and all manner of unseemly practices. Your kind have lived in peaceful existence with one another for millennia, just quietly farming.”
“I hate farming. The animals relieve themselves way too much than they should physically be able to. An’ when you eat them it takes four hours to chew on the bloody steak. The only good thing they had goin’ for them in Bumfluff Manor was the weed. Ok, fine, I’ll behave myself here. But if there are any blondes…” Dravin’s voice trailed off as he received a withering look from his human companion.
Pushing the rotting tavern door in, Joken and Dravin waltzed through the frame. A cavernous room greeted them. As Joken closed the door, a gush of wind blew in snow, sucking warmth from the tavern into the frigid night. As the door shut, the two friends looked around. The inn encircled them in an oval shape. A second level rose above the first; wooden barricades were built around this higher floor, and stopped drunkards from falling to the first floor. Wooden rafters hung over the two travelers’ snow flaked heads. All manor of human drank, danced, and reveled as Joken led Dravin through the convulsing crowd.
Reaching the oak bar, they faced the bartender. Dravin’s head just slightly rose above the counter, as he tried to crane his non-existent neck to regard the grisly barman. Joken pushed back his brown hair as he ordered Dragonmilk for he and Dravin.
“We don’t serve non-humans at the bar. You should clean your feet of dirt before you come.” Joken glared at the malicious bartender; rage bubbling up from a well deep within him. Shifting his cloak so the hilt of his broadsword just showed, Joken again asked the man for some drinks. The man hesitated for a moment, his grey eyes shifting uneasily. Deciding that he did not wish to aggravate the customer, the man passed over a couple of filled mugs.
“Alright, I’ll serve you. You’ll have to go in the back booths where all the dwarfs are. Shortie here will feel right at home.” he chuckled, as Dravin and Joken headed for the booths under the second floor’s walkway.
About a dozen tables consisted of the back booths. Most of the round tables were filled with gangs of dwarfs merrily drinking and singing. Their bushy beards appeared drenched in every form of alcohol ever conceived, as their armor clinked while they swayed in time to an old dwarf rhyme. A few slammed their hammers down on the wooden tables, a beat to sing along to:
‘Twas ten centuries ago this day, this day,
That down’ in the mines of ole’ they say, they say,
That the scalie Tinwing did pay, did pay,
For all he had done down ‘neath the clay, ‘neath the clay,
When the legions of fabled Pangard came to play, came to play,
The dragon did die to his dismay, his dismay,
And all the dwarfs in the ancient hall cried out, Horray! Horray!
Joken and Dravin wisely sat as far away from the dwarfs as possible, as the song ended with a brawl when a few teenage dwarfs had added a few rude lines of their own creation to the revered tune. Dravin watched his Dragonmilk burst into flames a few times, the flammable liquid gushing out of the tankard and scorching the table with its acidity.
Eyeing his sullen companion mischievously, Dravin took a huge swig of the dangerous substance, slamming the tankard back down with a shaking hand. Opening his mouth, the Halfling burped out a small fireball. Flames skidded across the abused surface of their table. The short-lived flames died out just before they reached Joken at the other side of the table. With his brown eyes glinting ruefully, Joken chugged his own Dragonmilk and slopped it back down on the protesting table. Opening his mouth, Joken burped, and a gigantic fireball spewed from his mouth. Dravin jumped, falling backwards over his chair, his rotund body seeming to bounce off the stone floor of the tavern. Joken’s fireball vanished in mid-air, unused to the cold temperature this far away from where it had been taken from its home in the udder of a jungle dragon.
Joken laughed uproariously as his friend groped for his chair that had fallen on top of him. Seating himself back down, the Halfling glared at his friend, and then began to sip the rest of his fiery milk in humbled silence.
Joken scanned the room, his eyes taking in the assorted humans that entertained themselves in the lighter and more comfortable areas of the tavern. A wench was stretched out among what looked like a whole contingent of some barbarous army; the men seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. A singer sang in the center platform of the room, ignored by almost everyone in the musty tavern. All the other humans seemed not to notice the human that had accompanied the Halfling in.
Turning his attention back to Dravin, Joken smiled. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. His place was with Dravin, his loyal companion. If humankind didn’t want Dravin, Joken didn’t want humankind.
The entrance to the tavern was suddenly thrown open, several members of the Gribble guard strode in, their extravagant red capes billowing behind them. Joken automatically jumped up, his hardened battle instincts kicking in. Dravin looked up from his empty tankard, his blue eyes drunkenly watching the armored men march up to their table.
“We heard there was a Halfling infesting our humble village! Typical…its primitive mind couldn’t comprehend the signs all around Gribble that said NO HALFLINGS! You and your SHORT kind shouldn’t be permitted to breathe our air!” said the lead guard, his well kempt face sneering.
Before either of the companions could react, the dwarfs behind them ceased their arguing and sprinted to the guards, their beards bristling with indignation.
“Who…may we ask, are you calling SHORT? We are not short…we are vertically challenged…and I’ll have you be reminded that derogatory remarks to people under the height of four feet is not to be tolerated! You pink monkeys!” said the dwarf who was acting as leader. Turning to Joken and Dravin with a calm expression, the dwarf said:
“Alright, lads, that will suffice for racial slurs! I would advise that you two take out your weapons…assuming you have them, of course. I also advise that you chaps run far way from here…very far away…there is about to be a lot of blood, booze, and hopefully later babes! We’ll keep Gribble busy ‘till the sun comes up! Cheerio!”
No sooner had the words flowed from the dwarf’s mouth than Joken had unsheathed his broadsword and Dravin had brandished an uncountable number of lethal looking daggers. The Gribble guard had also reacted too, taking out their scimitars and waving them around as if to frighten off what they viewed as armored fur balls. The dwarfs leapt from their positions, causing the whole tavern to burst into a bar fight. Chairs were flung left and right as humans jumped at any excuse to rebel against their strict authorities. The dwarfs motioned for the two companions to run out the door. The fur balls banging large hammers on their helmeted skulls and the raucous human population distracted the Gribble guards. One guard caught sight of Dravin making his way through the tumultuous crowd. Aiming a miniature crossbow at the Halfling the guard smiled. Before he could pull the trigger however, Joken knocked the crossbow out of his hands, and ran him through with his broadsword, pushing the body into a crumpled heap on the floor.
Opening the tavern door quietly, the pair crept out into the blizzard. Shutting the door behind him, Dravin blew a big sigh of relief, as the noise of the ensuing bar fight filtered through the chipped door. Turning, he took Joken’s side. Whistling for the two ponies that had ridden them here, Joken and Dravin jumped on their small mounts. The two bolted into the dwindling light.
Riding a large pony, Joken struggled to keep his feet from dragging on the mounting snow. Watching Dravin drift off to sleep on the white pony trotting alongside him, Joken smiled inwardly. He watched his companion sleepily, almost not wanting to doze in fear of something happening to his friend. Dravin was all he had. Joken had felt a strong bond with Dravin almost immediately after meeting him, and they had made quick friends. Now, Joken knew that they would protect each other with their lives. They were truly brothers. Bonds like that were never severed. Joken watched his friend as his blue eyes closed. Dravin knew he would be safe with Joken close by. The night enveloped the duo, as the blizzard swirled around them unhampered…