Herbert the Mouse

‘Thirty years, it has been.’ thought the mouse as he was making his way around the castle’s keep. Pattering his way through several holes, and cracks. ‘Thirty years since that cursed elf came into our kingdom and ruined it, ruined everything.’ Herbert, as the mouse was named, thought back to when the keep had been a hub of activity and grandeur. A kingdom to rival that of their northern neighbors, the kingdom of Than-In. During that time, they had been visited by an elf in dark robes who promised them riches and rewards. He promised to make the king a great man amongst all. For days that elf had stayed with them in feast and merry making. Yet disaster came upon them the third day when the tragedy struck. The elf tricked the king and cursed him and addled his mind, as he had long been an ally to the king of Than-In. He killed all the king's sons, daughters, and all his lords. He turned the king mad and fled the castle. For many years the kingdom had not seen aid until five years ago hearing word that Meradoth had been defeated, and the Kingdom of the North now ruled by one called Gregory, who sent supplies to the needy of the kingdom. But now the aid had stopped as a drought was occurring in all the lands, and the people were starving. This was going to be a long winter when it came, and many would die. Herbert breathed deeply in thought as he reached the grand hall, whereas always the king was sitting on his throne. His hair had long since grown out, only being trimmed by the mouse on rare occasions, and he was attempting to call council. Looking around the room, however, made it clear that no such council would be held. The seats of all the lords and ladies that once held them were in ruin, either by age, or destroyed. Bones from those who were on this once great council lay dusty and broken. Herbert had walked in right as the king was attempting something of a roll call. “Lord Ashford, where is Lord Ashford?” Gazing around the empty room the derelict king nodded. Having seemed to have assured himself of his inane reasoning. “Late again, that's the fifth time this year, I’ll have to send a raven to his keep.” Little did the crazed king notice, but the bones of the previous Lord Ashford had been only twenty feet away right at the spot he had died protecting the king that fateful day. This carried on for some time, Herbert adopted a perch high above in the rafters, and frowned. ‘Master, I wish there was something I could do for you, but I am just a humble pet mouse.’ He turned tail not long after and made his way out of the keep and into the city for which the keep was located. The City of Daron they had called it, but now a common short-handed name for it was now known as the barren city. Nothing had lived in the city since that fateful day. Making his way across the drawbridge as it creaked and groaned under him. Looking down into the moat, he wondered if anything lived in the water. He shook his head and threw that from his mind. If anything did live down there it was most likely able to eat him, and that was not something to think about. Making one’s way into the city, one could tell that it was once a glorious, and a very lively place. Now the streets echoed with the sounds of alley cats, and dogs, or the occasional rat. The only things that could survive such a place. The cracked windows and broken buildings made him shudder; they always did. He slowly made his way to the hill near town, there was a rock there he liked to perch on and watch the fields flow and look at the landscape. ‘This was a fine city, now it’s a dead husk.’ Making his way up the hill as the sun was rising the midday. The mouse was smiling, if you could tell a smile on a mouse. He enjoyed the view, and it made him appreciate the larger world. The golden wheat fields blew in the gentle breeze, soon it would be harvesting season, and winter would come as it had come every time before. For now, though he enjoyed the view. Behind him a glowing light had come not from the sun, but from somewhere below it. It was near blinding to the mouse; he ran behind the rock where he could afford some safety. The light glowed brighter until it suddenly stopped, and where the glow had come a person had stood, someone that had not been there before. He looked elderly, yet unlike many of those folk held himself high in regards. A long white beard, and a white cloak barred him from the world. In his hand a large staff made of some wood, of ash or willow. The mouse breathed not knowing what to do he could make it away unseen; he was small enough. Yet just as the thought crossed his mind the voice of the figure called out. “And where are you running off to my friend?” Herbert froze, ‘he cannot have been talking to me,’ thought the mouse. He crept forward a few paces, when the voice called again. “I AM talking to you, my young mouse friend, why don’t you come back and come atop the rock so I may see you.”