Evil Overlord by Steve Jones -B5
 (2 ratings)
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SUMMARY: another entry in the vs flash fiction contest. Huds had been taken off the street by the King's guards, brought to the castle where he was forced to wash up, his rags replaced by simple clothes, but with a lot less holes. He kept waiting for the other foot to drop, for him to be sentenced, or just sent down to the dungeon.
He didn't remember ever opposing the King ... out loud.
Instead, Huds was taken to a huge room, with huge fires at both ends. A table filled the middle of the room, covered with more food than Hud's whole family had seen through the whole year. His mouth watered to look at it, but he stood his ground. Huds knew he might get a bite or two before the guards hauled him off, maybe they would throw him over the side of the castle above the rocks, or worse, tie him under the heavy metal gate, and let it close on him.
"You haven't started eating yet?" The voice called from off to the side. The King entered along with a single page, who solemnly stepped off to the side and stood, watching for when he might be needed.
Huds knelt down, putting his hands on his knees and his eyes to the floor.
"Well, thank you," the King said. "But I'm not holding court, you don't have to bow. Get up. Take a seat."
Huds swallowed, trying to wet his dry throat, and stood up. He walked hesitantly to the table and sat down.
"That's much better," the King said. "Do you mind if I join you?"
"Certainly," Huds croaked.
"Very good," the King said, sitting down. "Now, I'm Trent, King. And you are?"
"Huds ... sheep shearer."
"That does explain..." the King said, then stopped himself. "You are responsible for some of that wonderful wool we spin for blankets and tapestries."
"... and breeches," Huds added, finding himself able to breath again.
"There is that," the King said in the same friendly manner. "I prefer cotton myself, it's not as warm but it itches less. But Huds, you haven't eaten a bite."
"Would it be untoward sir," Huds asked, hoping there were no guards about. "If I were to take one of these rolls home to my wife. She loves bread."
"But of course," the King said. "Page."
The young boy scampered to the Kings side.
"Get one of those empty sacks they use for flour in the kitchen and fill it with leftover food. Make sure you get a loaf of bread, and one of the chickens, and those little green things, you'll love those, and put it in here right beside the door for Mister Huds."
"How can I thank you?" Huds suddenly said. He had heard a lot about the King, but it didn't seem to be true at all.
"You can eat," the King said. "And talk. We are not on two sides of some conflict, we are in the same kingdom, and I want to know what you think."
The two talked for hours, about last year's crop failure and how that effected everything in the district. They talked about keeping animals out of trouble, and mother's in law. At last, the King walked Huds to the door, making sure he had his bag of food with him, and the guards showed him out of the castle gate.
Huds went home, with a bag full of food. He could just see the look on his wife's face as she opened it up. She would be even more surprised when she heard who provided it.
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As King Trent walked out of the lower dining room he was joined by his advisor Nortlan.
"How many times do I have to do this?" the King demanded.
"Many more times I'm afraid," Nortlan said, shaking his head. "Do remember last month when we sent a young man out to raise an army against you? It only took him a week to find a hundred men."
"Yeah, but we took care of them."
"First," Nortlan said firmly. "Officially we didn't do anything. That young fool must have raising an army to sell in the Southern kingdoms as slaves. And second, we can't afford to lose that much of our work force again."
"But this is intolerable," the King protested again.
"And necessary," Nortlan said. "We will raise your approval level, just wait and see."
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