Author's note: I am currently working on a much longer story, but wound up with some writer's block. While that story is on the back-burner I decided to write something else that was simple, fun and short and this is the result.
Daylight flooded into the modest hall through simple windows, illuminating the three men gathered inside. The lord of the small village sat upon his wooden throne, a simple but functional seat of power that had been handmade in the town it ruled. The lord's advisor stood at his side and the two men listened to the farmer standing before them express his worries.
"My Lord Wulfhard, thank you for hearing me. My farm is fine, but I worry about my neighbor, Mrs. Fulk." The lord nodded and scratched his chin, a frown working its way onto his face as he recalled what had happened to her family.
"Mrs. Fulk? Yes, I remember now. She lost her husband and son last year, correct?" The peasant nodded and continued.
"Yes my lord, she's the one. Mister Fulk and his son both suddenly took ill and before the day was out they were dead. My family helps her as much as we can, but we can't properly manage both our fields and hers. We just don't have enough hands, my lord."
"I see." Wulfhard murmured as he rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I will speak with her today and find a solution, so do not worry about her any longer." The farmer nodded, but didn't leave. He still fidgeted nervously and apprehension still painted his face. The lord had a reputation for being fair but harsh.
"What will happen to her my lord? She's done nothing wrong and-"
"I will do what is best for Borsholm." Wolfhard cut him off. "We all have our duties. If someone is unable or unwilling to fulfill them I will look into it and act accordingly." The peasant bowed and left the lord's hall, leaving the minor noble alone with his advisor.
"Another day, another problem." Wulfhard mentioned to his advisor, the older man stoically nodding at his lord's observation.
"The many intricacies of ruling a sleepy country hamlet my lord. It may not be prestigious, but there is something satisfying about a well-managed village and productive people." Wulfhard agreed, and the two men set back to work, hearing concerns and mediating disputes.
The sun sank low in the sky, the evening giving the villagers a chance to unwind and settle down before the night came and carried them off to sleep. Wulfhard had finished taking audiences that day and was already on his way to the widow Fulk's farmhouse, eager to get his duty over and done with.
It wasn't pleasant or kind, but he was most likely going to have to evict her. There was no way she would be able to work her farm's sections of the fields and meet her crop rents. Beyond that, her section of land could feed and support a whole family and it was his duty to ensure the land was used as efficiently as possible.
He reached the widow's house in no time at all and didn't even hesitate to knock, his rough hands rapping on the hovel's door. He was technically a noble, but he was not afraid of field work. The strenuous activity made his body strong and being seen in the fields getting his hands dirty with the peasantry earned him their respect. The widow's door opened and Mrs. Fulk appeared.
