The Valiant Oberon Pendragon and His Less Handsome Sidekick 1.1

My first thought when I met Oberon Pendragon was that the man was a prick.

His expensive silver mirror reflected a practiced smile as he smoothed any flyaways from his well-tended blonde curls. Purple velvet coated his frame and he even had spotless white trousers. Hardly practical for a traveling knight.

Of course, he spotted me just as the grimace crossed my face and I hastily blanked my expression. His blue eyes tracked over me in a blatant assessment that ended with him snapping his compact mirror shut and turning to me with open arms.

"Rabastan," he grinned. "My new squire, I presume."

"It's Rat," I corrected.

"That's not… short for anything?"

I shook my head. His smile faltered, but he rallied in seconds.

"Rat, my good man," he clapped a hand on my shoulder with surprising force for a man with crow's feet and a frame that could only be described as petite. "Let's get a good, hot meal and a night at the inn to start our partnership off on the right foot. My treat, of course."

My second thought as he led us, joking and chattering at me on the way, to the local tavern was that maybe he wasn't so bad.

I was wrong, of course.

Dinner consisted of a bowl of hot stew and two hours of Oberon earnestly advising me to change my name. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I stood in the middle of his latest argument against my name and lifted my empty bowl, eyeing his cold, half-eaten dregs.

"Are you done?" I gestured at his bowl with mine.

"Well…" he poked the congealed remnants with obvious reluctance to continue, then waved away the question. "It's more important we get this name business ironed out. Imagine the songs! 'Oberon and Rat Save the Village?' You might as well forget about brand recognition; no bard is going to put that in a title!"

"You're done," I decided with a hint of an edge in my tone, sweeping away his bowl before he could protest. His calls to come back fell on deaf ears as I dropped off our bowls and stalked toward the stairs.

"Meet me here tomorrow morning!" He called after me helplessly, shooting the innkeeper a wry smile. "Young men have no patience for a good meal," he told her coyly.

Her answering giggle made me shudder at the top step. She'd already told us we were the only patrons tonight and there were just two rooms. It was easy to pick the one closest to the stairs and throw shut the deadbolt with a clunk.

I dropped myself into the scratchy bed and fought the urge to scream into my pillow. Just my luck to end up squire to the most self-absorbed knight in the country.

Well, less luck and more design, I suppose. After all, I was here for a reason.

Being top of my class at the camps had been a point of pride for me. I'd spent so many sleepless nights practicing my form, rereading my two precious books on history and tactics. I'd even pushed through my trouble with numbers with sheer bullheaded determination alone. And I'd done it all on my own. Not that the noble sons and daughters sent there with their families' money would've helped if I asked, but the point was, the accomplishment was all mine.

And what did it get me? A late night trip to the captain's strategy tent where he entrusted me with a mission he couldn't give to anyone else. I'd thought it was because I was the best, but after meeting Oberon, I wondered if it was because I was expendable. There wasn't anyone to complain about my treatment but me.

Still, I did agree that it needed to be done. Oberon himself had cemented my resolve in that. Furthermore, Captain Gallus had given me this duty himself. Me, of everyone he could have trusted.

I fell asleep that night blocking out the sound of Oberon entertaining the middle-aged innkeeper in the room next door and knew I was doing the right thing.

I, Rat Jones, solemnly swore to bring down the knight Oberon Pendragon if it was the last thing I'd ever do.