"There's a thin line between bravery and stupidity. Ours jumped over it, then set it on fire."
— Anonymous historian, probably fired shortly after.
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It was a blustery afternoon in Rottelbury-on-Slush, the kind where merchants shouted prices over one another, children darted between horses' legs, and the ever-present aroma of smoked herring mixed with what smelled like... burning boots.
Blunt had just left a bakery...empty-handed, of course, as "Royal Hero" was not a recognized currency, and sulked past a crate of withering turnips, when a sudden uproar drew his attention toward the town's main thoroughfare.
"Oi! Let go of me, you ogres!" a voice wailed.
Blunt peered between a cluster of gawking townsfolk and saw two Crown Enforcers, broad and grim as brick walls, dragging a flailing man in battered armor. His dented helmet hung by a single strap, and one of his boots was flopping open at the toe like a puppet mid-monologue.
Blunt squinted. "Hang about… I know that scream…"
The townsfolk whispered among themselves.
"That's Sir Gaspard, innit?" one asked, hushed and reverent.
"Aye," muttered an old man cleaning an apple on his sleeve.
"Used to be a legend. Said he once slew the Warlord of Elgren with a single stroke."
"Aye," another voice answered.
"And now look," said a younger woman, "getting dragged like a sack of bad poetry."
"Can't even pay for his own undergarments."
Blunt's eyes lit up. "Knight.." he muttered to himself. "Perfect."
He brushed crumbs off his lapel, tugged at his coat to look slightly more heroic, and marched into the street.
"Gentlemen!" he called after them.
The Enforcers stopped, blinking at the mustachioed man in a coat far too fancy for his manners.
"I believe you're manhandling a member of my entourage."
The guards looked him up and down.
"And who might you be?" the larger one asked, clearly unimpressed.
Blunt lifted his chin. "I am Sir Bartholomew Blunt. Perhaps you've heard of me?"
The guards exchanged a look.
"… The one who saved the Prince?" one of them asked.
Blunt smiled like a man who had definitely saved a prince. "Exactly."
One guard leaned toward the other. "Didn't he nearly burn down a stable?"
"The official report said 'accidental fire,'" Blunt corrected quickly. "Now if you don't mind, I'll be needing my man back."
The smaller enforcer frowned. "This one?" He looked down at Gaspard, who was now sprawled on the cobblestones groaning.
"Yes. That one. Critical to my mission. You know how these... types are. Flamboyant. Dramatic. But brave in battle. Like peacocks with swords."
Gaspard, who had been trying to gnaw through one of the guard's gloves, stopped suddenly.. "Wait... is this it?"
Blunt frowned. "Is what it?"
Gaspard's eyes darted left, then right. "Is... this the pardon? Are you… are you the one from the program?"
Blunt blinked. "The what now?"
"The pardon," Gaspard said urgently, pulling free of the guards with a sudden burst of energy, "You're with the program, right? The secret redemption for fallen knights? I heard about it in a tavern once. Said it was so secret no one would ever admit it existed."
"Sure, that. Yes. That's me," Blunt said, now just going with it.
Gaspard gasped, and dropped to his knees. "I've sinned, I confess it! I once faked my own death to avoid duel taxes! I stole a sacred relic because it looked shiny! I told a horse I loved her and meant it!"
Blunt took a startled step back. "Okay. That's..."
"I told the king's portrait to sod off after my sixth mead! I've named all my swords after failed relationships!"
The larger enforcer raised an eyebrow. "Well, he's got spirit."
Blunt gave a nervous laugh. "Yes, that's why we're recruiting him. For the... spirit."
The guards exchanged a glance. The bigger one shrugged. "He's all yours. Just keep him away from civic property."
"Much obliged," Blunt said, bowing. He grabbed Gaspard by the shoulder and hoisted him to his feet.
Gaspard straightened up like a man reborn. "I won't let you down, sir! You won't regret this! I swear it on my rusted honor."
"Wonderful," Blunt muttered, brushing mud off Gaspard's cloak. "Now, let's find something to eat, and perhaps a healer. You smell like old socks and misery."
"Then we can discuss your... very confidential duties."
As they walked away, Gaspard looked over his shoulder. "You think they'll forgive me for the horse thing?"
Blunt replied without turning, "Let's just hope you didn't name it after a royal."
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Did we forget something? Something small, four-legged, and vaguely heroic?"
•
"Ah yes! Justice the Donkey. Of course. How dreadfully irresponsible of us."
"You see, back in Chapter two-ish (who's counting?), Blunt's beloved companion was held hostage by the tavern's management, pending payment of Blunt's staggering bar tab. And tonight...oh yes, dear reader—tonight, they're here to steal him back."
"What follows is less a rescue... and more an ill-coordinated felony."
-------------------
Blunt crouched behind a stack of crates that had clearly been a mouse hotel for the better part of a decade, and Gaspard was beside him, hyperventilating into a folded lace handkerchief.
BLUNT (whispering):
"There she is, Gaspard. The tavern. The last known location of our most noble companion."
"I cannot believe I agreed to this," Gaspard whispered, pale as parchment. "This cannot possibly be legal."
Blunt peeked around the corner. "It's a rescue mission."
"You said I was being inducted into the Royal Order of Restored Honour!"
"You are. This is part of the ceremony."
"You told me there'd be tea!"
"There will be tea. Once we liberate my donkey."
Gaspard blinked. "I'm sorry, did you say donkey?"
Blunt turned to him, "Justice. My noble steed. My confidant. My accountant."
"You never mentioned a donkey!" Gaspard's voice rose half an octave.
"You were emotionally fragile," Blunt waved dismissively. "Didn't want to overwhelm you. Now listen—your job is to cause a distraction inside the tavern. Something dramatic. Something loud. Something knightly."
"I can't just perform on command!"
"You did at lunch."
"That was indigestion!"
"Perfect. Channel it."
Before Gaspard could protest further, Blunt shoved him toward the tavern's main doors.
•
Gaspard entered like a man preparing for execution; with overdramatic flair and visible dread..
He inhaled sharply and climbed atop a rickety table, promptly slipping on a pickle and nearly snapping his ankle. He steadied himself, drew his sword and unsheathed it, which he immediately dropped onto someone's stew.
"MY GOOD PEOPLE," he announced, voice cracking like old timber, "KNOW YE THAT I HAVE RETURNED...!"
The room fell into total silence. Then someone near the hearth yelled, "Is that the guy who cried during arm-wrestling?!"
Murmurs followed.
Gaspard grabbed a candlestick and held it aloft like a flaming torch of justice. "I AM GASPAR—!" But the candle sputtered out.
He cleared his throat and tried again. "I AM GASPAR— I mean, Gaspard the Grim! Last heir of Dregmoor! Slayer of Warlord Varn!"
He struck a heroic pose.
"I STAND BEFORE YOU—A KNIGHT REDEEMED!"
A barmaid threw a biscuit at his head.
"Oi, get off the table, it's my birthday!"
A mug flew past his head, he dodged, knocking over a tray of sausages. It was enough noise to cover Blunt's entrance.
---
Meanwhile, In the Stable Alley
Blunt tiptoed around barrels, whispering like a lovesick ghost. "Justice... old boy… papa's come home."
The donkey stood near the rear kitchen entrance, chewing something paperlike. His eyes were half-lidded in that judgmental donkey way. He didn't flinch, until Blunt stepped closer.
The donkey shifted. He squinted at Blunt. Snorted. Then brayed, loud and accusatory.
BLUNT:
"Shhh! It's me, you stubborn bag of hooves!"
Blunt reached for the rope.
Justice, sensing something was off (probably Blunt's recently washed clothing), let loose a mighty bray and kicked.
WHAM.
Justice's rear legs shot out, catching Blunt square in the chest and launching him into a haystack. "oof."
BLUNT (muffled, from hay):
"Okay... deserved that."
----------------
"Truer words have never been spoken."
Anyway,
----------------
He staggered up, coughing straw, and reached out more gently this time. Justice huffed, still suspicious.
BLUNT:
"I know, I smell different. I bathed. Once. But listen—freedom. Apples. Maybe the occasional morally questionable adventure?"
"I know i left you behind. You kicked me hard in protest. We're even."
Justice snorted and stomped once.
Blunt tried again, this time with his hands up. "Let's just forget the past and move forward into a brighter, shaped future."
Justice huffed.
Slowly, he began untying the rope.
But just as the last knot slipped, the donkey brayed again, louder this time.
BLUNT (panicked whisper):
"No, no, no, no! Not now!"
---
Back Inside
Gaspard was now locked in a philosophical argument with a man who claimed to be three ducks in a trench coat.
Then came the bray.
Everyone stopped.
PATRON (squinting):
"Was that… a donkey?"
Gaspard's eyes bulged. He leaned toward the window and saw Blunt wrestling with a flailing Justice, who was knocking over buckets and letting out cries that sounded like bagpipes being tortured.
He began to panic.
"I WAS LIED TO!" he shouted. "THIS ISN'T A ROYAL PARDON! IT'S ANIMAL LARCENY!"
He leapt off the table, dashed through the tavern, and sprinted out the front door, his sword still stuck in stew.
BLUNT (yelling):
"Gaspard! Rope! Help!"
GASPARD (running past):
"I RESCIND MY ENLISTMENT!"
From the tavern doorway, the cook appeared, wielding a broom like a warhammer.
COOK:
"You again! That's my donkey till you pay your tab!"
Blunt was still dragging Justice by a rope while being dragged himself. Justice refused to make it easy.
He shouted back, "He's been knighted! Royal requisition!"
A thrown shoe nearly hit him.
Gaspard galloped on, flailing. "WE'RE GOING TO PRISON!"
"Gaspard, you bamboo! help me with the rope!"
"I RESIGN!"
They yanked, ducked, weaved, tripped over a mop bucket, and finally managed to untangle themselves as they disappeared into the night, with Gaspard wheezing, Blunt laughing, and Justice proudly dragging a string of sausages behind him.
---
Later, at Campfire
Gaspard sat trembling by the fire.
They camped on a hill just outside town. Blunt was beaming, while Gaspard was having a minor breakdown.
GASPARD (hyperventilating):
"I tackled a bard. I set fire to a man's beard. I think I agreed to marry someone's aunt."
BLUNT (patting Justice):
"You were brilliant."
"I expected medals. A parade. Nobility. You promised nobility..."
"I delivered," Blunt said, roasting something that might've once been a parsnip. "Justice is nobility."
Gaspard placed a hand on his forehead. "You tricked me into stealing livestock."
"Correction: I tricked you into recovering royally requisitioned transport."
Justice snorted.
Gaspard now threw both hands on his head. "This is not the redemption arc I imagined!"
"Then imagine a new one," Blunt said. "We're halfway to being legends. Or outlaws. Possibly both."
Justice chewed thoughtfully.
GASPARD:
"I want to go home."
BLUNT:
"This is home. Now sleep, we've got a goblet to find."
Justice, satisfied with the chaos, curled beside the fire like a dog.
GASPARD (muttering to himself):
"I'm going to die."