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"'Tis nothing I can't handle, milady!" Sir Battlescarred squatted down to lift a short stack of books off the library floor. "Your books will all soon be in their rightful place." His pet, Dragon, squawked and nodded along.
"Exemplary work, Sir Battlescarred!" said Bea, cleaning every nook and cranny of her home with her feather duster. Owl, perched on his owner's head, hooted in approval.
Sir Battlescarred sorted the books into the nearest bookcase. He wiped his sweat off his face and glanced up at the last tower of books left over. The stack was somehow taller than Bea's library itself. Quite a conundrum indeed.
No matter, he was almost done. There was only one more hoard of books to conquer—only one more wrong to right!
With Dragon flying by his side, Sir Battlescarred marched up to the stack. From near the bottom of the tower, he pulled out one book at a time with precision and dexterity. Dragon helped too. But when he nudged one book with his tiny blue head, the tower lost its stability and was on the brink of toppling over.
Bea dropped her feather duster, turned around, and gasped. "Oh no!"
With resolve, Sir Battlescarred leaped in front of Bea and held up his wooden shield. "Fear not! I shall guard you!"
THUD!
Soon after, the tower hit the floor, leaving hundreds of books in its wake. Bea dusted herself off and found that she and Owl were unharmed. A few books on the floor caught her eye, and she picked them up.
"Ah, here they are! I've been looking all over for these," said Bea, scanning the covers. She then read out each of their titles. "Hmm, How to Be the Light in Someone's Night, What to Do When Disaster Strikes, Really Rare Fruits and How to Pick Them, A Guide to Equine Expertise, and Why Rocks Rock: A Mineral Encyclopedia. Fascinating!"
Bea grinned and hugged the books to her chest, turning to face Sir Battlescarred. "Thanks for helping me with spring cleaning! And for saving me from those falling books." She giggled.
Sir Battlescarred pulled out his wooden sword and bowed. "Helping those in peril is part and parcel of being a knight. No thanks is necessary."
Carrying the books in her arms, Bea walked up to a nearby window and saw the sunset. "Oh, look at the time. I've just been so caught up in all this excitement! So much so that I never realized you spent the entire day here. It's almost nighttime!"
"Ah, but 'twas time well spent, assisting a maiden with her..." Sir Battlescarred’s smile faded. "Wait. Please repeat that last word."
"Nighttime!"
Sir Battlescarred gulped, feeling goosebumps all over his body. He resisted the urge to shiver. Instead, he put on a brave face. "I, um, I must take my leave! Farewell, milady!"
He and Dragon hurried towards the door, only for Bea and Owl to block their path.
"But don't you want to stay longer and lose yourself in a good book? How to Be the Light in Someone's Night seems especially interesting." Bea paused and mulled over the title she had just mentioned.
"Are you afraid of the dark?"
Sir Battlescarred put his hands on his hips. "No, of course not! Leaving now is an urgent matter. 'Tis not as if I had a tremendous, terrifying, horrifying, awful—" He sighed and slumped his shoulders. "—fear of the dark. What kind of knight would I be then?"
Bea tilted her head quizzically, mouth agape. After a moment, though, she tilted her head back and smiled sweetly. "Well, if it's important for you to leave at this instant, then you're free to go. Goodbye, Sir Battlescarred!" She walked out of the way and waved at him. Owl waved too, using his wings.
Sir Battlescarred breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Farewell and good night!" He held his sword aloft and strode out the door with a knightly air. Dragon flew by his side, blowing bubbles out of his nostrils.
Bea, meanwhile, went back inside and set down her stack of books by her reading chair. She eagerly grabbed the top book and took a seat.
***
At first, Sir Battlescarred walked at a steady, confident pace. That is, until he turned around and saw that Bea's library was now miles away and the sky was getting darker and darker. He stopped and warily scoped his surroundings. Nothing. Nothing besides his dear pet Dragon, of course.
He gazed at Dragon, a look of seriousness on his face.
Dragon nodded, as if he were agreeing to a matter of utmost importance.
Sir Battlescarred took a deep breath and opened his mouth wide.
"AGHHHHHHHHHH!"
Then he ran. He charged all the way through central and eastern Lalaloopsy Land; Dragon struggled to keep up. His arms flailed about, and so did his sword and shield. He wanted to—nay, he needed to return to his castle.
Eventually, Sir Battlescarred arrived home. He slammed the door behind him and fell to the floor. Panting and sweating, he worked up the energy to trudge to his bedroom. Dragon followed him.
The door creaked open, and Sir Battlescarred peeked in, only to find his bedroom as dark as it was outside. He winced, then shook his head. "Ugh, this simply won’t do. Dragon, the lanterns, please?"
Dragon led Sir Battlescarred to his bed. Under there, the boy saw plenty of lanterns and nightlights. He picked them up one by one and placed them throughout the room. Then, with a smirk, he turned all the lights on. His bedroom was now so bright that it could blind someone.
Sir Battlescarred yawned and petted Dragon. He left his sword and shield on the stone floor. Then he jumped into bed and cuddled up under piles of pillows and blankets. "And now I shall return to my impenetrable fortress and rest. Sleep tight, Dragon."
Dragon nodded, then rested on the edge of the bed.
"Indeed. We must prepare ourselves for another day of adventures, good deeds, and…" Sir Battlescarred snored and tightly hugged a tapestry pillow. He nuzzled his face against it, drooling.
Off he went to slumberland.
***
Sir Battlescarred found himself in an overgrown forest—one whose decaying trees seemed to close in on him. To make matters worse, thick fog covered the entire area.
"Wha-what is this place? How did we end up here?" Sir Battlescarred then straightened his back and lifted up his sword, grinning confidently. "No matter! We shall traverse these woods and seek the way out! Come, Dragon!" He beckoned his pet with his hand, but there was no response.
"Huh? Dragon? Dragon!" He looked around frantically. Still, there was no sign of his companion. He sighed. "Alas, it appears I must take this journey… alone."
Sir Battlescarred continued exploring, a task complicated by all the mist. His breathing grew shallower with each step he took. What terrors could lurk in this mysterious place? What perils? What–
CRUNCH!
"Agh! A monster!" Sir Battlescarred lowered his gaze. All he found was a pile of dried-up leaves beneath his boots. "Or perhaps not."
He kept on walking, a bit more relaxed. Maybe this forest was not so scary after all. Maybe there was no need to worry. At least there were no bugs, horses with two tails, or any other such abominations in sight. He would soon be back in Lalaloopsy Land. All would be well.
Hopefully.
Rain clouds appeared in the sky. Sir Battlescarred gasped and trembled. He held onto his sword and shield even tighter than usual.
Lightning struck a tree a few yards nearby. The tree split in half and collapsed.
BOOM!
Sir Battlescarred shrieked and dashed to the closest thing to a shelter in his vicinity: a thicket of bushes. He hid there and shielded himself. With each crackle of thunder, he shook uncontrollably, chattering his teeth. The sky grew darker by the second. He was hugging his shield close to his tiny chest when he heard raindrops. Curious, Sir Battlescarred popped his head out.
Every single drop seared his skin. One even landed on his tongue. Strangely, it had a taste. The taste of—
"HOT SOUP! It's raining hot soup!" Sir Battlescarred wailed and leaped out of the bushes. Covering the top of his head with his shield, he sprinted off to find shelter—one that actually had a roof.
Minutes after Sir Battlescarred left, a bolt of lightning hit the thicket and set it ablaze.
He later came across an abandoned shed in the middle of the forest. The wooden walls had rotted away, and vines wrapped around the building. Every window was boarded up. Worst of all, the roof was dangerously close to caving in.
Sir Battlescarred backed away a few feet, shivering. Then he stopped, sighed, and went forth. Whatever was inside was better than suffering through a lightning storm and risking more first-degree burns.
With his free hand, he turned the doorknob. The door fell off the hinge with the slightest touch, and it broke into thousands of wood chips upon hitting the ground. Sir Battlescarred wiped the chips off his shirt and chainmail sleeves, then entered.
"Oh my."
His jaw dropped when he saw the interior. There was only one source of light: a flickering lightbulb hanging by a loose wire on the ceiling. Mold was everywhere. Rather than a proper floor, there were heaps of sawdust and mulch. In the center was a rickety wooden table. A bowl of fruit covered by a dirty, torn-up rag was on top of it.
Sir Battlescarred slowly approached the table. He touched the rag and flinched in disgust. Upon further inspection, he saw brown and yellow stains on the cloth. He narrowed his button eyes.
"Who dared soil this rag?! Where did these stains even come from?" Sir Battlescarred pondered for a moment, then froze in horror. "Perhaps it's better if I don’t know."
He was about to walk away when he heard a loud growl. Scowling, he looked at his rumbling belly, then at the covered-up fruit bowl.
"'Twill be a sweltering day near Mittens' house before I eat that filth."
The gurgling intensified, and the hunger pangs grew excruciating. His stomach wasted away. Sir Battlescarred stared at the bowl, sweating profusely.
He didn't need it.
…
He didn't need it.
…
He definitely didn't need it.
…
He didn't need it.
…
"On second thought."
Sir Battlescarred threw the rag out of the way, picked up the bunch of fruit, and shoved them all in his mouth. He did this so quickly that he didn’t check what they even looked like. Calming down, he chewed his food. He smiled slightly.
Then he noticed the mushy texture, the rancid taste, and the millions of bugs wriggling in his mouth. These included maggots, cockroaches, flies, and beetles. The deeper they crawled into his throat, the more he choked.
Sir Battlescarred spat it out, the rotten, insect-infested fruit splattering on the ground and onto his clothes. He screeched at the creepy crawlies and desperately wiped the gunk off himself. His face turned green. The urge to vomit was intense, but he worked up the strength to keep it down. Afterwards, he took a close look at the mess: a pile of fruit covered with familiar colors and patterns.
A bit too familiar.
His eyes widened, and he jumped. "GREEN FRUIT WITH PINK POLKA DOTS AND YELLOW STRIPES!"
He bolted out of the shed, screaming his head off and squishing the bugs in his way. A few seconds later, the roof collapsed. Rubble was all that was left.
Sir Battlescarred kept on running until his legs gave out. He fell onto the grass and looked up at the sky. Then he breathed a sigh of relief. The thunderstorm and the hot soup rain had ceased. He slowly got up, every inch of his little body aching. His legs wobbled with each step he took.
"It appears I may never escape these wretched woods," said Sir Battlescarred, groaning. "What if this means I'm… lost?" He trembled for a moment, but then he stood up straight with his sword and shield aloft. "No, I must go forth. I must find the way home!"
Sir Battlescarred continued his journey, his walk less sluggish than before. He paused when he heard a strange noise.
NNNNEEEEIIIIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHH!
"Huh?" He stopped and looked around, but he couldn’t find the source of the sound. The neighing intensified. Sir Battlescarred could have sworn he heard hooves clopping. So he turned back, only to come face-to-face with a black horse towering over him. Strangely, the horse lacked any facial features, as if it were a living silhouette. It snorted at him.
Sir Battlescarred hesitated, then murmured, "Greetings?" The shadowy stallion turned around, revealing its two tails. After staring blankly at its rear for a few seconds, he shrieked. "HARK! A HORSE WITH TWO—"
The horse raised its hind legs and kicked Sir Battlescarred away. He fell into a pit, one that he was sure wasn't there before.
Plunging down the hole, Sir Battlescarred could only watch as his surroundings grew darker and darker. Worse yet, the pit was likely bottomless. He fell for hours, with no end in sight. All the while, he screamed for the umpteenth time. The rocks that dropped beside him only added to his wails.
Rocks that looked like rabbits.
His mouth hung open. He would have yelled if his throat hadn't run dry from all the screeching. Sir Battlescarred whimpered, then gazed down at the void. This went on for a few more minutes until he sighed in resignation. This was his life now—a series of twisted jokes. No exit to be found. Still, he tentatively held up his shield.
"Back. Back, I say," he mumbled. His hair was disheveled; his eyes struggled to keep open, and thick eyebags marred his face. Despite his shaky grasp, the shield blocked the boulders for the most part. Each passing second, however, drained his will to live. What was even the point now? A true knight would not—
"HELP US!"
"ANYBODY, PLEASE!"
"THE ROCKS! STOP THE ROCKS!"
"DOWN HERE!"
Sir Battlescarred turned his attention to the screams from farther down the hole. He narrowed his eyes in determination. "And help you, I shall! Fear not, mysterious voices!"
He focused on shielding the others from the onslaught of rocks. Such a task grew more difficult the deeper he fell. It got to the point where his surroundings turned pitch-black. Not even squinting helped.
Suddenly, the stones disappeared.
The Lalaloopsies, out of sight, were safe. A few of them even cheered. Sir Battlescarred grinned and held onto his shield even tighter. "I appreciate your huzzahs, but they are unnecessary! 'Tis a knight’s duty to—"
An avalanche of rabbit-shaped rocks caught him off guard. A sickening crunch, ear-piercing shrieks, and deafening silence followed.
Sir Battlescarred shook pebbles out of his hair. "Friends? Are you alright?"
There was no response.
"Where art thou?"
Still no answer.
"No…" He stared at the abyss.
THUD!
Sir Battlescarred hit the ground face-first. The pit wasn't bottomless after all. He raised his aching head and rubbed it. A spotlight shone on him, and his eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden light. Squinting, he sat up. He found himself surrounded by nine hooded figures that were about his size and age. "Huh? Who might you be?"
"Quiet!" snapped one figure.
"It doesn’t matter who we are," said another. "The important thing is punishing you for your crimes against chivalry!"
"Sayeth what?! I am an honorable knight, and I have done nothing of the sort." Sir Battlescarred clenched his tiny fists.
A third figure gripped his chin forcibly. "Yeah, right! How do you explain this?" The person let go of Sir Battlescarred's face and pointed towards a heap of rabbit-shaped rocks. Several dislocated legs protruded from the pile.
Sir Battlescarred gasped and covered his mouth. His entire body quaked. "I failed them all. I tried my hardest to rescue them. I swear! But the rocks…" He curled up in a fetal position. A fourth-hooded figure slapped him, leaving a red mark on his face.
"Drop the act. You're an utter disgrace—a shameful, miserable excuse of a knight!" yelled the figure, emphasizing each word. "What kind of 'hero' has a whole list of fears?"
Sir Battlescarred raised an eyebrow. "How did you know I had—?" The person hit him again, this time even harder.
The fifth one scoffed. "Seriously. Green fruit with pink polka dots and yellow stripes? Rocks that look like rabbits? Horses with two tails? HOT SOUP?!"
"Isn't he gallant?" quipped a sixth figure.
All of the hooded figures pointed their fingers at Sir Battlescarred. They then burst into laughter. He gulped, nodded, and got on his knees. The young 'knight' looked up at them pleadingly, his eyes huge and watery. His lip quivered, and his hands clasped together. "I understand, but please have mercy. 'Tis only my seventh year on this earth!"
"Frauds don't get mercy. They get their just deserts." The cloaked people ganged up on Sir Battlescarred, who clutched his weapons in fear. They first snatched his wooden sword and shield. Next, the group split his shield in two and smashed the halves to bits. Then they cracked his sword over his head. Snickering, the hooded figures dragged him by the legs. Sir Battlescarred kicked and screamed the whole time. His body scraped against the rugged terrain.
"We've stripped you of your title, though it's not like you ever were a real knight anyway," said the eighth figure.
The group stopped at a coffin, and the leader removed the lid. With their combined strength, they picked up Sir Battlescarred and threw him inside. He slammed against the wooden surface.
Sir Battlescarred lay inside the coffin, trembling. The leader stood by and removed her hood, revealing her purple hair tied into short pigtails. She glared at him, and he gasped.
"Lady Stillwaiting?! How could you associate with these wretches?"
"Shh! Tut-tut, Battlescarred, you disappoint me yet again." Lady Stillwaiting shook her head, then smirked. "Still as spineless as always, I see."
He fell silent for a moment, but found the courage to speak. "I… I know I failed this time, but I have dedicated myself to my duties. I have saved friends in distress. I’ve saved you. Countless times, in fact. This flippancy is not like you, my fair maiden."
Giggling, Lady Stillwaiting leaned her head towards Sir Battlescarred, her face inches away from his. She whispered in a cloying voice.
"Listen closely, my knight in shining armor. 'Tis time for you to know the truth. You see yourself as a valiant hero. You believe you're actually making a difference. You even deluded yourself into thinking I ever cared about you—that I was a friend, or even more absurdly, more than a friend. And, somehow, everyone else fell for your charade. But not me. I know the real you—a coward. You're a coward whose life is as valuable as a cockroach. Helping a girl organize her books won't change that. Nothing will. That's because you mean nothing to this world. You mean nothing to me. You'll never be a knight. You'll never be a hero. You're a repulsive worm that’s better off squashed, and that's all you'll ever be."
She backed away from the coffin. Sir Battlescarred only stared at her.
Lady Stillwaiting's grin widened. She pulled a rose bouquet—complete with a note (handwritten in cursive) saying, "From: Sir Battlescarred"—out of her cloak. Then she threw it on the ground and stomped on it with her foot.
"Oh, don't despair! You may not be the bravest boy. Or the strongest. Or the smartest. Or the most handsome. Or the most useful. But your patheticness is amusing, and that might count for something." She stomped on the roses even more, reducing them to a pile of mush. "On second thought, you're not even good for that."
Sir Battlescarred frowned. Lady Stillwaiting chuckled and carried the lid to the coffin. "Good riddance."
"Please, I'll do—"
She sealed the coffin shut.
Stuck in the cramped casket, Sir Battlescarred raised his arms and tried to push off the lid. No matter how hard he pushed, however, the lid wouldn't budge. He sighed and lay in the darkness. His body shuddered. Though he was on the brink of tears, he took a deep breath and shut his eyes tight. He refused to lose his last shred of dignity. A true knight would never cry!
He sniffled.
No! What about his honor?
He felt as if he were swallowing down that accursed fruit from before.
No. No! Real heroes don't…
Sir Battlescarred broke down. He flailed his limbs, sobbing and hyperventilating. Soon, he screamed higher than he had ever screamed before. This went on for hours.
No onlooker would believe that this sniveling child was once anything close to a knight.
***
SQUAWK!
Sir Battlescarred slowly opened his eyes. All the while, Dragon was nuzzling his snout against his tear-stained face. Before Battlescarred could speak, Dragon floated around. He then breathed bubbles out of his nostrils to calm his owner down.
Still a bit disoriented, Sir Battlescarred sat up from the stone floor and looked over his surroundings. He was back in his bedroom—back in Lalaloopsy Land.
Wet pillows and blankets were all over the room. It appears he had fallen out of bed. With a hesitant smile on his face, he turned towards Dragon. He pinched his arm, and after a few moments, he sighed in relief.
"I am awake! Dragon, thank goodness you're here!" Sir Battlescarred stood up and ran to hug Dragon. He held his pet close to his body, cuddling him. After stroking Dragon's scales, he paused, then frowned. "All those horrid events must have been a nightmare, then. And what an awful one it was."
Dragon tilted his head, curious.
Sir Battlescarred wiped away his tears and cleared his throat.
"It all started with me lost in a misty forest. Suddenly, lightning and thunder struck! Then I found a shed and ate green fruit with pink polka dots and yellow stripes—covered with bugs! I ran out and saw a strange horse. It turned out to have two tails, and it kicked me away. I fell into a bottomless pit. Then I saw rocks that looked like rabbits falling beside me."
Sir Battlescarred continued, "There were innocents—that I could not see—crying for help. I tried my hardest to save them, but then more rocks came along when I least expected it. Then a mysterious group of cloaked figures surrounded me and told me I was a poor excuse for a knight. They even dragged me by the legs. But alas, that was not the worst part."
He gulped. "One of the figures turned out to be Lady Stillwaiting! But she acted nothing like herself. She called me a coward, told me I was worthless, and sealed me inside a coffin."
When he was finally done with his speech, Sir Battlescarred coughed. His voice was hoarse from all his rambling. "And I must admit, I might have… shed a few tears then." He hung his head low.
Dragon squawked, then he nodded in understanding. He couldn't help but roll his eyes at the events described, though.
"Indeed, Dragon. The nightmare does seem ridiculous when you think about it. 'Tis almost as if a mediocre writer made it up." Sir Battlescarred slumped his shoulders. "Still, I fear that my dream might have had a sliver of truth to it."
SQUAWK?
"What do I mean by that, you say? Well, I've been thinking. What if I am not a worthy knight? What if my fears really do hold me back? What if no one truly respects me? What if…"
Sir Battlescarred blushed. "...what if Lady Stillwaiting secretly hates me? She has always been so gentle and sweet, but now I'm having doubts. What if it's all a facade?"
Dragon squawked. He flew to his owner and licked his cheek. Sir Battlescarred giggled. "You're right, Dragon. She would never be so horrible, and neither would my friends. I know they wouldn’t."
"There is just one last thing," said Sir Battlescarred. "I need to find a way to drift off easily to sleep. Perhaps milk will do." And so he went to his medieval-themed kitchen and poured himself a warm glass of milk—one whose temperature was not high enough to remind him of hot soup, thankfully. He returned to his bedroom, sat on the edge of his bed, and took a sip.
He yawned after he drank the entire cup. With that, Sir Battlescarred picked up a few lanterns and tucked himself in bed with them. Dragon followed him under the covers. Upon noticing Dragon, Battlescarred squeezed him gently, the both of them enveloped in cozy blankets.
Recalling all the good he had done for Lalaloopsy Land, Sir Battlescarred fell asleep with a smile.