Note: Much shorter chapter. Pretty pointless, but I like it better than the first. Percival's personality comes off better. Not too much to say about it, really.

"Get up, Percival. Come on!" Borus punched the sleeping boy hard on the shoulder twice. Percival moaned and forced himself to sit up on his bunker, rubbing his eyes. When he was finally able to open them, he was still barely able to see anything, as it was practically pitch dark inside the tiny dormitory he shared with Borus and two other boys. From the window high on the wall, he could see that it was no lighter outside.

"What time is it?" he grumbled.

"About four-thirty."

Percival groaned and fell back onto his hard springy bed. He heard Borus's exasperated sigh. "If you're gonna come, you have to get up now! You haven't even packed. It's gonna take us the better part of the day to ride over to the manor, and we really have to get there before suppertime!"

"I'm a fast rider..." Percival mumbled. "Just give me one more hour. We'll make it..."

"Percival!" Borus hissed quietly in a sharp whisper, not wanting to wake the two other squires.

"Fine, fine." He allowed himself to be pulled upright by Borus. Slouching over, he sat on the bed with his bare feet on the cold stone floor. He took a moment to adjust his eyes to the light as Borus lit a small flame in an oil lantern.

Borus was already fully prepared. He waited rather impatiently as Percival got dressed in some ragged, worn-out traveling clothes and put a few provisions into a small bag. "Aren't you gonna take any clothes?" he asked.

Percival tugged at the shirt he had on. "This isn't enough? We're only gonna be there a few days, right?"

"Well..."

It suddenly dawned upon Percival: the Redrums were refined wealthy landlords who might not look so well upon boys who never changed and dressed like dirty country hicks. He silently reproached himself for being so stupid. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

Borus shook his head. "No. It's fine. Don't worry about it."

"It's okay. I'll change into something nicer. I must have a few clean shirts somewhere around here."

"Look, I said it's fine, all right?" He sounded very much irritated.

The voice of James Riddley, one of their roommates, suddenly spoke up in a half-asleep grumble. "Would you two shut the hell up? What in the name of the Goddess are you doing up at this bloody hour anyway?"

"I already told you last night," Borus muttered angrily.

There was silence for an instant. "Oh yeah...sorry 'bout that. Congratulations, by the way." James shut himself up and apparently fell back asleep almost immediately.

Congratulations? Percival was puzzled. What the hell was he talking about? Borus's father just died and he's congratulating him? I'll never understand these noble kids, Percival thought, shaking his head.

In the glittering shadows of the lamp, Percival saw Borus look down at the floor. "Anyways, I don't care," Borus whispered to him. "Wear whatever you want."

"Look, Redrum. I don't want to screw this up for you just because I'm too lazy to find some proper clothes. I'm gonna be a guest at your home and the least I can do is show some respect for your family by dressing decently."

Borus swept a tuft of blond hair from his eyes and looked up at Percival, evidently giving in. "Well, that's unusually mannered for you."

"See? I do know what chivalry is, believe it or not," Percival commented as he flipped through his messy clothes chest, attempting but failing to find the aforementioned 'proper clothes' fit for visitation of an aristocratic manor.

Noticing his futile efforts, Borus bent down beside his own chest. "If you're really so insistent, I can lend you some of mine." He opened it, revealing tidy piles of clean, neatly folded clothes. "I bought these ones myself, so my mother wouldn't notice if you wore them."

"Oh, you're too kind, Lord Redrum. And I suppose you're not afraid I might get them covered in, say, wine spills or sauce stains or mud splashes or horse manure or—"

"You'd better not!" Borus harshly whispered back as he handed Percival several orderly sets of shirts, trousers, and jackets for him to toss carelessly in his bag. "Some of these are very expensive imports from master tailors in Tinto."

"Imports from master tailors in Tinto? Someone seems to have a little too much spare time and money on his hands, eh?" Percival grinned gleefully at his own taunt.

"Look, you'd better take good care of them or else!"

"Or else what?"

"Just shut up and get ready."

Percival changed into one of Borus's nice new shirts and trousers, the most casual of the ones he received. They would be mostly traveling today, after all, so he might as well be comfortable. He finished packing and put on a pricey-looking jacket and scarf. "Yeah! Now I can look like a rich snob too!" he jokingly stated with a quiet laugh as he looked himself over in the mirror. Borus rolled his eyes.

Percival then picked up his sheathed steel sword, which stood against the wall at the foot of his bunker. It was the plain and unadorned, but nevertheless effective, type assigned to all squires. Like Borus had done already, he tied it to his belt. Zexen squires were permitted to use only wooden swords during training, but they were given real swords, which they were allowed to bring with them should they be taken into actual battle with their lords or if they were to travel alone, as he and Borus were about to do.

The two boys went out to the mess hall for some early breakfast before hitting the road. They quickly and silently ate the stale bread and watery soup served to them by the maid, who had been informed of their departure. They then headed for the stables.

The sky was still as dark as ever, with seemingly no signs of giving up to the morning sun. Percival signed out his chestnut steed with the night guard, while Borus selected a stocky bay gelding for his ride. They also picked out a gray mare to carry their packs (Borus's being considerably heavier than Percival's). Borus tied the mare to his horse in order to lead it. With that, they headed off, riding into the darkness of the early morning.