A/N: ferretWARLORD: Glad you enjoyed the past few chapters! I'm not sure Kew-Kew's deserving of the title of best Redwall character ever invented but that comment made my day so thanks for that ^.^ I hope that the quality of my storytelling will continue to satisfy.

Waycaster: Yes, yes I did! And that's going to be the norm from now on. If I do use more applications that is. Haven't decided yet because let's be honest I'm making up a decent chunk of this story as I go along. Yes, Redwall plushies. I imagine Auslag knits them with her claws. It's doable, but difficult.

"Thank you Maggy," Rolf whimpered as he tightened a soothing poultice round his arm. "You have no idea how grateful I am." The fresh bruises still hurt terribly of course, but the minor relief was nonetheless appreciated. He allowed himself a sigh. "Just one more fight. One more fight and this'll all be over… And then I come home, without a job, without a scrap of coin, trophy-less and as purple as a pomegranate…" Nevermind that pomegranates were rarely purple. Rolf sighed again, wincing as a fresh wave of pain rippled through his ribs. The mouse set his bandaged arm down slowly, and sniffled.

In that instant melancholy vanished. His nose twitched. He sniffed at the air. He gagged. It smelled as if somebeast had splattered Ralph's old tunics with dung and left them to rot in a bog with turned cabbages and bad apples. It was foul and disgusting in every sense of the word.

Eerily familiar.

Yet Rolf could not place it until Kew-Kew burst through the door in all his stinking glory.

The hinges screamed and in stomped the wearet. Rolf froze, realizing with something akin to desperate panic that Kew-Kew looked furious. An accusatory talon was pointed firmly at the wide-eyed mouse and when he spoke, the wearet snarled.

"Rolfie is not champie-thing, Rolfie is not winning troffee, Rolfie is liar!"

The mouse swallowed audibly. The simple accusation, the truth thrust upon him, smarted like a fresh bruise. He scrambled for an excuse. "W-wait, wait!" Ignoring the pain that came with flailing his battered arms the mouse became a windmill of gestures and excuses. "I-it's not what it looks like! I- you see I- I am a champie- champion thing- I m-mean I'm a fighter it's just-"

"Lying! Rolfie is lying again!" The accusatory talon drew closer until it was prodding him hard on the chest. "Is like wait-cases and divisions!"

"Weight classes! Those are real Kew-"

"Kew-Kew is not falling for rubbish again!"

"N-no you don't under-"

"I does!" the eagle snapped, and Rolf shrunk. "Mousie is fighting Ralph-ratty and saying all troffees are Rolfie's- but is lying! Cup-thing is troffee of Ralph-ratty!"

Forgetting his fear of the wearet, Rolf leapt up and clamped his paws over Kew-Kew's muzzle. "Shhhhhhhh! D-don't say that so loudly! S-somebeast might hear!" The mouse was frantic now and speaking quickly between gulps of air. "I-I please calm down." Rolf, who's eyes were bulging, who's tail was thrashing anxiously behind him, who's ears were flat against his head and who's whiskers twitched with fresh worry at every word, probably had no right to tell anybeast to calm down.

Nevertheless Kew-Kew obeyed, clenched his jaw shut and stared hard at the mouse.

Rolf released the wearet's muzzle and sat down. He put his shaking paws away and rested them on his lap. "S-so yes. It's true. I lied."

Kew-Kew screeched in triumph. Rolf flinched, and several tenants above went temporarily deaf.

"B-b-but-" a sudden terrible thought made his shivering more pronounced. "W-wait, does that mean- does mum know? Maggy? Barth?"

"No. Only Kew-Kew." The wearet folded his arms at his side, the way a bird would fold their wings.

Rolf allowed himself a tiny sigh of relief. "Oh thank Martin. Okay, okay… good." They didn't know! They had no idea! He was safe from their disappointment and safe from their accusations! "Good," he repeated, again and again until he remembered that Kew-Kew was glaring at him. "S-sorry!" he squeaked.

"Lying to Kew-Kew, lying to parents, lying to Marr-garr-ett!"

"I wasn't lying Kew-Kew! I just… didn't tell... the truth."

The wearet growled and Rolf shrunk further into his chair. "O-okay I am a liar. I'm not a champion. I-I'm not a fighter and-" here he swallowed audibly and glanced around to make sure Ralph was not lurking around the corner- "none of the trophies are really m-mine. B-but before you hit me o-or eat me or do whatever it is that-that you do j-just hear me out!"

The wearet said nothing, but made no motion to ingest the mouse. Taking this as his cue, Rolf began his tale, the furious eagle looming over him the whole while.

"S-so when I first came here I was a-er a little naive about what sort of place this is."

It was only after weeks of pleading and begging and convincing that Rolf's mother had given him her permission to pursue a career in fighting.

"It's dangerous Rolf! You could get hurt, or permanently injured!"

"Mother!" Rolf had protested. "Only the losers get badly hurt or permanently injured! And I intend to win!"

Wide-eyed and open-jawed he stared at the vast arenas that seemed to exist everywhere in Plomplemoof. They all roared with the strength of a hundred volcanoes and stood high between heaven and earth as if the deities of the world resided inside. Clutching at an old and mouldy leaflet the young mouse made his way through a crowd of chattering, excited beasts. "E-excuse me?" he squeaked, as several beasts- oblivious to his very existence it seemed- shoved past him. "I'm sorry-er c-coming through here!"

"Sign me up!" cried the young mouse in blue, unphased by his reception. "The name's Rolf."

The rat on the other side of the application desk had to lean forwards to see the mouse over the top of his bloated gut. They raised an eyebrow. "Bit short for this kind of work, ain'tcha?"

"What I lack in height I more than make up for in skill," Rolf assured him.

The rat shrugged. "Ye've gota match in two hours. Don't be late!"

"I won't!" Rolf promised. "You won't regret this!"

"You might," the rat muttered darkly.

"I should have known better really but I didn't."

Two hours later, Rolf stood in the center of the arena, his fists held high and a massive smile on his face.

"And he'll be fighting the one, the only, Giiiiiiiila theeeee Moooooonster!"

Rolf turned to face his first ever opponent and felt his confidence waver slightly at the sight of a humongous monitor, clad in a breastplate with shoulderguards and a tail spike to match.

"Gila! Gila Gila!" The crowd roared, as a forked tongue passed over the monster's muzzle. Hungry, snake-like eyes bore down on Rolf and tore his confidence to shreds. Before the mouse could so much as think, a hundred blows descended. A dozen swings fell. A mighty tail knocked him flat. A smack here, a slap there, pain everywhere. His face swelled purple, several teeth flew out and blood dribbled from the sides of his muzzle.

"I wasn't expecting things to be as… intense as they are here."

Rolf groaned, stumbled over a loose, badly-fitted bandage and fell on his face. He forced himself up again, stumbled slightly and nearly fell over again. This time however, his face was caught by a helpful paw. Another paw grabbed him by the scruff and Rolf felt himself being pushed upright.

"Easy there mate," a concerned-looking, young rat peer down at him from behind a large nosering. "Yew look like yew need a healer. Yew need te get yer…" the rat paused, noting that every square inch of mouse seemed to have been damaged in some way. "Fixed," he finished lamely. Then he lifted Rolf clear off the ground and waddled in the general direction of the healer. "I'm Ralph by the way."

"Ralph, funnily enough, was the first beast in the city to be nice to me. And Carrabas payed for my healer's bill after I- er- was bloodied up pretty bad in my first match."

"Thank you sir," Rolf rubbed at a black eye, the last of his many injuries.

"Think nothing of it, my young friend," chuckled a well-dressed stoat. "The amount of times I've been knocked bloody when I was your age… Really, any decent beast would have done the same. No mother deserves to see their child like that."

"I-I just wish there was some way I could repay you. I don't really have any money b-but if there's anything I can do-"

"Oh no! No, no no-"

"I insist!" Rolf protested. "My mother would have killed me if she had seen me so wounded."

The stoat paused, chuckling again. "Well… there is one thing I suppose… You've already met Ralph of course."

"And I had to pay him back so he paired me up with Ralph."

"You want me to… lose?"

"With style," Carrabas reiterated. "Just for a few matches in a few of the surrounding villages. Nothing too difficult, not much of an audience but enough to earn some decent cousin. And there's some coin in it for you too! If you're willing that is."

Rolf scratched at an ear. "Well…. I guess I owe you that much. Not like my reputation would suffer much after… Gila."

"And we started doing… what you saw just now. Only for a little bit until I didn't owe him anymore. Then I came back home looking like…" he tapped a claw against his purple nose. "And I never wanted to come back or see an arena ever again but… Ralph misplaced his trophy and it ended up in my bag…"

Rolf dropped his bag at the bottom of the stairs and limped up to his bedroom on the second floor, intent on catching a few hours of sleep before having to explain himself to his parents. He locked the door behind him, and threw himself face-first upon the mattress. The young mouse was just beginning to nod off when he heard his father's voice cut through the silence. "Elizabeth, honey! Rolf's back!"

"Oh no," Rolf moaned into his pillow- any second now they'd come up the stairs and find him miserable. Then he'd have to explain to them all that he had been soundly defeated in his first match and had pretended to be so in all his subsequent matches.

"And then dad found it."

"H-honey!" his father squeaked. "We have a champion in our family!"

"And I didn't want- I couldn't tell them what it really was! N-not when they-they-"

"Wow Rolf!" gasped Hammond, admiring the silvery trophy inscribed with the words Ralph- Champion Of Pouletown-By-The-Sea. "You really beat a monitor lizard?"

"With one paw!" the young mouse bragged, and both his elder brothers gasped in awe.

"That's my boy!" Rolf's father was ecstatic, and hugged his youngest tight.

"Oh hush the lot of you!", Elizabeth snapped. Brushing past them all to tend to Rolf's purple nose. "My pore baby's hurt,"

"Mother!"

"I'm only joking dear." She smiled and pinched his cheek lightly. "I'm so proud of you."

"Not when they were so proud of me! They were all proud of me an-and it felt good, Kew-Kew! It felt good to be the champion for once, not just Rolf the baby brother. And well… they talked me into going again and I brought home another trophy and they were so… proud.."

Kew-Kew crossed his arms over his chest. "Rolfie is still liar-mousie."

"Y-yes, I-I know. B-but what mother doesn't know won't hurt her, right?"

"Kew-Kew is never lying to mother of Kew-Kew. There is no reason to, mousie. Why lie?"

"Because", snapped Rolf. "Nobeast would like it if I told them the truth. My mother wouldn't let me leave the house ever again and I don't want to go back t-to being Barth's punching dummy! I don't want to be just 'Rolf'. I- why would I? He's not really the champion of the family, he's not the 'professional fighter' he's just… me. Yes, I'm living a lie, I know. B-but it makes me- it makes them happy, and when they're all there patting me on the back a-an' congratulating me i-it makes me… happy…" Rolf trailed off and for the first time since his story began, met Kew-Kew's gaze.

The wearet was frowning with visible sympathy. Gone was the snarl in his voice and gone was the furrow of his brow. A raw, pink paw was placed on Rolf's shoulder.

"Is Rolfie hungry?"

"Huh?"

The wearet's tummy rumbled. "I is hungry," said Kew-Kew with a shrug.

"... Did you hear any of that?"

Kew-Kew nodded. "Yes, but I is hungry. Rolfie has pancake?."

"I… don't. B-but I do know where we can get some."

Kew-Kew cawed in delight and gestured for the mouse to lead the way.

"So… you're not going to tell my family, right?" Rolf asked a short while later, as they tramped up the stairs. "No mentioning any of this to Margaret o-or my mother, or Barth-"

"I is not telling mousies anything." Kew-Kew promised. "Rolfie is telling them everything!"

"W-what? N-no! Kew-Kew please! They'd never look at me the same. They'd know I lied to them they-"

"Kraw! Is mousie's fault for lying! Rolfie tells family everything!"

Rolf stopped in the middle of the staircase and spun round to face the wearet. "Please! Y-you can't-"

"Kew-Kew will!"

"I'll do anything!" the mouse whimpered. "Please, just don't t-tell them. I- they'd hate me."

Kew-Kew crossed his arms over his chest and harrumphed. He stood there for what felt like an eternity (and indeed was a good deal more than the usual five minutes) before a brilliant idea came to him, then his face twisted into a look of foul cunning. "Anything?"

"Yes," Rolf promised, his apprehension rising as Kew-Kew's muzzle split into a wide, yellow-toothed grin.

"I is not telling mousies anything if Rolf-mousie helps Kew-Kew catch many biiiiig eagles!"

Rolf swallowed audibly. "H-how many?"

"Ten!" cried Kew-Kew, spreading his paws out so that Rolf could count his fingers.

"B-b-but ten-"

"Does Rolfie want Kew-Kew quiet or Kew-Kew telling everything? Especially to mother of Rolf-mousie!"

Rolf whined, and tugged at his ears. "F-fine, I'll help you catch all the big big eagles you want- but my family never finds out about any of this ever! Understood?"

"Yes," Kew-Kew cawed in triumph, spat on his paw and shook Rolf's bandaged arm the way he had seen some of Thornhill's villagers do. "Kew-Kew says nothing. Mousie family never finds out. And we catch lotsa eagles."

"Good," Rolf sighed and turned to continue up the staircase. The prospect of hunting eagles did not exactly appeal to him but the curled talons of a mighty predatory seemed nothing in comparison to his mother's disapointment. Then again, disapointment couldn't kill him. Before Rolf could ponder his predicament any further, Kew-Kew swept him clear off his feetpaws and passed a thick, slobbery tongue over his disgusted face. "What was that for?" the mouse demanded, in that moment hating every feathery inch of Thornhill's resident eagle.

Kew-Kew did not answer, and instead made a noise between a craw and a purr, his mouth hanging open and salivating profusely upon the preything in his arms. "Rolf-mousie is delicious."

"That's…" Rolf squeaked, eyeing his roommate with growing concern as he wiped the wearet's saliva off of his face. "...good to know."

"Perfect eagle food!" cawed the wearet, licking his lips.