Series: Knight Tales||Title: Birth of a Knight
Characters: Shou, Barbamon||Romance: N/A
Chapters: 7-9||Words: 1,450||Total: 10,050
Genre: Drama, Angst||Rated: PG
Notes: This is an AU. A nice fantasy one. Written for remi.
Summary: Shou is the only survivor of the bloodthirsty raid on his hometown. Not even Peckmon made it. Desire for revenge keeps him going and the assistance of Barbamon gives him the tools he needs to gain what he searches for. For as Barbamon's Knight and Champion, he can make it all right again.


The world didn't look different. Shou hadn't expected it to, not all that much. He'd never gone beyond the borders of his village and the surrounding forests before the destruction, so he didn't know what had been out there and what hadn't been. Truth to be told, he wasn't even certain of how far away from what had been his village Barbamon-sama's castle was.

It didn't matter now. What mattered was that he had two days to get to this ruined castle and there was a small village between Barbamon's castle and there, where he would spend at least one night.

Even being small, the village had a tavern, which was probably the biggest building in the whole place. It was probably also the only building set up to house more than whatever family lived there, even if said 'housing' would only involve a straw mat in front of the banked fire.

Shou could feel eyes on him as he entered the tavern. People watched him ever since he arrived in the village, really. This didn't surprise him. He doubted the place saw that many visitors, and even fewer who wore the armor that he did: black as night, with Barbamon's sigils on his cloak.

As he approached the innkeeper, a sudden thought struck him. He'd lived the last few years of his life in a place where everyone who met him knew that he couldn't talk. They respected and feared Barbamon-sama enough not to mistreat his favorite human. Would these people? They lived close enough to Barbamon-sama's home to fear his wrath, but Shou didn't want to bring that down on them.

Not without just cause, at least.

He would make himself understood. He doubted any of them could read or write, since he hadn't seen a single written sign in the whole village, and in places like this, literacy didn't seem that important compared to getting enough to eat. So he would have to do something else.

The innkeeper drew himself up as soon as it was obvious where Shou's steps took him. Unlike most innkeepers Shou had read of – on those few occasions he'd had leisure to read – this one was rail-thin and nervous. He was also not that old, probably not yet into his thirties. A fading bruise colored one side of his face and a bandage wrapped around his wrist.

"How may I be of service, good sir?" The innkeeper asked. Shou considered him for a few moments before he gestured to the poorly constructed fireplace. Compared to Barbamon-sama's castle, Shou found himself wondering just why this inn hadn't already burned down.

The innkeeper glanced from him to the fireplace and back. Shou took the next step and set a single coin on the bar. It wasn't much of a bar, but it sufficed for what he wanted. The coin winked up in the flickering candlelight, gleaming pale silver. The odds of the innkeeper having seen something like it from one year's end to the next was very slim.

It also made what Shou wanted very plain. The innkeeper's fingers twitched towards it but he didn't snatch it up just yet.

"Of course, sir. Just tonight? And did you want food as well?"

Shou suspected whatever was served here wouldn't be to his liking, or to his proper digestion. Besides, he had enough food in his pack, provided by Floramon, not to count on others. He wanted only a place to avoid the coming inclement weather.

So he shook his head, gesturing again to the fireplace and the straw mat in one corner.

"Of course, sir," the innkeeper repeated, bobbing his head. "I assume you wish to be left in peace?"

That got a firm nod of Shou's head. He cast a quick glance to the other patrons, most of whom looked as if they hadn't had a good meal in far too long, and all of whom looked as if they were trying to decide how much trouble it would take to rob him and if it were worth that trouble. Shou hoped they figured out it wouldn't be. He'd rather his first kill wasn't a pack of peasants too hungry to realize they were outclassed.

At his look, all of them at once did their best to come across as if they were merely being curious and not murderous. Shou mentally rolled his eyes and headed over to the suddenly vacant seat by the fire. Already he could hear rain pattering down outside, and he wanted to rest while he could.


As the stranger settled down by the fire, the locals congregated by the bar, muttering in hushed voices.

"He has to be nobility. Look at what he's wearing. And this!" The innkeeper hissed between his teeth, tapping at the silver coin. Real silver at that. He'd never seen its like before. A sheaf of wheat on one side and a shield on the other marked it: nothing that he recognized, but he didn't care. It was silver. It could be traded for almost anything he wanted.

"Where did he come from? The only people with any wealth near here are Barbamon-sama's people," the butcher murmured, casting a glance over her shoulder. "He doesn't look like a Digimon."

"As if you'd know what one looked like in the first place," grumbled the baker. "But you're right on that." He frowned, staring at the stranger in his own turn. "Didn't that one traveler – the one last year – say something about Barbamon-sama having a pet human?"

Slow, thoughtful nods moved through the gathered villagers. They'd all heard it; news came through here rarely enough that everyone chewed it over for months when it actually happened. The traveler hadn't given much information, or had much to give in the first place. But they'd made mention of a young man living in the evil Digimon's castle, clearly being treated well.

"If he's from Barbamon-sama, then I'm not going to touch him," the weaver declared. "I don't care how much money he has on him. Not worth my life."

The innkeeper stared at the stranger, who'd removed food and drink from his pack, all of which seemed so much finer than what he had: the food, the drink, and the pack. He could see a money pouch as well, fastened to the young man's belt. It looked very heavy.

If I had that, I could leave this town altogether. Let someone else run this place.

"We're going to need someone new to run this place," the butcher muttered, staring at him. "He's got the greed in his eyes."

The innkeeper ignored her. He would have that money but he wouldn't harm the young man. If he had all of that, then he clearly wouldn't miss it. He would just have to wait a little bit.

"Not serving anything else tonight," he announced. "Get on out of here, back to your homes! Come back tomorrow!"

He waved them all out, wincing at the pain from his half-healed arm, and started to clean up for the night. Only the stranger remained, chewing his way through a simple meal and enjoying the fire. At least the innkeeper hoped he was, and wasn't actually paying attention to it.

The innkeeper carefully extinguished the candles and came over to the fireplace, concealing a small pouch in one hand. He could open it like that easily enough and did so while bending over to prepare the fire for the night. He sprinkled the contents on what would be coals soon enough, knowing the aroma would spread out into the room.

A hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked around to see the stranger looking at him before he gestured to the fire. Had he been seen? He decided quickly.

"Just a little something my grandmother taught me. A mixture to keep the evil spirits away." He offered a small smile. "Don't think it works, but what could it hurt, right, m'lord?" He followed the smile up with a bit of a laugh, that of a country bumpkin pretending to be more sophisticated.

The stranger stared at him for a few heartbeats then nodded, removing his hand. The innkeeper tried hard not to sigh in relief as he settled the straw mat down for his guest, hoping to get safely to his cubbyhole soon.

His grandmother had been the village herbalist for most of her long life. What he'd dropped into the fire would release a fragrance that would send anyone who breathed it into a deep sleep for hours upon end: giving him all the time he would need to sort through the stranger's pockets and claim all that money for himself.


To Be Continued

Notes: Some people have no self-preservation skills at all!