A Hero's Ballad: Norbert

     “Looks like it.”

     “Same Neopian as the last six times?”

     Rohane glanced down at the envelope and frowned. “Yes.”

     A near-endless barrage of letters made their way into the castle the past five months, all of which were addressed to the legendary knight and hero. So often did the delivery Weewoos land on Rohane’s head that few spared a glance anymore; it was just another Tuesday. Some of the knights snickered at the small pile of Weewoo treats that Rohane kept in his pocket to keep the hungry petpets at bay.

     The first few times Rohane opened the letters, it was from a Brightvale University graduate student looking to interview him. It wasn’t like they were the first to ask—many did—but Rohane turned them all down. He didn’t want the attention, the limelight, the hero worship. He already had enough of that as it was. But he also never replied, which was probably why the student was so insistent. He had hoped that his lackadaisical response would deter them, but it seemed to be doing the opposite. This weekend, Rohane decided, he would write a formal rejection notice to stop this nonsense once and for all.

     As the sunset, he donned a hooded cloak over his casual clothes and met up with two of his comrades, a blue Lupe and blue Wocky. It was Tuesday, their weekly relaxation night, and flying Mortogs above, could Rohane use some relaxation.

     After the initial awkwardness of Rohane stopping a tavern fight, the gruff regulars at the Mangled Marrow quickly grew used to their esteemed guest. A few weeks after, you’d have hardly guessed that he, Sir Jeran Borodere, and Sir Danner, made the cobweb-covered, grimy tavern their panacea from adoring fans and paparazzi.

      As of yet, only Rohane’s identity was known after his hood had slipped; both Jeran and Danner had no intention of publicly revealing themselves. Then again, tavernkeeper Arv had a new habit of saying, “welcome back! Order anything you like,” upon their entry with a wink, which had both Danner and Jeran a bit unnerved.

     Bess, the muscular purple Zafara serving wench with an I *heart* mom tattoo on her neck, would greet them warmly, then immediately insist on arm-wrestling Rohane. On her break, that is. She was nothing if not professional. After their initial greetings, she would show them to their favourite seat, a table in the corner of the room where Jeran could sprawl out and they could have some privacy.

     The trio savoured bowlfuls of the tavern’s famous fried marrow strips and tankards of blood orange soda while chatting about mundane things outside of their work lives. Rohane talked about his beloved baby nephew with an uncharacteristic grin. Danner recounted a lavish ball and the handsome Neopian with whom he had danced. When Jeran drilled Danner for more details, he became increasingly shy, eventually ending the conversation with a light punch to his superior’s arm and muttered words of embarrassment.

      Jeran struggled to avoid the topic of work. Lisha often teased him about it, although lately with an undertone of concern. This sometimes left the Lupe with little to say and a mouth full of food to fill the void. That, or a rousing game of shut-the-box.

     Tavern guests often invited them over to play darts or arm wrestle or indulge in games of chance. It had become a nice weekly ritual, a sort of mundane addition to an otherwise exciting life, and for that the trio was grateful. For Rohane, it was his one slice of normalcy since he and his crew returned from their adventures and were hailed as international heroes.

     For the most part, anyway.

     After Rohane had been convinced to sign the tavernkeeper’s “lucky napkin,” less frequent visitors would gawk and point at the signature. A few of them called it into question, one declaring that “there no ain’t no way no famous guy visited this dump.”

      And the middle-aged Skeith tavernkeeper—to his credit—always kept to his word.

     “He only visited here once,” he would insist, never once pointing to Rohane or his comrades.

      With Rohane’s hyper-sensitive ears, he could hear every word of the conversation. He was continually impressed by Arv’s ability—heck, with all the regular tavern guests’ ability—to preserve his secret.

     Most of the guests had a certain flavour to them, a toughness that frightened away the upper crust and nobility. So, when a brightly dressed spotted Gelert with a felt, tri-corned hat nearly tripped on his way through the door, he turned some heads.

     “Hello there!” the Gelert called cheerily, his mop of curly brown hair bouncing as he spoke. “I was hoping you could help me find someone.”

     Even the knightly trio had turned towards him in interest. Jeran, who was playing shut-the-box with Danner, shook a pair of dice between his hands while Rohane took a large gulp of his blood orange soda.

     Arv had been counting a stack of money on the desk. He looked up, bemused. “I take it you’re not sitting in, then?”

     The Gelert chuckled nervously, revealing a notebook and quill that was tucked under his armpit. “No, sir, just trying to find my way around the city.”

     “Is that so?” Arv scoffed, clicking a neopoint on top of his growing pile. “You’re an awful long way from Brightvale University, kid.”

     “Woah.” The Gelert leaned in over the countertop, a sudden sparkle in his eyes. “How’d you know I’m from Brightvale University?”

     “It’s all over your green and white robes, kid.” The middle-aged Skeith pulled the stacks of money closer. “You know, with the Brightvale logo on top?”

     “Oh, right!” The student tapped his forehead with his hand. “Silly me. I forgot I was wearing that.”

     Arv rose a brow. “You… forgot?”

     “Funny, right?” He shuffled about sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. “I got a bit lost, too. Kind of wandered around Meridell most of the day.”

     Jeran shook his head and mouthed the word “wow” to his companions, before turning back to his game with Danner. Having rolled a 12, he happily flicked down the 9 and 3 pegs.

     Arv waved over to Bess, accompanied with a jerk of his gangly thumb towards the cheery student. She nodded dutifully before throwing on her best customer-service smile.

     “Why, hello there, hun—”

     “Is that Sir Rohane’s autograph?!”

     Rohane sighed deeply, but kept a wary side-eye on the interaction. This sort of thing happened often enough, but they usually backed off after a few minutes.

     Before Arv could answer, the student dashed past Bess and lifted the framed napkin off the wall. He scanned each loop in the neatly signed name and traced it with his finger, muttering something under his breath. The agitated tavernkeeper then pried the item out of the Gelert’s hands and placed it back on the wall. Meanwhile, Bess rubbed her biceps, presumably tempted to clock the Gelert for being disrespectful, before returning to another customer with a huff.

     Sighing, Arv answered, “yes. He came here onc—”

     “He came here?!” Norbert wagged his tail with delight and let out a squeal. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat and stood up straight, his demeanour suddenly serious as his quill hovered above the page. “Alright then, sir. I have a few questions for you.”

     Arv’s eyes narrowed. “And just who are you supposed to be?”

     “My name is Norbert Solanum, Master’s student at Brightvale University.” He dipped his quill in a small inkwell that he placed on the counter. “Sir Rohane is the Neopian I’m looking for; he’s my Master’s thesis subject.”

     Rohane spat his drink into his cup and coughed out loud. A sea of furtive glances shot in their direction before quickly darting back to their own business.

     “I don’t know much about him,” said Arv, who suddenly felt the need to clean the counters, “came here once, ate some marrow strips, had some soda. Seemed like a decent guy.”

     Norbert scribbled at a feverish pace. “I see, I see. And did he visit with anyone else?”

     Danner and Jeran shared a nervous glance while Rohane sunk lower into his chair, wishing that he could disappear into the floorboards. Or that there was a trapdoor located below their table.

     “That kid’s personality did a 180,” whispered Danner, “what the heck.”

     “For real,” replied Jeran, making sure to keep out of the candlelight. “It’s like he’s a completely different Neopian.”

     Rohane laid his forehead on the sticky old table and cupped a hand in front of his face. “A thesis on me?” he strained, “why?”

     “I know,” Jeran shot back with a twinge of jealousy, “it should’ve been me.”

     “Be my guest,” shot Rohane, “I don’t want this.”

     Danner shook his head in disbelief. “Seriously, R, your luck is legendary. And not in a good way.”

     “Believe me,” the Blumaroo grumbled, “I know…”

     The innkeeper shuffled about uncomfortably. He pulled at his sweaty collar as the student continued to drill him.

     “He had a few companions; not sure of their names.” When Norbert leant in closer, brows knit in concentration, the tavernkeeper took a few steps back against the wall of powdered soda mixes. “It was too dark to tell who they were. Just a couple of blokes, is all.”

     “And they also only came here once?”

     “Y-yeah.”

     The Gelert’s eyes narrowed as he studied the Skeith’s face. Shrugging, he dipped his quill into the ink again. “Anything else you can tell me?”

     “N-nothing that I can think of, no.” Arv fanned himself with a hand. “Woo, anyone else hot in here?”

     A few hands shot up from the tables.

     “Yeah, I thought so.” The tavernkeeper scurried from behind the counter. “I need to open some windows, you see. Keep the regulars happy.”

     Norbert tilted his head. “But it feels perfectly comfortable to me?”

     When the Gelert felt a strong tap on his shoulder, he found himself face-to-face with a burly Mynci with purposely ripped clothes, a regular by the name of Frank. Stumbling back, the student hugged his notebook close to his body.

     “Hey, kid,” said Frank.

     “H-hi there,” Norbert’s voice visibly shook. “E-everything okay, sir?”

     Meanwhile, the three knights kept a close eye on the two, ready to intervene, if necessary.

     Frank crossed his arms. “Princess Skullcrusher says you need to ask less questions to Arv here. Guy’s got a job to do.”

     The Gelert shook his head, evidently unaware of the Neopians who had pulled their tables further away. “C-can’t do that, Princess Skullcrusher. N-not when I could learn something new for my research.”

     “Oh yeah?” He bit off a piece of marrow strip that was in his right hand and tore it in half. “Is that so?”

     “Y-yup.”

     Rohane stood up from his seat, as did both Danner and Jeran. They weren’t about to let a college student get roughed up, even if he was being nosy.

     When Frank’s fist went flying towards Norbert, the student instinctively ducked. Rohane, being the closest, quickly wrapped his hand around the Mynci’s wrist and squeezed it, causing Frank’s palm to open above the cowering Gelert. In the Mynci’s rough, scar-covered hand was a burlap doll with a sown angry face and pointy teeth. The doll’s red dress had crossing blades in the design.

     “Calm your ears, Ears,” the Mynci spat, as Rohane lessened his grip. “You too, Blue, Tail. I wasn’t gonna hit him hard, just show him that Princess Skullcrusher approved. I like tough dweebs.”

     “Frank,” Rohane warned in a low, dangerous voice that he hoped the Master’s student couldn’t recognize, “leave him be.”

     “Or you deal with all three of us,” added Jeran.

     The Mynci threw his free hand into the air and grunted. “Alright, alright. Sorry, kid.”

     Norbert dropped his inkpot in fright, causing it to splatter everywhere, including on his robe. He exclaimed in anguish before picking up his ink-covered notebook from the floor. Despite falling to the ground, the inkpot managed to keep from shattering. A little ink remained at the bottom of the well, miraculously not on his clothes or hands. Looking up at the three hooded Neopians, all of whom hid their faces, he forced a smile. Norbert then gripped the now blackened quill, his hand quaking.

     “Thanks for that, um…”

     “Ears, Tail, and Blue,” called Bess, pointing to each of them while serving up some still-wriggling calamari, “tough blokes. Strong biceps!”

     “Strong biceps?” Norbert paused, before continuing, “uh, thanks for that, you guys,” Norbert exhaled in defeat while using his thumb to wipe off the extra ink, “I guess I’ll just have to transcribe that again when I get home…”

     Frank danced Princess Skullcrusher in the middle of the group, a look of guilt on his rugged features. “He weren’t in any danger—really, Ears…”

     Danner pulled the Mynci’s arm back and led him into a corner, presumably to give him a stern lecture. Meanwhile, Rohane handed Norbert a pile of napkins to clean off the ink from his robe while pulling in his hood tightly against his face. Jeran had made his way over to Arv and bantered about something in a low voice.

     Norbert dabbed the napkin on his clothes. “Thanks for that, friend...”

     Rohane replied with a thumbs-up.

     Finding an empty seat next to Rohane’s table, the spotted Gelert slunk down and dug his face into his hands, darkening his cheeks. He worsened this by wiping a hand across his forehead, giving him an almost unibrow look. “Can I tell you something, Ears?” he asked. ”You seem like a nice guy.”

     Rohane hesitated, and did his best to keep out of any source of light. “Uh, yeah.”

     The entire tavern’s worth of Neopians listened in. One of them elbowed her buddy while crunching a bowl of fried potatoes, as if marvelling at a spectacle.

     “I’ve always idolized Sir Rohane—well, he wasn’t a Sir back a few years ago when we met.” As Norbert said this, Rohane felt the room grow warmer, and uselessly fanned his face with a hand. “Stories of his adventures filtered back to my village, like how he saved White River City from Zombom’s nefarious spell.”

     When Rohane was too flabbergasted to speak, one of the other regulars, a Krawk named Jim, called out from the back, “tell us more, Green! And afterwards, come have a cupcake!”

     Norbert blinked in confusion. “Green? Cupcake?”

     “It’s a nickname thing,” mumbled Rohane, “they do that to everyone here. And Jim makes great cupcakes.”

     “Darn right I do!” hollered Jim. “It’s my maw’s recipe!”

     The Gelert let out a decisive “hm” before continuing his story. “When I was recently a college graduate, still unsure of what I wanted to do with my life, Sir Rohane saved my parents’ farm. Bandits had been threatening us to leave for some time; it’s fertile, acidic soil on ‘Solanum Acres,’ perfect for growing potatoes.” He continued to fiddle with his stained clothes, making them noticeably worse. “I nearly ceased to be the day Rohane came—the bandits captured me and took me hostage, knowing that my parents would trade their farm for my life.”

      “That sounds awful.” Rohane felt a lump in his throat and couldn’t help it when his voice cracked. “I’m sorry, Norbert.”

     “It was awful—even worse when I overheard them from the wagon.” He scrunched the fabric of his robe. “The way they laughed when they said they wouldn’t keep us alive after the ordeal… I just…” It was then that Rohane noticed Norbert had tears in his eyes. “I’m really lucky Sir Rohane came when he did. He saved my parents’ farm. He saved them. He saved me. But he didn’t want anything in return—nothing at all. We tried to offer him money, but he refused.”

     Rohane took a long swig of his soda to fill the silence.

      A small bowl of crispy marrow strips landed at Norbert’s table, accompanied by a comforting pat by Bess.

     “Tail got it for ya, hun. Dig in.”

     Norbert quickly wiped his face as he daintily plucked the top piece from the pile and nibbled on the end. “Thanks so much, Tail, Ears, and Blue. You’re all so nice.”

     Again, Rohane gave a thumbs up, as did Jeran, who was still across the room. Danner continued to address Frank as the Mynci visibly deflated.

     “The more I read about him,” the student’s voice grew in volume as he straightened his posture again, “the more I realize how important it is that Sir Rohane has a legacy—that Neopians remember him for the brave deeds that he’s done worldwide.” As Norbert spoke, his tail wagged faster and faster, until it swatted against Rohane’s side enough to hurt. “I don’t want his story to be full of holes lost to time; he deserves to be remembered, to inspire generations of Neopians for centuries to come!”

     There were a few seconds of quiet. Half the room turned their chairs and craned their necks to better hear Norbert’s impassioned plea.

     “Maybe he did it because it was right?” mused Rohane, feeling the weight of one-hundred stares on his sweaty back. A few of the regulars had moved noticeably closer. “Maybe he didn’t want to make a big deal of his actions.”

     Norbert paused between nibbles and cocked his head to the side. There was a spark of analytical interest in his voice. “Maybe…” He pointed the marrow strip towards the Blumaroo. “I take it you’re a fan of him, too?”

     “Uh…” Rohane stiffened as Arv had made his way to the table with Jeran in tow.

     Jeran placed himself between the two. “Hey there, Norbert.”

     The Gelert’s brows arched. “Hi, Tail. Everything okay?”

     “It’s not really safe in this part of town, especially this late and alone, so we found you an escort home.”

     The student hesitated. “That isn’t necessary, you guys… I can find—”

     “We just don’t want anything to happen to you. And—”

     There came four knocks to the door.

     “Ah,” finished Jeran. “I think that’s them now.”

      Bess answered it promptly as a purple Xweetok with a shock of orange hair and dark robes sauntered into the room. Bowing to the tavernkeeper, they said, “when Arv hires you for a job, you don’t say no.” Flicking their hair out of their eyes, they added, “I’m here for the student. Where is he?”

     Arv jerked his head towards Norbert, then flipped a few Neopoints into the air and into their palm.

     “This is your best?” whispered Jeran while his elbow nudged Arv. His Neopoint pouch was noticeably lighter. “And you’re sure about them?”

     “Around these parts?” he shrugged, methodically spinning two Neopoints in his hands, “yeah, Robin’s my best, most trustworthy bodyguard-type. They’re reliable, really alert. Your buddy will be safe.”

     After some goading, Norbert finally agreed to being sent back to his dormitory in a rickety carriage. The ride was bumpy, a product of uneven brickwork, tufts of crabgrass sticking defiantly through cracks in the road, and the occasional stop from a petpet crossing. More than once, Norbert popped two feet into the air and landed awkwardly on his tail after hitting a large pothole. But despite everything, he made it home okay. Upon reaching the campus, the quiet Xweetok, who had patiently listened while he regaled them with multiple stories of Sir Rohane, opened up the carriage door and offered him a paw. As soon as he had reached the ground, Robin bowed, then turned away into the night.

     The moon shone brightly into Norbert’s dorm when he nudged the door forward. The idea was to sneak into bed after showering, but his roommate, Oliver, had other ideas. The sketch Yurble sat cross-legged on their Brightvale logo carpet, half-asleep with a quill buried behind his ear.

     Behind Oliver were two of his other friends, twin Rukis who sat propped against one another along the wall. Dani, a faerie Ruki, snored loudly while Danielle, a pink Ruki, drooled against her sister’s knee.

     Oliver yawned broadly; his head propped up precariously by his fist. “What happened?” he managed. “You okay?”

     “I’m okay,” replied Norbert, before throwing in a dejected sigh, “but I didn’t get to meet Sir Rohane after all. I looked all over for him, too…”

     “Maybe… maybe time for someone else. For thesis.” He faceplanted forward, landing on the soft carpet.

     The Gelert grabbed a towel from his hook as he dragged himself towards the shower. “I’m starting to think….” he said to himself, and to the cold and empty hall that flanked the dorm’s bathhouse, “that maybe you’re right…”

     After drying off, dragging his roommate into bed, and throwing his extra pillows and blankets around the twins, he practically collapsed atop the remaining sheets and passed out until the morning.

      Norbert awoke to the tapping of a Weewoo on his dormitory window, a regally dressed Weewoo with a gold leg band. In its bill was a fancy envelope sealed with the mark of the knightly Order. “To Norbert Solanum” it read in gold ink.

     Nearly dropping the letter in excitement, Norbert tore off the top, his high squeals of “eeeee” waking his roommate and friends.

     “What’s up?” asked Oliver, bolting up from his bed. “Is this a good ‘eee’ or a bad ‘eee?’”

     “Everything okay?” The twins asked it in unison, giggled at each other, and added, “jynx. Jynx again. You owe me a—”

     “Soda.”

     “Burger.”

     “Fine,” they said together again, before turning their attention to the Gelert, who had since dropped to his knees.

     “Are you okay?!” All three of them rushed over and offered him a hand as the Gelert started to bawl.

      “Oh no…” Oliver said, concerned that his roommate’s letter barrage would get him barred from the Meridellian realm. “It’s okay, Nor. He didn’t deserve y—”

     “He said yes!” Norbert wiped the tears from his eyes. “He said YES!”

     All three of their jaws dropped.

     “Really?”

     “He did?!”

     “Wow.”

     When Norbert lifted a brow, Oliver let out a forced chuckle.

     “I-I mean, of course he did! He’s your hero, after all.”

     Dani and Danielle hovered over Norbert’s shoulders and marvelled at the impeccably scribed words on the parchment.

     “Mr. Norbert Solanum,

     You are hereby summoned to the Kingdom of Meridell by order of Sir Rohane, Second Class Knight, for a span of time necessary to complete your scholarly thesis. Upon your entry, present this parchment as proof of your invitation.

     Respectfully yours,

     Mr. Quillwright, Castle Scribe

     Sir Rohane”

      “Guys! It has Sir Rohane’s autograph!” He hugged the summons tightly, squealing as he did. “I’m going to get this framed!” he declared, jumping in place like a kid at a candy store. “This is the happiest day of my life!”

     ~X~

     Back in Meridell, Rohane swung his sword on the practice grounds, his face knit in concentration.

     “I heard what happened,” came a voice from behind. “An official summons, eh?”

     “That was fast,” replied Rohane as he slashed a straw training dummy in half.

     “I am the Captain of the Order,” said Jeran with a shrug, “but you’re sure you want to do this? Because Norbert seems like…” the words caught in his throat.

     “A handful?” supplied Rohane.

     “And a half.”

      “Oh, for sure.”

     “Then why say yes?”

     Rohane dug his sword into the ground as the ghost of a smile flashed across his face. “Because against my better judgement, I like him. He seems like a good kid with a good heart.”

     Jeran smirked. “You big softie.”

     “Oh, cork it.”

     “Never.” The Lupe winked. “I hope you enjoyed a quiet Meridell, because things are about to get a lot more exciting around here.”

     Rohane laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”