The gates to the castle of the Avren Kingdom opened in a welcome cacophony of gears and chains working to move the massive constructs. Sir Tequinn Harvinger swayed with fatigue atop his chestnut colored steed Senya, whose hooves clopped and echoed off the stone walls.

Behind them, soldiers and their retinue followed, equally weary from their journey to the far south, fighting in the century long war that they have no hope of seeing the end of. Just like battles past, the clashes they participated in were brutal and bloody. This group lost a quarter of the numbers they left with. Their only solace was that the enemy suffered equally.

A squire, fresh from the county side, Harvinger could tell, came trotting up to him, eager to take the steeds reigns and lead them to the royal stables. "What is your name, young squire?" Harvingers voice rolled like gravel from beneath his heavy helmet.

Surprised at being addressed by the storied knight, the squire stumbled, "Uh....ummm..."

"It's OK, young one. You may speak." Harvinger said reassuringly. Well, as reassuringly as he could manage, being well aware that his voice can be described as anything but warm and gentle.

The squire blinked a couple of times before mastering his emotions and finally providing an intelligent response, "My name is Bartleby, but my friends call me Bart."

"Then, my young squire, may I address you as Bart?"

The squires mastery of his emotions was fleeting as his face froze in shock. Sensing that the squire was at his limits of emotional control, Harvinger continued on. "Judging by your silence, you think this is an expectation of friendship. It can be, young squire, if you become my squire. I'm afraid my last one met an unfortunate end on our journey and I find I am in need of one. Come, follow me and learn."

Despite his heavy armor and apparent fatigue, Harvinger dismounted Senya with grace born of years around horses. "You will find that I am not like the other knights. I only need a squire as a second set of hands, running the errends I cannot do myself. I do not let others take my steed," he emphasised this with an affectionate pat on Senyas neck, "nor do I expect others to clean my gear for me. I take care of these myself. Do you follow?"

"Y-yes, sir Knight."

"Good. Your responsibility is to make sure the stable is well kept and ready for Senya or myself. Provisioned and clean. I will tend to Senya myself, none other shall do so without my direct approval. I will never send written missives that counter that, nor shall I send instructions to the contrary via messenger. Failure of this direction will result in immediate dismissal. Do you understand this, Bartleby? "

"I-I do, sir knight."

They had arrived at Harvingers personal stable. Harvinger doffed his gauntlets and helmet placing them on a table then returned to Senya, reached into a saddle pack and fisheds out a parchment, quill and ink. After a few moments of writing, he pulled out wax and his stamp, carefully rolling the parchment and affixing his seal to it.

"Take this to Captain Parson. This is informing him that you are now my squire. Return here once he reads this and dismisses you. Now go." He turned without waiting for Bart to acknowledge his directions and started to remove the various bits of riding gear affixed to Senya. Each peice that came off was placed in its proper location. Finally Senya was free of her burdens.

Harvinger next scooped up the deshedding brush and worked over Senya from shoulder to haunch, removing fur that built up since they broke camp that morning. Next he grabbed a bucket, pleased to see it freshly filled and proceeded to wash Senya.

As he washed his loyal steed, he spoke to her, as of she could understand him. "Senya, what a steed you have been for me. When I first laid eyes on you, I knew we were destined to ride together. Your chestnut fur glistening in the dusk, the pride you carried yourself with. I cannot explain, but it's almost as if you enchanted me. Despite being a wild mare, I did not have to break you, you joined me, almost willingly."

Harvinger tossed the rag wetly into the bucket where it splashed noisily. Next he picked up a towel gently patted Senya dry. "The men were all amazed that I tamed such a beast. But you and I both know, there was no taming necessary." Senya huffed as if in agreement. Satisfied that she was dry, Harvinger next grabbed the brush and lovingly brushed the soft fur of his companion.

By this time Bart had returned and stood quietly nearby, waiting for his next instructions. Harvinger knew he was there, but ignored him for now. "Imagine my surprise at how nimbly you navigated our first battefiled together. Somehow you emerged without a scratch." The brushing continued, "Then the time you helped find survivors of the Wellington disaster, when a levy broke and flooded the nearby village."

Harvinger moved to the other side. "I knew you were special, but little did I know how special you were. Even my old squire Percy learned it the hard way, the first time he tried to tend to you. You wouldn't let anyone touch you. Only me. You rarely even let another take your reigns to be led around, much less rode about. That horse thief was in for a surprise when you intentionally ran him into a tree branch. It's too bad you stomped him so good, I would have loved to get my hands on him myself." Harvinger chuckled at the memory.

"Bart, fetch me some food and drink. I am nearly finished here but I still need to doff my armor and tend to it."

A small cloud of dust followed the squires "Yes, sir Knight" as he took off.