Oleander had been wondering the world for… a while. He remembered many days, and then there were the days before the day when his mind fully awakened that he didn’t remember, and Oleander was certain altogether they made him quite old and wise.

Oleander was a little owl. His kind are not generally known for their cleverness, or even common sense. Oleander was special, in that way – that was what the man who gave him the name Oleander said. Oleander believed it wholeheartedly – there was little doubt in his mind that he was a most special bird, undeniably the smartest one in these parts.

Oleander noticed that the forest was sick.

Oleander noticed that other animals seemed to move away from it, that fey creatures avoided it.

But the forest was Oleander’s home. He wasn’t going to lose it to irrational fear.

And that was why he was watching a group of suspicious men setting up camp near where he lived. They were suspicious already for the fact that they were humans – a rarity in the world of fey. Surely, they brought trouble.

They were armed to the teeth, but Oleander had no fear when he fiercely attacked one of them. Bumping into the metal of his armor hurt, but Oleander was determined to see this through. He aimed up to gain more speed for the second attack, but this time before he could bowl down any of the intruders someone’s giant hands caught him.

Oleander struggled, and a deep voice from above cooed, “Hey, hey, calm down. We’re not gonna hurt you, ‘kay?”

A single finger stroked along Oleander’s feathers and he suddenly forgot about his plan of attack. It was heavenly. He wasn’t being held tightly anymore, but that didn’t matter.

His captor chuckled from above, “Uhhh… if only Kira was here, she could ask you for directions, huh?” There was something soft and wistful in his voice, and that brought Oleander out of his stroking-induced stupor.

Ha! Oleander wouldn’t fall for such lowly tricks! He was fully conscious and ready to obliterate this camp of invaders.

“I understand you well enough,” Oleander said, making sure to convey how offended he was by the human’s stupidity.

The man’s eyes widened before he split in a bright, toothy grin and laughed, “Well! Should have known you were a special guy! Do you think you could help me?”

Oleander bit his finger.

The man hissed but didn’t flinch back, and Oleander respected that.

“How do I know you come with good intentions?” he demanded of the man. “This is my place! You can’t just come and go as you please!”

To Oleander’s eternal surprise and happiness, the man bowed his head in shame. “I apologize. I wasn’t aware these forests were protected by such a brave and honored warrior. May I ask for your name, o brave knight?”

Oleander was no knight, wasn’t even sure what a knight was, but it sounded important, and Oleander liked important. “I’m Oleander!” he supplied helpfully.

“Pleased to meet you, Oleander,” the man nodded, “I assure you, we have no ill intentions. We were invited, actually, to exterminate a demon. Do you think you could help us find a mountain?..”

After long negotiations and an offering of dried crickets the man had in his pocket for some reason, Oleander deemed the strangers trustworthy.

“If you want to get to the mountain over there, you need to go the opposite way, but with the intention of getting to the mountain. Otherwise it won’t work,” he explained and the knight accepted it with only a single raised eyebrow. A few hours later, the party set off into the forest, away from the mountain looming on the horizon.

The further they went into the forest, the stranger it became, and in a way that made Oleander feel unsafe. The black tar covering the roots and branches of some trees was disgusting and sticky, and Oleander ended up riding the knight’s shoulder instead.

They came by animals from time to time. Not mindful like Oleander, but not mindless like normal beasts, either – instead they seemed possessed by some different power, one that didn’t belong in the fey world. Instead of fleeing, they attacked, refusing to let injuries stop them.

Their skin and blood oozed black tar just like the one on the trees, and Oleander bit his steed’s hand when the man tried to touch it. Oleander wasn’t sure what would happen if it touched the skin, but he was certain it would be something bad.

At the foot of the mountain, there were no corrupted creatures. There wasn’t anything, really, and that was when the knight turned to Oleander again.

“It’s probably best if you turn back,” he offered.

“I’m not afraid!” Oleander protested, puffing up.

The man smiled, painfully gently, and shook his head, “Of course not. But someone has to watch our backs – it would be very dangerous if some unknown enemy approached us from behind, no? You saw the creatures out there – if they startle us, we’ll be in trouble!”

He bowed deeply, “And there is no one I’d trust more to keep us safe than you.”

Oleander understood now – the foreign knight wasn’t trying to keep Oleander from the exciting adventure, but trusting him with a special adventure of his own. That was fine – Oleander indeed had better eyes than those funny humans, and wouldn’t let anyone ambush them.

So they parted ways, and Oleander waited.

He waited.

He waited for quite some time, but time had no meaning in the world of fey, and so Oleander didn’t worry.

Each time he looked, the forest looked better, as if the sickness dissolved, and Oleander didn’t see any more of the corrupted creatures.

Eventually, the man and his friends passed his way again, only this time there were much less of them.

“Where are your other friends?” Oleander asked.

The man looked conflicted. He sighed, and offered his palm to Oleander before sitting heavily under a tree. His voice was quiet when he spoke, “They didn’t make it through the battle we had with the evil on top of the mountain. What about you? Did you see anything dangerous here?”

Oleander shook his head. He felt guilty for not coming with the group; surely, if he’d been there, none of them would have died. He said as much, but the man just smiled, “No, no. You were exactly where you were needed.”

They stayed quiet for a while, and then the man spoke again, “Hey, Oleander? How would you like to be a knight yourself?”

Oleander was confused, “Didn’t you say I was a knight already?”

The man nodded, “A knight in spirit, certainly. But if you would like to be a knight in title as well, I have something for you.”

Gifts! Oleander was quite fond of gifts, which he made known through insistent nibbles.

The man produced a small sword – almost exactly like the ones that his men were wearing, but tiny – just the right size for Oleander. He touched each of Oleander’s wings lightly, and proclaimed in important voice, “I hereby pronounce you Sir Oleander of the Feywild. Do you, Sir Oleander, swear to protect these lands to the best ability?”

“I do!” Oleander squeaked excitedly.

“Do you, Sir Oleander, swear to defend the weak and the destitute?”

“I do!” Knighthood sounded even more important than Sir Oleander imagined before.

“Do you, Sir Oleander, swear to fight against the evil that seeks to destroy your home!”

“Well, obviously!” Oleander replied, and the man smiled and stroked his feathers with one gloved finger.

“Then you are now a Knight, Sir Oleander. Do not bring shame to this title.”

He leaned closer, and whispered, letting Oleander in on a big secret, “One day, demons may once more descend from this mountain, and evil forces will seek to give them safe passage to bring ruin to both your world and mine. When that happens, you must find others willing to defend your home, and fight off the demons. Can you do that?”

Of course, Oleander could. He could fight evil off by himself, if he was honest, but he supposed proper knights needed to have an entourage. That was acceptable, he would find someone that wouldn’t hold him back when the time comes.

Sir Oleander left, drunk on his newfound importance. One of the soldiers came up to the knight, frowning.

“This is gonna get the bird killed.”

The knight sighed. Now that the bird was out of sight, he looked tired, old.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But maybe it will save someone else.”

The knights marched away, their work done.

A thin stream of black tar rose up along the path they took.

A little owl stood between the demonic planes and the walls they sought to break.

—–

Uh. I have no excuse for this. Should have known that bringing in Sir Oleander would kill any chances of this being angsty, but I also really wanted to write Sir Oleander, so despite realizing the mistake early on, I stuck with the original idea.