The Memoirs Of A Reteep.

Spoilers for book 3 and 4, so if you haven't read them yet then in the words of Frilly Etchton, "Don't dawdle, get on with it!"

So, since no one wrote a fanfic about Oskar as a child ( or Oskar as anything) I decided to write one myself! 😄

This part is more of an introduction, and if you like it then in the next part I plan to have him when he was a little lad!

Oskar N. Reteep sat in an overstuffed dark brown armchair hunched over a beautify carved wooden desk in his cluttered office in the great library of Ban Rona. He was getting stiff now in his old age, and though he still loved sorting and organizing books, he wasn't able to do a lot of it anymore and spent much of his time reading and writing.

Owen, Oskar’s assistant and the librarian in training, walked into the room carrying a loaded tray.

“I’ve brought you your plumyum tea and some toast spread with glipfruit jam sir.” He said, walking over to the old man.

Looking up from his writing Oskar replied “Ah! Thank you Owen! Put it on top of that copy of “Spoons, Plates, and More.” There’s a good fellow! As Doti Frump once said, “Book’s have many uses, so set the tray on them.”

As Owen gently set the tray beside the old man on top of the large volume, he noticed loose piles of handwritten papers strewn about in front of Reteep on the large table.

“What are those sir?” Owen asked.

“What? Oh, those!” Oskar replied while pouring himself a cup of tea. Well, those are the beginnings of my memoirs! From the time I was a young boy in Glipwood to becoming the head librarian here!”

Owen immediately became more interested. “Your memoirs sir?” When did you begin writing them?”

“Oh, I started sometime at the beginning of winter, the High King requested that I write down the story of my life for the history of Anneria that he is having compiled. I don’t see why my story needs to be a part of it, but he insisted, so I obliged.”

“I’m not surprised that he wanted it sir, you did play a large part in the High kings life.”

“I suppose,” Oskar replied with a slight smile, “But I don’t like drawing attention to myself, and my own part in the story was not my own doing, but a gift of The Makers.” He said leaning back in his chair with a sigh. “I’m not even sure anyone wants to read about the life of an old librarian.”

Looking back down at the papers, Owen quietly said to himself, “I would.”

“What was that?” Oskar asked, sitting up quickly and almost spilling the tea cup in his hand. “You really would like to hear it?”

Owen was surprised that Oskar had heard him but he replied, “I would indeed sir! You’ve taught me more than I could have learned in a lifetime and helped me to love and appreciate books more than I ever would have without you!”

Oskar looked happier than a five year old whose mother has just told him that he can have a second piece of cake, “You really would Owen? Oh good gravy! I haven't felt this happy since Kalmar was able to sneak me a whole sugarberry pie when I was down with the flu last winter! The nurse taking care of me found out too late!” He giggled, his large belly jiggling. “All she found was an empty pie plate and some sugarberry juice in my mustache!”

After he had calmed down. He straightened his glasses and began rifling through the papers on his desk. Owen was blinded for a few moments as papers flew. “Now what would you like me to read first? The story of when I got stuck in a fish barrel for two days? Or maybe about the time I snuck into the castle Tor during the Fang occupation and saved the last copy of the poet Arlfo Gimps’, “I Met a Diggle, And It’s Quills Met Me.”

“Maybe something from your childhood?” Owen replied, ducking as a small recipe book flew past.

“Aha! If that is what you want, then, In the words of Stewart Swindly, (a used shoe salesman) ‘I’m sure I have something available that you would like!’” Oskar cried, tugging a stack of papers from under a book titled “Gertrude And The Groblin.”

“It’s the story of when I first went discovered Book’s And Crannies! My old bookstore in Glipwood!” He said, straightening his glasses.

“That sounds like the perfect place to start!” Owen replied. Sitting down in an old chair to the left of Oskar’s desk.

Oskar took a bite of jammed toast, then paused a moment to pull off a piece of parchment that had landed on half of it and gotten stuck. Once he had removed the offending piece of paper, he finished the toast, cleared his throat with a mouthful of tea and began…