Another silly angst ficcu. Haha. I know. Anyways, this is just a little idea I got since Christmas is coming. Yay! -wishes for new saddle-
Silence. That was all winter seemed to bring to my dear friend.
I held still, perfectly as I could as I did most times, as the soothing bristles of the stiff brush removed the clumps of dried mud marking my thickening coat. Winter was already upon us, and my hair was turning to what felt like, and practically was, heat-trapping fur, and it was becoming increasingly harder to keep myself clean. I wasn't really trying to go out of my way to escape the dirt, either.
My head lowered slightly, an ear flicking at an annoying fly, listening—feeling—the rhythm of the steady, firm strokes, a sense of relief coming to me as more and more dirt fell out onto the chilled ground. I eyed Edmund, who had remained silent all the while, watching as his breath turned frosty in the chilly air. He took no notice of my glance, only moving to brush away even larger clumps of muck from my hocks and lower legs. I tensed there, as though it would help him. There was very little I could do to help him—if he even needed it. He was very thorough.
His lips pressed a tight line as he glanced quickly at the clouding sky outside the Stables. It seemed as though snow was promising in the next week or so. Christmas was only so far off, so I supposed it was only normal. Though, as I stole another glance at my boy, he looked troubled. He lowered his gaze again, matching mine for a split second before snatching up a toothed comb and working the knots out of my tail.
It was the season. The season that he had not come to overcome the fear of.
Rough as his hands were growing, it never failed to amaze me how gently he handled my features, not pausing until I was sure I glistened, or unless time pressed one of us. Even then, I rarely left with an unsmoothed coat. Never once did I wince when he struggled with a knot, though he rarely came across one, considering he groomed me everyday if he could.
He finally spoke when he had one of my hoofs in his hands, and it was out of pure humor and speculation. His words warmed me even before they finished passing his lips. "How can you stand to have all this packed into here?" he snorted, swiping once with the pick and watching the mass fall to the ground. It remained solid even as it hit the firm ground.
I sighed once, gathering my breath as Horses do before they speak. Even the dumb, witless horses carried that trait. For a moment, there was only the scratch of the brush as he cleaned away any grime that remained on my hoof. "I am only used to it. Think a moment on it—before you and your siblings arrived here, there was no one here to groom us as you do. There was no one here who rode us--"
"Even still it is a rarity," he cut in, his voice short.
"There was no offence in you riding me, and there still is none, Edmund," I assured. "But you are correct—it is a rarity." He glanced at me, pausing in his work, before reaching for my left hind leg. I lifted it to him, and he held it, kneeling to rest the ankle on his knee in my comfort, falling silent in his work again.
The silence cursed him once again. It wasn't that I took it to be rude…it was just noticeable. He had always appeared quiet during the winter, with the exception of the witty remarks that sprang from him, and the conversations he held with his brother and sisters likewise. He had a clever mind; that was apparent. He was remarkable company, silent or not.
It just...hurt.
Once he was done with each of my hoofs, and they were worn completely clean, he moved to my mane. Again, words were not to pass his lips. I sneezed at a fly. He moved to brush it away.
Several more times, the ordeal repeated itself, and he always moved to stroke my muzzle, the flies scattering from the presence. It was private relief when he managed to my forelock, my head lowered to him, his shadow clearing away the bothersome insects. He worked away the traces of coming tangles, one stroke at a time, sometimes laying the tool aside to work away the knots away. They were tiny and hardly noticeable, but he insisted.
He stood back finally, looking me over to see his finished piece. I lifted my head, trying my best to look regal under the young King's gaze, wanting him to take pride in his work. Unfortunately, whatever acceptance that was just managing through his readable expression turned to alarm as I sneezed rather loudly at another fly come to pester me. I suppose it was a good thing Horses could not, and still cannot, blush as the Sons and Daughters of Adam and Eve do when they take to embarrassment.
He sighed, exasperated, swatting the annoying insect away with a flick of his wrist. "It's an amazement they are still out," he muttered; "Especially now that it's winter." An ear flicked forward at the sudden change of tone in his voice, quiet and discrete as it was.
"The first, free, natural winter Narnia has had in over a century," I said softly. He averted his gaze to the ground. "And it's only--"
"A few weeks away; don't remind me," he said shortly. "Lucy won't let up about it."
"And she has no reason not to," I said. "It is something to celebrate over."
He glared at me. "Glad you feel that way, because I don't."
I hardened my gaze, swishing my tail in irritation. "Spring, Summer, and Fall passed easily, and Winter shall do the same. And oh! the first peaceful Christmas. Surely you must look forward to that."
He replaced the grooming tools with haughty demeanor. "Such a shame I shan't be able to join the celebrations in the same manner."
"Do not fear, Edmund…"
"I'm not afraid at all."
I raised my head slightly. If it wasn't fear, it was something very similar to it. I neared him, my now-hollow hooves clopping noisily against the ground. "Have you heard the saying, 'Winter comes in…like a lion…and out like a lamb'?" His lowered gaze rose the slightest bit as he nodded silently. "Well, then. I see no fear of Winter. Not with Aslan--"
"Aslan isn't here!" he lashed suddenly. "Aslan hasn't been seen in months."
"And Jadis has been gone for months," I said coolly.
He quieted then, his hands still clenched into such fists that they shook, so I too remained silent and let my words do whatever magic they may. He had said the very words that had so enticed him were so very lovely to believe at the time; perhaps he would fall to this temptation of his release of whatever nightmare I knew he had feared ever since his betrayal.
It was a few good moments before the tension threatening to shake his entire body relaxed, and the pain finally seemed to leave his face. The only thing that bothered me was that his gaze remained lowered, and the habit of silence was taking over his ability of speech again. When he did speak, though, the words were dry and dampening at the same time.
"I have to go."
And go he did.