20.
They dress, giggling like children. He keeps pinching her shoulders as she laces her bodice and she shivers each time. It takes him so long to dress, layers and layers that will keep him warm in the northern mountains. She wishes she could be one of those layers, close to his heart.
They walk to the stables, hands interlocked, and half a skip in her step. Jols meets them at the door, looking relieved. "Good," he says in a huff. "I was looking for you and I didn't want to have to go knocking on doors." Anira's blush is fast and hot as wildfire, but Jols doesn't seem to notice. With a squeeze to her hand in brief farewell, Gawain peels away to prepare his weaponry. Already, Tristan and Dagonet are polishing, re-wrapping, and sharpening anything they think they might need. She will wring a proper goodbye from Gawain later. From all of them.
For now, she turns to Jols, who is almost too serious for her good mood. "I'll need you to look after the horses we leave behind, since Arthur's said I'm to come along," he tells her, and after everything that has happened in the last day, it feels like a bee sting. Certainly, Jols in potential danger is an upsetting new development, but it cannot compare really. But this is dedicated fantastic Jols, who knows every horse and every weapon that a knight may need or want. She can see that Jols seems to be taking it the same way, nervous but understanding. It lifts her heart a little, knowing that Jols will be there to make things a little less awful.
"I'm taking Steady with me, as a pack horse," he announces, pointing to the big chestnut gelding, placidly chewing at his feed. "And I'll have Pathseeker as my mount, but we're also taking Orkney and Rockall as spare mounts." He points to each horse as he names them, though she doesn't need the help to remember them. Pathseeker is the calm pale brown mare flicking her ears back and forth, watching Jols. Orkney is the shaggy black gelding that Dagonet sometimes rides and Rockall the sleeker black stallion that sired him. She knows each of them like she knows the wrinkles in her hands, part of her and wonderful. Far from her father's home, she was still never allowed to forget that she was Sarmatian and that they were horse-people.
She is not quite as focused on Jols anymore, though he is still talking, about schedules and feed and stall-mucking. She knows all of these things, has heard them a thousand times since birth, but he is talking for the order of having it said. His talking soothes the horses.
They need it, especially when she wanders to the larger area of the stable and sees Galahad riding his stallion Drift in a circle. The horse is more calm than the rider, taking the swift jerks on the reins like everyday guidance, Galahad's face clouded and his body tense. He gives her a cursory glance, but keeps riding, focused on the pounded path of his circle in the dirt floor.
The other horses can tell that something is happening. Beautiful clever creatures, they can feel Galahad's anger and the anxiety that the other knights feel as well. Each mount is as much a part of his knight as the weapons he carries, their personalities a wonderful complement to already wonderful men. She can't look at them, these horses that might soon ride back bearing simply a body rather than a living man.
She looks at the ones that will be left behind. These are bred war-horses, though they might have never seen a moment of battle. They number half a dozen, offspring of earlier knights' mounts and she remembers them less than the others, like cousins from far away.
Jols calls her name, and her vision snaps back on him. "Arthur says you should choose one," he says, gesturing to the cousin horses. "You'll need a horse to call your own when you head back, and it seems a crime you've never had one before."
She shrugs, but she inwardly she agrees. After Fury died, there was a hole in her heart that could only be filled with a horse, a quiet absence that has always been a part of her. She walks along the stall doors, ignoring hooves pounding, hand outstretched towards wary noses.
Each of the horses sniffs at her hand, watching her. Three mares, two geldings, and one stallion. She walks along the line, over and over again, like Galahad, retreading the path until something strikes her. Two black, two sorrel, one dun, and one grey. Well, the grey is actually a blue roan, her eyes playing a trick on her. She stops in front of the stall, leaning into it, hand outstretched towards that large blue grey face.
He's not as big as Fury, but she knows that her brain is flawed slightly for comparing every horse to that giant. Of course, she would pick the only stallion of the lot, loving that thick neck for that reminds her of Fury. Will she forever compare horses to her father's? The stallion walks towards her, butting her hand with his nose. Anira rubs his velvety nose, under his chin, along that thick neck. He puts his head over the stall door, almost over her shoulder, like an embrace. She winds her arms as much as she can around that neck, stroking a silky mane, and decides that she wants this large horse the color of light in the hours before sunrise.
"Hello you," she whispers to him, and he whickers back at her, his own hello. She turns to Jols, half hidden by the stallion's head and says, "Oh, can I have him?"'
Jols smiles at her, a rueful smile he used to give her when she was younger. "You might want to change his name."
"Why? What have you been calling him?" She can't seem to pull away from the stallion, excitement filling her at the prospect of riding.
"Orphan," Jols says.
"Oh, but then I must have him," Anira says with a smile, backing away and blowing at his nose. He makes a whuffing noise at her, then backs back into his stable. "We have to stick together. We'll protect each other."
Am I putting off writing the farewell? Yes, clearly. Why talk about the horses here? Well, I wanted to talk about Orphan and also, it just happened.
Guess nobody wanted any smut, which is fine. Here's to hoping that the next chapters get back on schedule.
Many thanks to those that read and those that review. Extra thanks to both.