Written for the Wheel of Doom Chaos Fest hosted by Frumpologist. I chose to participate in the frog category and was assigned the following prompts to include in my story:
Character: Gregory Goyle
Trope/Sitiuation: Royalty AU
Dialogue/Prose: "It's all in my head. This isn't actually happening, you're not real!"
Chaos: Story starts with Glowsticks.
Laughter bubbled up from Ginny's throat as she sprinted across the castle grounds. Her feet tripped over themselves, sliding down mud-slicked hills, making her way to the stables. She could still hear the exasperated shouting of Hermione coming from somewhere far behind her, spurring another ecstatic burst of laughter.
As she reached the path leading to the massive covered stables, her heart beat furiously against her chest. She was going to do it tonight, it didn't matter who stood in her way. Tonight, she would climb atop a horse, leg on either side, and ride to her heart's content. Adjusting the too-big trousers she had stolen—no, borrowed—from her older brother, she tied the string around the waist even tighter and swept her hair high atop her head, securing it in place with a ribbon.
Okay, Ginny. This is it. Calm down and breathe, they can sense nervousness. She reminded herself, taking a moment to shake her hands out at her sides and suck in a few deep breaths of cool, spring air.
She took a step forward and then another. Soon, she was rounding the bushes and the front of the stable was in view.
The night was dark. The sky lined in thick, rain-heavy clouds ready to spill open at any moment. It was for this reason, Ginny chose tonight to ride. Without the beaming rays of spring sun to give her away, she would most certainly have the opportunity to trot around the grounds with little to no interruption. Unless, of course, Hermione snitched. But, she doubted that. Hermione had been her main hand for over a decade now. She was used to Ginny's determination to do whatever she could to break out of the castle.
Buzzing with excitement, she shuffled her feet in the unfamiliar, too-big boots and took in every smell and sounds she could. Her squinting eyes roamed along the high, narrow beams that held the roof in place. Her fingers brushed against straw, stone, and splintered wood. She wrinkled her nose at the musky, manure smell emanating from inside. Even still, she couldn't bring herself to dislike a single thing about this moment.
She pushed through the gates, the loud squeal of the surely rusted metal causing her wince. She waited a moment, looking over her shoulder to see if anyone would come. When no one did, she continued on, with a bit more confidence in her step.
A smile stole her face as she continued on to the back of the stables looking for a specific horse. It was a massive thing—lean with muscle that was covered in a shiny, black coat. Bred for battle but too unruly and wild to ever be taken out. Even her second oldest brother, Charlie, had said the beast was a lost cause. And, if Charlie couldn't tame a horse, then no one could.
Ginny had begged and begged them not to send the horse away.
Thankfully her father, always indulgent to Ginny's whims, allowed the horse to remain at the castle.
The stallion was kept in the last stable on the left—far from any mare or working horse. Ostracized and left alone, aside from the occasional company of a stable hand. Or, when she could sneak away from the castle to look at him, Ginny.
"Well, it is rather dark in here tonight, isn't it?" A male voice came from the far end and Ginny gasped, ducking behind an empty stable to peek around and see who the voice belonged to.
Jumping down from a rickety, wooden ladder that led to the top floor, stood a large, broad shouldered man. He looked to be about her age, maybe a year or two older. But, years of hard work were evident on him. His face was weathered, sun-kissed skin pulled taut over a square jaw. She could tell from his gait that he had been working his entire life.
He moved closer to the horse that Ginny had her sights set on, murmuring things she couldn't quite hear as he did.
"Well, if you would stop being so difficult, they might let me take you out more," cut across the silence and Ginny had to press her lips together to hold back the laugh that nearly spilled past them.
The horse seemed to huff an indignant response to the man and even in the darkness, she could see his lips lift in a half smile.
"Let's get some light, yeah?"
At this, Ginny lifted her head to see a bit further over the dividers, looking for a candle or a torch to be placed on a sconce. Her brows pulled together in confusion, she saw nothing to indicate the man had a light source. And, in her humble opinion, she thought it would be rather irresponsible to light a fire in a stable, anyway.
The man whispered something and suddenly, a beam of soft, golden sunlight shone from his hand.
Ginny gasped and stumbled backward, tripping over her ill-fitted boots and landing on her backside. She felt her wrist crack from the fall, her palms back to try and stop herself, and she moaned in pain. Tears sprang to her eyes and she pulled her arm around her front, cradling it to her chest.
"Oi, who's there?" His voice boomed through the barn, the light now coming closer. "If you're here to steal, I will turn you in."
Ginny pushed herself to her feet, holding her chin high, trying to ignore the pain that throbbed in her wrist. "I do believe I am allowed to visit my own stables, am I not?"
He stopped, turning to face her. Her eyes went wide, her mouth falling open at the sunlight that flooded the dirt floor between them. Clutched in his hand, a thin, glowing stick. She blinked several times, sun spots dancing in her vision as she met his gaze.
He looked terrified.
"What is that?" Ginny demanded.
"A horse," he answered, motioning toward the black stallion. "There's a lot of them here."
If she wasn't so confused by the softly pulsing light, she may have laughed. "Not the horse," she said, instead. "In your hand."
He held up his opposite hand, "A strap of leather, Your Highness, to secure the beast to—"
"Your other hand," she hissed.
His face flickered with guilt—and then, fear—before a blank expression wiped his features. His jaw set and she could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled.
"A—a stick."
"But, it's glowing," she couldn't suppress the awe in her voice as her eyes fell back to his hands. "How are you making it glow?"
His mouth moved, opening and closing like a fish, before he pressed his lips together and stared at her.
"Stable boy, I asked you a question," Ginny said, with more confidence than she actually felt.
"I—erm...Well, you see, Your Highness, I...the ability to produce light is...well, I—"
"What is your name?" she interrupted.
"Goyle, ma'am."
"Your first name, if you please."
"Gregory."
She took a step forward, still holding her wrist to her chest, "Gregory, I would like to know how you are able to make sunlight from a stick."
His shoulders sagged as a gust of air left him, "I don't know," he mumbled.
She took another step, this one longer in stride bringing her much closer to him. Up close, he was several inches taller than her. His broad frame blocked anything behind him from her view. His eyes sat deep against his sun-tanned skin, a prickly shadow of facial hair lining his jaw. His dark hair was cropped short to his scalp, and given its unevenness, it had been shorn by his own hands. Her gaze dropped back to the hands that held light, and she saw they were large and calloused—his knuckles slightly split and his fingernails dirty.
"You don't know?" Ginny repeated.
He remained still.
"Are you a warlock?" she asked, "I've heard stories of warlocks."
Gregory shook his head, "I don't think so."
"Is there anything you do know?" she asked.
His eyes finally left her face and fell to where her swelling wrist was cradled to her chest. "I can fix that," his chin jutted out, pointing to her arm.
"With that glowing stick of yours?"
Tentatively, he nodded.
She narrowed her eyes and searched his face for anything unsavory. She wondered briefly if this was some sort of tomfoolery thought up by her twin brothers. Something to trick her, should she be caught sneaking out of the castle at night again.
"It won't hurt," he offered. "I've mended my own before."
"Okay," she whispered. "Okay. You may mend my wrist, Gregory. And then, you shall answer my questions."
He gave a sharp nod and reached out for her hand, dropping the leather strap to the ground at his feet. She winced as he pulled her wounded arm away from her chest, holding it delicately in his hand. His skin felt warm and rough.
He whispered something she didn't understand. Ginny flinched as her bones cracked, grinding back into place. It wasn't particularly painful, but it certainly wasn't pleasant, either.
"There, you are, Your Highness."
Ginny opened and closed her fist, experimentally. Wiggled her fingers and rolled her wrist several times to see if the pain would return.
"Amazing," she breathed, eyes wide as she stared at her hand.
The quiet that had settled was interrupted by the horse. A whinny made in an attempt to bring attention back to him, his patience with the situation clearly lost. Ginny looked up in time to see a half smile steal the face of Gregory before he bent down to pick up the strap.
"He's restless," Gregory said. "I was coming down to take him for a ride."
"A ride? But, no one is able to ride that horse. That's why he remains in the stable," Ginny said.
At this, Gregory smirked, "He's picky."
"He's a horse."
Gregory shrugged, "Fussy, then."
Ginny puffed out a breath of laughter and Gregory turned back to her, eyebrows raised in question.
"I want to ride him," she declared. "I came here tonight to ride that horse."
Realization seemed to finally dawn on Gregory as his eyes trailed over her. Her night shirt that had been cut and tucked into trousers, which were then haphazardly shoved into boots that were obviously a few sizes too big. She clenched her teeth, raising an eyebrow in defiance. Daring him to question her. Or perhaps, waiting to see if he would turn her in, take her back to the castle to let her advisor, McGonagall, deal with her. She inwardly panicked at the scolding and lectures she would get. Not to mention, the 'I told you so' from Hermione she knew would come.
'If you don't stop mucking about, they're going to marry you off even sooner!' Hermione had warned.
Ginny suddenly felt very ill and swallowed around the lump growing in her throat.
Before she could demand that this Gregory Goyle do as she says and allow her access to the steed, another voice boomed inside from the entrance.
"OI! Greg! You comin' down to the lake?"
Gregory—or, perhaps, Greg?—swore under his breath, "Yeah, mate. I'll finish up here and be out."
"Hurry up, you sod!"
The door swung back shut and the slam of the wood seemed to linger in the air. Several moments later, Greg cleared his throat.
"Look, Your Highness, that horse isn't fit for a leisurely trot about the grounds. But, if you want to learn to ride, I'll help you."
Ginny blinked several times, "You will?"
He nodded.
"You understand that should you get caught, you will lose your job? You could be banished from the castle grounds."
He lifted a shoulder and sighed, "You keep my secret and I'll keep yours?"
Ginny studied him for a few seconds longer before nodding, tentatively. "Okay."
"See you tomorrow, Princess." He bowed low, his arm stretched to the side of him before straightening up and making his way back up the rickety ladder, the stick still glowing, clutched in his palm.
That night, once she had made the trek back to the castle, sleep evaded Ginny. However, it wasn't worries of being married off to the highest bidder or dread for the next dress she would sewn into. It was the kind, roughened face of the stable hand and his promise to keep her secret—and the warm sunlight that bloomed from his fingertips.
"You can't go back again, Ginevra," Hermione tutted, despite the plait she was applying to Ginny's hair.
"Ugh, don't call me that," Ginny complained, "I don't see why not. I'm a Princess, I should be allowed to do what I want to do in my own castle!"
"It's not your castle," Hermione reminded her, now taking care to tug a ginger lock a little harder than strictly necessary. "It's your father's."
"Only for now," Ginny mumbled, indignantly.
Hermione puffed an exasperated sigh and secured the end of the plait. "You aren't supposed to be out galavanting with—with stable boys! What would your mother think? Or, McGonagall?"
Ginny rolled her eyes and hopped off the stool, shoving it aside as she changed into the stolen trousers. "I don't care what they think, Hermione. I'm tired of being cooped up in here, waiting for marriage. Did you see that Prince that arrived today? Pompous git."
"The Malfoys connections would secure—"
"Oh, don't give me that rubbish," Ginny snapped, shoving her feet into the boots. "He was an arse. You know it, I know it, even bloody McGonagall knows it!"
"Well, yes," Hermione conceded, stooping over to swipe Ginny's discarded nightgown from the floor. "But, an alliance with the Malfoys will ensure your life remains at the status you're used to! They have riches beyond what even our kingdom has."
Ginny scoffed, "If you like him so much then you marry him."
Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed in defeat. "You're going to get caught."
"Not if you don't tell anyone."
"I'm not going to tell anyone."
"Then, I'm not going to get caught."
"If you aren't back in two hours, I will send a guard for you," Hermione warned.
Ginny beamed, "I know. Have I told you that you're the loveliest maiden in all of the kingdoms, lately?"
Hermione bit back a smile, "Yes, yes. I know. Now go. Two hours, Ginny. I'm not kidding."
"Two hours."
Hermione walked with Ginny through the winding corridors of the castle. The massive windows let in some of the silver moonlight and nothing but the occasional scuttling of a mouse running across the stone floors could be heard. Hermione turned off, heading down toward her quarters while Ginny quickly stepped down toward the kitchens. She peeked her head around the corner to ensure the coast was clear before sneaking in. She snatched a small, burlap sack off the counter and filled it with some apples and carrots and then carefully lifted herself up onto the surface and pushed open the window. It squealed in protest, forcing Ginny to look over her shoulder before finally pulling herself through the opening and making a mental note to ask Hermione to have it fixed.
Ginny was buzzing with giddiness as she rounded the large shrubs that lined the pathway leading to the stable entrance. Her stomach swirled with a strange mix of nervousness and elation—eager to finally experience riding a horse properly and wondering if Greg would be opposed to answer a few questions about that strange glowing stick.
"Princess," Gregory murmured with a bow as Ginny entered the stable.
Ginny waved a hand, "Please, no. Ginny is fine, Gregory. There's only so many times you can be referred to as 'Your Highness' before it starts to make you feel sick."
"Alright then, Ginny. You can call me Greg," the right side of his mouth twitched up and Ginny smiled. "You brought a bag."
"Oh, right. Yeah. I swiped some apples and carrots from the kitchen. I thought maybe a little treat might warm him up to me?"
"Not a bad thought."
Together, they ambled down the center of the stables. Ginny shuffling alongside Greg's hulking frame. She nearly tripped over her boots and finally turned to Greg, placing a hand gently on his elbow. He stilled but did not pull away.
"Could you create the light again? I think it will be easier to learn if I can see what I'm doing."
He frowned, contemplating the request for some time before acquiescing and lifting his shirt a bit to pull the stick from the waistband of his trousers. He flicked his wrist and the stable illuminated with a soft, golden glow.
"Magnificent," Ginny murmured.
She did not miss his smile before he turned away again, stalking back toward the horses.
The late spring days soon faded into early summer nights, and Ginny couldn't remember a time she had been so happy. After a disastrous meeting with a Prince called Zabini, her father had finally given in to her pleading and allowed Ginny time over the summer to enjoy the grounds and continue her studies. Naturally, she wasn't actually studying, of course. She attended the occasional training with McGonagall and said all the right things at the dinners with other Nobilities in the kingdom, but her mind was constantly elsewhere.
The horse she desired, Obsidian, was still unsure of her. However, Greg had been able to successfully teach her the basics of riding on a much calmer, older mare. She had spent countless nights in laughter as she and Greg raced among the grounds, through the trails of the forest and around the banks of the lake.
They talked for endless hours about nothing of importance. Greg often listened to Ginny lament about her frustrations with meeting men who saw her as nothing more than expensive cattle. He spoke little of his own life outside of his work on the grounds and a few anecdotes here and there. She craved to know everything about him. She had so much she wanted to ask, so many things she needed to know, and they had such little time together in the stolen moments throughout the evenings.
It was with this desire to spend more time with him burning in her chest, that Ginny slipped away from the midsummer ball to seek some quiet and perhaps, some answers.
Trudging down the slopes of the grounds in boots and trousers that didn't fit were one thing. But making her way up the steep, grassy hillside in a massive gown and corset was another thing entirely. She could barely breathe from the way the bloody thing squeezed the air from her lungs. And, her feet were invisible beneath what felt like several hundred layers of fabric. By the time she reached the stables, she was doubled over with her palms on where she thought her knees might be and wheezing.
"Ginny?"
She coughed a few times and looked up to see Greg standing at a tree not far off, leather straps in hand that led to the bridle that wrapped around Obsidian's head.
"Hi," Ginny panted. "Sorry, just...the hill is a lot steeper...in this…" she waved a hand toward the hills and then over herself, indicating the massive gown.
"I'd wager that's true," Greg nodded, slowly. "Why are you here, though? Shouldn't you be out there with all of the...your...people…?"
"My people?" she chuckled, "Certainly not. I'd much rather be here with you and Obsidian. Did you just take him out?"
Greg nodded again, "Yeah. Short ride. Just to the lake and back—you should sit down."
"To be honest, I'm not sure I can in this."
He frowned, "Give me a moment?"
"Uh, yeah. Sure," Ginny called after him as he passed by her with Obsidian. "I'll just wait out here and try to look inconspicuous in a bloody ball gown."
She could hear his laughter from inside and she smiled to herself, leaning against the stone wall.
A few moments later, Greg emerged. He closed in on her and twirled his finger in the air, indicating she should turn around. Ginny arched an eyebrow in question, but obliged, turning her back to him. Seconds later, she felt tugging at the back of the corset and finally, she could take a full breath.
"Thank you," she said, sucking in as much air as she could as she turned to face him, "How do you know what ties to undo?"
"S'nothing. Mum was a seamstress before she passed away," he offered. "Come on, let's go sit over here."
He jerked his head to the side and began to walk toward the tree, Ginny followed.
They had a strange friendship, Ginny thought. Greg was quiet most of the time, only really speaking to instruct her on what to do to care for her horses and muttering a few small quips here and there. He wasn't rude or unkind—rather the opposite, in her opinion. He seemed to be caring and gentle, always treating everything with respect and a quiet understanding. He rarely gave a full smile, but instead, a soft lift of one side of his mouth as he shook his head.
The thing Ginny liked most about spending time with Greg was that he didn't treat her any differently than he treated anyone (or thing) else. It didn't seem to matter to him that she was royalty. He had no qualms with setting her straight when she let her ego get the best of her in an attempt to get her way. Instead, he would do that frustratingly fond smile and then proceed to tell her exactly why he wouldn't let her do whatever it is she wanted.
Perhaps, that was why she had sought out his company tonight.
Ginny had spent the last several hours being on her best behaviour. Back straight as a rod, speaking only when spoken to, smiling at all the right times, laughing as Lords and Princes and Dukes told terrible, demeaning jokes… She was exhausted with it all. She craved the company of Greg, the easy camaraderie and comfortable quiet. And if she also craved the way her heart pitter-pattered in her chest when she was with him, well that was no one's business but her own. So, she begged Hermione to cover for her and after several minutes of a proper scolding, Hermione finally complied.
Ginny watched with curiosity as Greg pulled a square of burlap from his pocket, along with his wand (he had finally told her what the stick was called), and suddenly the small square erupted into a large blanket. Her mouth dropped open with awe and as always, Greg ignored her amazement, shaking the blanket out and letting it fall over the grass.
He extended his arm, motioning to the ground. "Didn't want you to ruin your gown."
Ginny's face lit up with a shy smile and she nodded, accepting the help to be seated, the massive folds of fabric from her dress surrounding her.
"Won't you sit, too?" she asked.
He seemed to think about it a moment before plunking down across from her, his back against the rough bark of the tree. He brought his knees up, his arms outstretched over them, hands dangling in the air as he looked off, over the hill, to glittering lights that lined the courtyard.
"It looks very pretty from up here," Ginny whispered.
"Always does," he agreed.
They sat in companionable silence for quite some time. Finally, Ginny's curiosity got the best of her and she began to speak.
"Greg?"
"Hmm?" He grunted his response, eyes still glued on the lights.
"How did you learn to use your wand? Did you just...just pick it up one day and it worked?"
The pause before his answer lasted so long, Ginny feared he didn't hear her. Or, worse—she had crossed some line and he was angry at her question.
"I've always been able to use magic," he finally answered. "My mum and dad could, too. As far as I know their parents, and their parents before them, did as well."
"How do you know what to say to make it work?"
He lifted his shoulders, finally turning his face to her. "Learned it."
"From who?"
He swallowed visibly, and again she worried she'd asked too much.
Greg looked away from her again, "My mum always said that it was given to special people," he murmured. "The spells given to us by ancient powers to pass down through the generations."
Ginny studied his face for a few minutes; the furrow of his brow as he stared at his hands, the way he chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Do you believe that to be true?"
He looked back up at her, his eyes hard and searching. She wondered what he was looking for in the planes of her face.
"No."
The answer wasn't clipped or angry. Just, direct—like everything Greg said. His gaze lingered on her and Ginny felt the weight of it just as surely as she felt the rise and fall of her chest with each breath and the way the loosened corset still dug uncomfortably into her sides.
"Why not?" she pressed.
"Nothing about me special enough to be given a gift like this," he answered.
Ginny inhaled sharply, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she shook her head in protest. "That isn't true."
"It is," he insisted. "I shovel horse shit for a living. I don't read or write. I don't know any of that...mathematics that Ernie does. I don't know anything about medicine or—or what it takes to run a kingdom or how to fight with a sword. I will never be able to be a suitor for you."
Ginny's breath caught and she stared at him with owlish eyes. Never be a suitor. She felt the small fracture in her heart at the words crack even further as she realized that perhaps she had wanted that, too.
"You don't just shovel horse shit. You understand these beasts, Greg. You alone were able to break Obsidian—Charlie couldn't even do that! You're kind and you're caring. I think that gentleness is a lot more special than being able to wield a sword for battle! And you've got magic! I don't know anyone else who—"
The laugh he let out that cut her off was bitter; it sounded wrong coming from him. "I think you're naive enough to believe that. We aren't all cut out for crowns and jewels."
It stung.
More than Ginny wanted to admit, it stung that Greg thought her to be naive. Hotheaded, stubborn, maybe even pompous at times, sure. But, naive? Simply because she saw something in him that he refused to acknowledge? Furthermore, hadn't he always treated her the same as anyone else? He couldn't possibly think all she was good for was to carry on a legacy she didn't even want!
She felt her heart break a little more as she attempted to push herself to her feet, her gown making the action far more difficult than she had hoped. Greg moved to help her and she swatted his hand away, finally on her feet.
"I am not naive because I believe you're...you're something better than you're allowing yourself to think you are, Gregory. If you're so convinced that the only thing you're good for is shoveling shit, then that will be the only thing you're good for. But, I refuse to believe that about you."
She turned on her heel and began stomping toward the path leading back to the music, lights, and partygoers.
Midsummer passed and faded into the golden hue of autumn before Ginny returned to the stables at night.
In that time, her days continued on the long and dutiful path of learning what it meant to be a good wife who would soon become a good Queen. She sat through countless dinners with suitors from lands she hadn't even heard of. She spent hours sewn into gowns that cut off her circulation and made it hard to breathe. She practiced perfect etiquette in every social gathering, she remained silent and poised, and desperately bored.
Every Prince, Lord, Duke, or whatever other ridiculous titles they had been given, she thought of Gregory in the stables. Broad shoulders beneath threadbare clothes. Calloused, rough hands that smoothed over shiny, velvet coats of horses in attempt to calm them. Dark eyes that were flecked with hints of green and gold. The low, dulcet tone he spoke in. The soft, half smile.
"Ginny, you've been so good," Hermione pleaded, grabbing her hand to stop her from tightening her trousers any more. "McGonagall is really pleased with how far you've come! You have a meeting with a suitor in the morning and it's late and—"
"Hermione, let go of me."
Her fingers loosened from around Ginny's wrist, but they did not fall open. "You know how to ride, now! Wasn't that the reason you began going to the stables in the first place? What could you possibly need from there now that you've done what you set out to do?"
"I have unfinished business there," Ginny said.
"The stable boy?" Hermione laughed and immediately stopped when Ginny shot her a seething glare. "Oh, well come on, now! He's a stable boy, Ginny! You can't honestly expect me to believe you're going back there at this time of night to...oh my god."
Hermione's hand finally released Ginny's wrist as her mouth fell open.
"Oh my God. Ginny, you can't—"
"He isn't just a stable hand, Hermione! He's so much more than that. And every moment I spend in the presence of these suitors—" she spat the word as if it burned her lips, "—I'm reminded of it."
"He called you naive," Hermione pointed out. "You spent days angry at him for it. And, now you're going back? After weeks of proving that you're capable of the title you've been born to?"
"Maybe I am naive," Ginny said, stooping over to pull a boot onto her foot. "Naive enough to think I would ever be happy just as some arsehole's wife. That I could ever make a good Queen—"
"You will be an amazing Queen! All the work you've put in, you'll be brilliant—"
"I don't want to be a brilliant Queen, Hermione!" Ginny nearly shouted, roughly shoving her other foot into the remaining boot. "I want to be seen as a person. And he—he saw me."
"You're making a mistake, Ginny. If the King and Queen find out…"
"Are you going to tell them, then?"
Hermione took a deep breath and shook her head.
"Thank you," Ginny whispered.
Weeks of burying herself beneath layers of fine fabric and wine laden dinner with people she couldn't stand to be around made the decision for Ginny. Days spent contemplating how real she felt in the hours she spent with Greg, grooming the horses and riding across the grounds, had made the decision easier. Maybe it was naivety; but the answer felt so glaringly simple to Ginny, she could no longer stand to ignore it.
When she arrived at the stable, she had been met with the loud, discordant bray of a horse in distress. She sped through the dark barn to the last stable on the left. Obsidian's head thrashed side to side as he stomped urgently, hooves scraping across the ground.
"Hey, hey," Ginny sang, her voice low and soft, palms raised as she approached the restless beast. "What's happened? What's wrong?"
The horse neighed wildly, nearly rearing back completely to stomp both front legs hard onto the ground.
"Greg?" Ginny called out, looking around.
When no reply came, Ginny's heart began to thunder against her ribs. Something was wrong. Greg was always here this time of night, as long as she had known him, he had always been here. A sickening feeling of dread mingled with confusion as Ginny looked about wildly, trying to figure out what to do or where to go.
Obsidian cried again and like the sunlight that glared from the end of Greg's wand, the solution fell onto her.
Quickly, she made her way over to the wall, feeling for a harness. When her fingers wrapped around the soft leather, she yanked it from the nail and sped back toward Obsidian. With nimble, sure fingers, she secured the harness in place and pulled a saddle from its resting place, swinging it high to land on the horse's back.
"You know where to go," she said softly, stroking the smooth side of him. "You'll take me there, won't you?"
Obsidian snorted, his nostrils flaring with the puff of air and Ginny took that as good a confirmation as any before placing a foot in the stirrup and pulling herself atop the saddle. She twisted the reins around her fists and together, they sped from the stables down the path leading out to the grounds.
Logically, Ginny knew she was trusting an animal to take her to wherever Greg may be. Praying with everything inside of her that the beast wouldn't just buck her from his back and take off on his own to galavant around the fields until morning. Obsidian had seemed to know something was wrong, though. So, she trusted him—the way Gregory trusted him.
After a ride longer than she had ever taken that took her into the forest she had expressly been warned to never enter, Obsidian slowed and weaved his way through low hanging branches and toppled over logs. Panic began to bloom in Ginny's chest and she felt so very stupid, as they worked their way deeper into the thick of trees.
Finally, Obsidian came to a halt and Ginny took that as her cue to dismount. She loosely tied the rein around the thin trunk of a tree and took one last look over her shoulder at the horse before continuing on foot.
Soon, she heard a low, melodic sound coming from just a little further in. She followed it. The tone was familiar and calming as it carried to her. She pushed a hanging veil of ivy from her path and stopped in her tracks, staring at the clearing in the forest.
Greg sat in the center on the ground, rough hands working in intricate patterns with his wand as a needle and thread pieced together fine fabrics. Behind him, stacks of books and parchments scattered everywhere with messy writing scrawled across the pages. A sword laid to his left, glinting in the soft blue light given off by small flames that lined the area around him.
"Gregory?"
His head snapped up, his eyes roaming around the area, looking straight past her. Her brows knit together in confusion and she stepped forward, a strange feeling to flee enveloped her so wholly it nearly took her to her knees.
"It's all in my head," she heard him whisper.
Ginny took in a deep breath and pushed past the overwhelming feeling to run and took another step forward. She was met with resistance as if swimming upstream, and continued forward until finally the feeling broke and she could breathe again.
"Gregory?" she called out again, this time louder.
He paused, his eyes finding her immediately and he began to shake his head. "This isn't possible. You're meant to be in the castle! It's not...this isn't actually happening. You're not real."
She closed the distance between them and fell to her knees before him. Her hands rested atop his, stilling them momentarily.
"It's not in your head, Greg. I am here. And I am very much real."
"How did you get through the protection? How did you get here?"
"Obsidian," she smiled, one shoulder raising in a shrug.
"Ruddy horse." He paused, and then, "You rode him," it was not a question.
Ginny nodded, "He seemed distressed, I got worried."
"You were in the stable?"
"I came to look for you. What are you doing?"
Greg's face pulled tilted upward in the tiny half-smile Ginny had missed desperately. He motioned around him, "I have a meeting with the King and Queen tomorrow. I'm trying to make my role believable."
"Your role? What are you talking about?"
"You were right," Greg said. "I could be more, I just never had a good enough reason to try."
"I don't understand."
"There are some rather convincing memory changes that can be made, if necessary. I learned the spells," he jerked a thumb behind him to the stack of books.
"I thought you said you couldn't read," Ginny said, stupidly.
He let out a puff of laughter, "I said I don't read, not that I can't. I found these old books in a trunk that was my mum's. I made the sword out of an old horseshoe."
Ginny closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head back and forth, trying to knock something into place so that any of this would make sense. "You have a meeting at the castle in the morning?"
"So do you," he said.
"Yeah, I do. But, how do you…" Ginny trailed off and stared at Greg.
Finally, a full smile lit up his face. Brighter than any magical sunshine produced from the end of a twig or any lantern turned up with the flick of a wrist.
"You're the suitor I'm meant to meet with in the morning?"
He held up the fabric he had been working on. A tunic with elaborate patterns of green and gold weaved through the fine, black silk. She noticed now that he looked cleaner, not as if he had been grooming the horses all day and lugging bales of hay to and fro. He sat straighter than she had ever seen him and off to the side, a pair of boots so polished that the tiny blue flames reflected off of them.
"I was wrong," he said. "You aren't naive. But, I'm not the only one who deserves more than what others think of me. You are so much more than a crown and jewels; you are magic without the incantations and wands."
Ginny tightened the grip on his hands and soon, they were cradling her face. Warm, rough palms holding her jaw lightly as he tipped up onto his knees and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. He lingered, only for a moment, before taking his seated position and continuing to work. Leaving her breathless and for the first time in her life, really bloody excited to meet with a suitor in the morning.
.
.