(no subject)

[never_promised]

People like to say that youth doesn't reflect enough on its good fortune, but Harry Monmouth is inclined to disagree: isn't he thinking, right now, that it's a fine thing to be a healthy young man, able to shake off any sort of overindulgence and take on the day with a springing step and a lively eye? In fact, a bit of exercise seems just the thing: a good day to saddle up his horse and take him around the place so he feels at home. He'd like--like--if it can be done, to restore the creature's confidence; the bay isn't so young as he once was, but he should have some good years left in him, maybe even a few battles. And if not, he's earned a happy retirement.

Harry even has a song on his lips as he strolls into the tack room. "--sowed high and I sowed low aaand under the bush the seed did grow--"

Comments

[harryhotspur]

In the tack room may be found Harry Percy, hoisting down a saddle and leaving a conspicuously bare wall behind him. A popular day for riding, it seems-- everyone apparently wants to take advantage of what might be one of he autumn's last bright, clear days.

"--good day," Percy says.

[never_promised]

"--grew up so neatly without any weed, and she always commended me wanton seed--" he continues, with a cheery wave. And then pauses when he gets a better look at the situation. "--heigh-ho, 'tis a very barren wall thou hast left, Percy."

[harryhotspur]

Harry, who had been making his way out, pauses in the doorway and turns back. "'tis strange indeed to call it my doing. I took the last, 'tis true, but I was not the first. Thou'rt too tardy, it seems. Some other rider shall return in time, no doubt."

[never_promised]

"Then thou canst wait." It only takes a couple of long strides to catch up to Percy; he doesn't actually grab the saddle, but he does place his hand on it.

[harryhotspur]

Percy's expression of startled surprise is completely genuine. Really? He shifts the saddle away, not sharply or violently, just a little.

"Doubtless it best befits me to obey my prince in all things," he says. He's not angry yet. "But thou know'st me for a rebel of old. I did seize upon it first, and I shall keep it. Thou wouldst not presume upon a stranger so-- and as I am no stranger to thee, thou shouldst know I will not yield."

[never_promised]

"--Heh." He takes his hand back, rubs the back of his neck. No, he wouldn't presume upon a stranger so. He'd presume so upon someone like--Poins, perhaps. Some young friend of his brothers'. "Forgive me, I did take you for some knight of England." And he a prince. "But you are a most proud rebel, and let me never take that name from you, sir."

He collects his weight, bows low.

[harryhotspur]

How is it Hal can make saying what they are-- a prince, a knight and a rebel-- sound like mockery? Harry does not return the bow.

"Well, then," he says stiffly. "I will take my leave."

[never_promised]

"O, I grant it thee; thou may'st take it when thou wilt; there is nothing I would more gladly give thee."

...It's been a while since he's ridden bareback, and considerably longer since he's ridden bareback sober, but it's not like you forget how...right?

[harryhotspur]

Great. Good. He turns away, perfectly aware that they are now going to have to walk in the exact same direction down a narrow aisle. He keeps his eyes pointedly forward until he reaches Złota's stall-- and notes, rather pleased, that the plaque with her name has appeared, or been made, or achieved in some other probably magical fashion.

[never_promised]

Hal saunters along behind him, none too close, and stops at his own horse's stall. He's brought a carrot with him, and breaks off a piece for the horse, apparently resigned to a wait. Barbary, reads the plaque here; he casts an eye over at--

"Is't supposed to read 'Slaughter?'"

[harryhotspur]

"Złota," he says-- more confidently than usual, because he knows Hal won't know if he's pronouncing it wrong. "It is Polish."

[never_promised]

"...for slaughter?" Because honestly, he can picture Hotspur calling his horse Slaughter. (And spelling it like that.) "But wherefore Polish? I had no idea thou wert such a scholar, so able with thy tongue."

[harryhotspur]

"For golden." Duh. Admittedly, the horse is a little closer to copper in color, but that's beside the point.

"--I am well-acquainted with one who is something of a scholar of such matters."

[never_promised]

Oh. Golden. Well, that's fair. (And in fact, the word doesn't sound much like "slaughter," really; "swatter" is more like it--but he can still picture Hotspur riding a beast named Slaughter.)

"Ah, one of thy many friends here. I've met one--the lady Ysalwen, she with the great fierce hound? But I did not know thou wert so companionable with scholars."

He breaks off another little bit of carrot for his horse.

[harryhotspur]

"He is not--" No, wait, let's not use that tactic. "Well, there are many sorts of people here. Perchance thou canst also learn to stray outside thy common company, and consort with men of merit."

[never_promised]

"Ooooh!" Harry's delighted hoot sets off a few flicked ears and restless hooves around the stable; he rubs Barbary's nose absently. "I was mistaken, thou art as able with thy tongue as any kept needlewoman--the sort who doth hold up her head and look the other way when her scarlet-clad neighbor passeth on other business."

[harryhotspur]

"And what wouldst thou have me say?" he replies sharply, flushing red. "Wouldst have me set thee down a list of all the men I do call friend in this place? Thou hast been ever curious on this subject, and I marvel wherefore."

[never_promised]

Excuse you, he worked hard on that simile.

"Ever dost thou furrow thy brow when I do ask--so--and flush dark, and make great mystery. 'Tis as good as any play. --Well, dost need me to play ostler for thee, or wilt take thy lady out? She doth look most eager for thy attentions."

[harryhotspur]

"From prince to ostler," Harry says. "And that is why thou didst seek to take this saddle? To spare me labor?"

He doesn't wait for a response before turning to Złota to give her the attention she has been so impatiently awaiting.

[never_promised]

"Just so, just so. But thou hast it well in hand, I see."

Hal's just going to keep lounging. He has every intention of catching up with Percy; he has no intention of being seen scrambling up onto the horse's back like some farm-child.

[harryhotspur]

Percy resolves to just ignore Hal. That is the mature, sensible thing to do.

He almost manages it, too! He's nearly finished saddling up when he finally bursts out, "And hast thou nowhere else to wait?"

[never_promised]

"Thou didst bid me spend time with men of merit; and have I not heard it again and again, that Harry Percy is the greatest knight of the land, a youth that makes every man look to Heaven and say, Would that that were my son! I am here to learn of thee. Indeed thou dost saddle a horse marvelous well, as if thou wert born to it."

[harryhotspur]

Fathers, sons-- really? Do they have to? In lieu of smacking Hal, Harry just tightens his grip on the edge of the saddle. "Proud though I am to be thy tutor, thou seest now the task is done, and so we shall leave thee."

And to prove it, he swings the stall door open and leads Złota out. Is this taking the higher ground? It's not very satisfying.

[never_promised]

Well...maybe they do have to. Harry watches him leave, discontented and unsatisfied. With himself for mentioning fathers and sons, with Percy for leaving.

He prods at the wood of the stall door, then finds a confident smile for his horse. "Now then. We'll give him a little time, and then follow. Thou art a good brave loving creature, Barbary--thou art not the fellow to let thy prince down--thou'lt let me hop up bareback, like some page stealing a ride, hey?"

[harryhotspur]

For his part, Percy hasn't gotten very far. It's a blustery day, though clear, and Złota does not like the look of those leaves getting tossed about by the wind, thank you very much. So Percy is still within steps of the stable, stroking her nose and murmuring only slightly impatient reassurances that they're just leaves.