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Rodrigue was thirty when his father passed away, leaving him the title of Duke Fraldarius and also his old warhorse.
The animal had been his father's for as long as Rodrigue could remember, and it was as ornery and tough as the man himself. Rodrigue had gone to the stable after the funeral and leaned on the door of the stall, looking in at the stallion and wondering how the image of his father had often gone hand-in-hand with that of his horse.
Ange d'Aurore was the animal's name--but the creature was anything but angelic from Rodrigue's experience.
"I suppose by now you've heard that the old man is dead," Rodrigue said, quietly, so that none of the stablehands might overhear him. "I'm sorry. I know that he was the only one you respected."
The horse eyed him, one ear swivelling away in irritation. He was not accustomed to having either of Boreas' brats talking at him. Rodrigue's voice lacked the rough quality that his father's had thanks to years of fighting and training and uttering sharp commands in the cold Faerghus air. Boreas had always seemed out of place inside. He had been as rugged as the woods surrounding Fraldarius.
"You needn't worry, though. I'll see to it that you get the best care, as usual," Rodrigue said. He didn't know whether or not his father had ever spoken to the animal before, but he felt compelled to. The horse blew air out its nostrils and dipped its head, and Rodrigue felt as though he was being dismissed. He stepped away from the stall, one hand lingering on the door as he thought of how strange it was, to be talking to his father's horse when the old man himself wasn't here anymore. If he'd tried when Boreas had been alive, Rodrigue knew that he would have been scolded for going near the animal. Things were going to be very different, from now on. It was difficult to tell whether this was for the better, or worse.
The best care for a warhorse of Ange's excellent condition included exercise, and training. Ange was powerful, and full of vitality, and to retire him like this--Rodrigue couldn't be sure how old the animal really was--would be wasteful when good horses were so valuable and there were tensions continuing along the border with Sreng.
Rodrigue's full intention was to leave Ange to someone else. He had his own warhorse, a gelding that he had trained himself, and he did not feel that he was a competent enough rider to be worthy of his father's steed.
That being said, it was not a full week after Boreas' death before one of the grooms sought Rodrigue out with a pleading look on his face.
"My Lord--that is, Your Grace--" he began.
"What is it?" Rodrigue asked. He was as uncertain of his new title as the rest of them, and didn't know how to correct such a slip. His father would have barked something critical at the groom, certainly, but Rodrigue didn't think that it was in his nature to do the same. "Is something amiss?"
"No--that is, yes. His Grace's stallion, the Ange d'Aurore, none of us can get near it. Jean tried to pick a stone from the hoof of the bastarde--excuse me, Your Grace--Jean's leg is broken."
Rodrigue gasped. "Has he been seen to?"
"Yes, Your Grace--but the rest of us are not sure what to do. We do not wish to see such a fine animal go to waste but he is limping and there seems nothing we can do," the groom explained.
Rodrigue paused to consider the groom's words. His father's stallion was limping, from a stone in his shoe, and it was bad enough that none of the stablehands thought they could fix it. Rodrigue thought of his father, and then of the possibility that he might have to bury Ange not even a week later. He sighed.
"I would not ask you to," he said. "Allow me to try."
"Your Grace, only your father was ever able to calm that animal," the groom reminded him.
"I know," Rodrigue said. "But he left Ange to me, and I'd rather do all I can for him than give up before trying."
The groom nodded, and gave a short bow--was this what would earn Rodrigue the respect of his servants? He followed the man to the stable, to Ange's stall. There was a small crowd gathered at it, peering from a safe distance away.
"Armand, fetch the healer," the groom said to a young boy standing on crate, trying to see over the stall door.
Rodrigue felt himself pale. Was it really that bad? He met the groom's eyes and forced himself to smile, and nod encouragingly.
"Stand aside, His Grace wishes to try."
Whispers erupted among the gathered servants. Rodrigue thought he saw hands shaking--bets made on whether or not he'd even survive this ordeal? He drew in a deep breath and forged through the small crowd, to the door of the stall.
Inside, Ange stood proud and tall on three legs. His rear hoof he held aloft, like he was preparing to kick with it. His ears were flat against his head and his eye was wide and rolling.
"You, stay, and Leal," Rodrigue said, to the groom and to one of House Fraldarius' soldiers, whom he'd trained with often and knew to be a skilled horseman, himself. "Everyone else out. You're spooking him."
"Begging your pardon, but he is a warhorse," someone said. Rodrigue glared but could not be certain of the speaker.
"I told you to leave," Rodrigue said.
Hesitantly, the crowd began to disperse.
"You heard him," Leal said. "Don't you all have work to do?"
At last, the area around Ange's stall was more or less cleared. The animal still looked out at them, on high alert.
"That's the hoof he's favouring," Rodrigue said, pointing.
"Yes," the groom confirmed. "Jean saw the stone but the bastard kicked him and turned on him--"
"I see," Rodrigue said. "Leal, can you stand at his head for me--"
"No," Leal said.
"Fine," Rodrigue snapped. He unlatched the door of the stall and slipped inside. Ange watched him, warily. Rodrigue brushed a flyaway strand of hair from his eyes and took a calming breath. "Easy, Ange, easy, boy..."
The horse turned, nostrils wide. Rodrigue stopped his approach, wishing he had thought to bring an apple or lump of sugar or anything to bribe and calm the animal. Instead, he had only his voice and the things his father had taught him about horses. He knew that in practice, he didn't have nearly the skill that even Jean had. He was going to be trampled, and end up with a broken rib or worse.
Ange was thankfully wearing a halter. If Rodrigue could grab that, maybe he would be able to hold the horse steady and either the groom or Leal could deal with the stone.
Not that that was likely after the way Leal had blatantly refused Rodrigue's earlier request. Rodrigue really was nothing like his father, too worried about being a friend to those who served under him to issue a simple command, too sensitive to be taken seriously as a Duke. He wasn't confident enough to face one cantankerous horse--how could he expect to take his father's place as the Shield of the King?
Ange's head was high, showing how nervous and alert the animal was. He watched Rodrigue, letting his hoof drop briefly as he turned, before lifting it again in discomfort.
"Take it easy," Rodrigue said. "The old man isn't here so you need to trust someone else to care for you. I'd rather it not be me but we seem to have no other choice, don't we?" He kept his voice low as he spoke, and chanced another step closer. Ange's tail flicked, irritated.
"That's it, we're getting along fine," Rodrigue murmured. "We're getting along fine."
He was almost near enough to grab Ange's halter, but that final step was too much. Ange snorted and dodged away, circling Rodrigue. He panicked and flung his hand out, hooking his fingers around the side of the halter.
Ange bucked, kicking backward with both feet and dropping his head. Rodrigue's arm wrenched downward and then back up as Ange tossed his head. Rodrigue's feet nearly came off the ground and he dragged at the horse's halter, reaching up to try and pet the animal's mane. Ange snapped at Rodrigue's hand so he jerked it back, still yanking at the halter.
Swearing, Rodrigue felt his hair coming undone and quickly wiped his forehead with the back of his free hand, turning as Ange tried once again to circle around him. "Hey! Hey!" Rodrigue barked. He clicked his tongue, heart pounding. Ange was big, and built for battle. The animal was trained for it, too.
Ange tried to break free of Rodrigue's grip again. His arm burned from being dragged and his fingers screamed with pain, but Rodrigue needed to hang on, because he needed to look at that bad hoof.
"Easy! Easy!"
"Shall I--" Leal said, from the door.
"No," Rodrigue snapped. "Stay where you are! Easy, Bastard--Ange--"
The horse snorted and stamped, suddenly on the offensive. Rodrigue had to step very carefully to keep from having his toes crushed. He felt his hair come totally free of its bun as he reached up with his other hand to hold the animal's head.
"Hey, calme, easy--" Rodrigue said, gritting his teeth. He pulled Ange's head lower, and managed to hold the horse's chin with one hand while he scratched at the beast's head with the other. "There--there, good boy--"
Rodrigue wished he could take his own advice. He was tense all over, and quite aware of the fact that Ange could easily toss his head and throw Rodrigue to the floor of the stall, where he would be an easy target for all three of the horse's working hooves.
"Don't look at me like that, I know you'd prefer my father but it's me or the sword for you at this point," Rodrigue said. He briefly took his left hand from Ange's mane to pull at his own hair, before letting it return to where it was stroking and calming the animal.
Ange's large, brown eyes watched him, judging.
"You have too much character for me," Rodrigue observed. "I'm doing my best, you know." He wasn't sure what he was saying, but the stallion was, gradually, growing calmer. "Can you trust me? We can compromise, how about that? I trust you not to dig into my stomach with your hooves and you trust me to look at that stone in your shoe? You're too beautiful to go to the dogs. You've earned better than that but there's no choice if you go lame. And won't that be embarrassing for you."
Ange's ears swivelled. Rodrigue exhaled. "Leal? Now would be a good time to--"
As soon as Leal had opened the stall door, Ange raised his head.
"No! No! Stop!"
Rodrigue hissed at the pain in his fingers from Ange yanking his hand with him. He stroked the horse's nose and watched from the corner of his eye as Leal retreated, slowly.
"Do you think you can do this yourself?" Leal asked.
"Yes," Rodrigue said. "Back off--I'm going to grab that lead rope--"
Leal and the groom both were happy to obey that order, like Ange was a worse threat than anything Rodrigue himself could do to them. It did not encourage him when it came to the fact that he'd be stuck with this animal if he succeeded.
He supposed it was his birthright, as much as his title. Rodrigue stepped backward, guiding Ange with him. The horse followed, unhappily, favouring that one hoof. It felt like a good thing that Rodrigue could see for himself just how badly the animal didn't want to put weight on that leg. He knew that he wouldn't waste time checking the wrong one, or doubting himself.
At the door to the stall, Rodrigue reached behind him for the lead rope dangling from a peg above the door. The movement of the rope once he had it startled Ange back to wariness.
"No no no, not again--you're fine, just the rope, see, you've seen this before," Rodrigue said, afraid he'd cry if Ange wrenched his shoulder one more time and fled to the back of the stall again. "No, I don't trust you fully, but neither do you trust me--"
After a good amount of soothing words, Rodrigue dared to clip the lead rope to the halter. Relieved that this part was done, Rodrigue hastily tied the rope to a ring next to the stall door for just such a purpose.
"There. There, good. Now we can do this and then you can run around to your heart's content," Rodrigue said. "Now we can be friends."
Ange shook his mane and swivelled one ear backward, clearly unimpressed.
"Yes, we can," Rodrigue said. He wanted to look at that hoof and have this over with, but it was not going to be so easy. He found a brush instead, and decided that taking his time to calm the animal was more important. Ange suffered Rodrigue's talk--had his father ever done this? Rodrigue didn't think he'd ever stop wondering--while Rodrigue brushed the horse, watching as it grew calmer.
"That's as far as Jean got," the groom observed, from across the aisle separating the rows of stalls.
"I'll be fine," Rodrigue said, a little louder. He didn't believe it, but he was hopeful. Tentatively, Rodrigue touched Ange's good leg, to prove that his intentions were harmless. Ange flinched, and turned his head as much as he was able as if to ask Rodrigue what he thought he was doing back there.
"May I look at this other hoof?" he asked, like Ange would ever assent. By now, his hair was completely free, falling to his shoulders and partly in front of his face as he leaned down. He hated having it loose, but had far higher priorities than putting it back up.
Ange blew air out his nostrils.
"Very well, I'll try to be quick," Rodrigue said. He moved to Ange's other side, and pulled his knife from the sheath at his side--trying to keep the flash of the blade out of the horse's sight. Ange watched him, going tense again.
Patting the horse's side, Rodrigue slowly let his hand travel to the bad leg. He shushed the animal, and murmured promises that it wouldn't hurt, and then wrapped his hand around the hock so that he could use his knife to dig the stone from between the iron horseshoe and the hoof. "Okay, we have it, I can see--almost--shh, there--there, you're okay!"
Rodrigue dropped the hoof and Ange stomped the floor of the stall, right in front of his foot. Rodrigue leapt back, holding his hand in the air in both triumph and nerves. "Done! It's done. Well done, Ange. We did it." He bent to snatch the stone from among the straw, so that Ange wouldn't immediately pick it up again.
Then, with more pats and promises for treats, Rodrigue returned to Ange's head, where he unclipped the lead rope. Ange tossed his head and bit Rodrigue's wrist, and fled to the back of the stall, moving easily on all four legs.
Rodrigue swore--though the skin wasn't broken and Ange had more or less grazed Rodrigue's wrist with his teeth. "Some thanks! Go! Think about what you've done!"
Ange stood with his front hooves neatly together, ears drooping a little before pointing forward. Rodrigue flapped his hand and untied the rope from the wall ring, so that he could put it back where it belonged. He slipped out of the stall and shut the door, watching his father's horse as he closed the latch.
He felt the way he did after a battle, adrenaline fading and the realization hitting him that he had just been in a dangerous situation. Rodrigue marvelled that his father had chosen this horse, that he'd earned the animal's trust and could care for the creature with ease--right up until the end. How was Rodrigue supposed to follow in his father's footsteps? Doubts plagued him, but for now, he had succeeded.
"Well done, Your Grace," the groom said. "None of us would have dared that."
Leal clapped him on the shoulder. "You know, standing in there, swearing at that bastard of a horse--you looked exactly like your father."
Rodrigue glanced away, pushing his hair behind his head. He fished in his pockets for a new tie and then gathered it into a messy bun. "Don't be ridiculous," Rodrigue said. "I'm nothing like him."
He dreaded the moment when he would let his hair loose for sleep, and see the lie in his reflection.
As Duke, Rodrigue had much more to see to than just his father's bloodthirsty, high-strung horse, but he found that he needed to factor that in to his schedule or else suffer heavy consequences. Although he knew it wasn't truly the case, Ange certainly seemed vindictive when it came to any change in his care or perceived neglect. Rodrigue spent that year running to and from the healer, suffering bruises and bites from trying to win over the ill-tempered stallion.
His brother was no help, despite being perhaps the only person Rodrigue would wish the animal upon.
"Have you ever stopped to think how old Ange is?" Percival asked, not helping as Rodrigue struggled to run the warhorse through its paces. It was going poorly, as usual, and resembled a duel more than anything else. Rodrigue would give the horse a command, which Ange would ignore in favour of charging him with the clear intent to trample. Perhaps it was a game. When Rodrigue had dared to saddle the creature, Ange had suffered the process with far more dignity than his rider, and then carried Rodrigue off on a long gallop through the forest.
"No. He's a bastard, and that's all I need to know," Rodrigue said, then dragged at the lead in a futile attempt to redirect the horse. Instead, he was forced to leap aside as Ange charged him. Rodrigue cursed, loudly, like he never had before inheriting the beast, and chased after it. Tail high, Ange trotted around the dusty arena looking victorious.
"I feel like he's a century old at least. Do you remember when the old man began training him? I think he's simply always been here," Percival went on.
Rodrigue had little time to pay attention. Wiping sweat from his brow, he went to the fence, where Percival perched.
"What are you talking about, Perce?"
"I just think it's odd," Percival said. "That horse is older than both of us yet it's in its prime."
Rodrigue was distracted when Ange rested his head on his shoulder, like the animal was confident to be the one in charge. Shoving it away, Rodrigue glared at the beast. "That's enough, you bastard!"
Ange answered by biting. By the time Rodrigue had gotten the horse under control, Percival had been called away, and Rodrigue had forgotten all about what his brother had been saying.
A year later, Rodrigue found himself at his king's side, battling Sreng over the contested lands bordering Gautier territory. Fighting had been going on for as long as anyone could remember, and Lambert hoped to put a decisive end to it--for both sides' sake.
It didn't make it an easy task. Rodrigue had experience fighting bandits and the like, but this was different. All the things he'd studied at the Officer's Academy seemed so long ago, and to be of hardly any use on a real battlefield. The nights were cold and the days were bleak. Rodrigue had been uncertain about bringing the Bastard along as his primary mount, but with all the time he'd had to put into training the beast, he'd neglected his other horses. And Ange was big, and extremely well-suited to the task. Rodrigue had no other choice but to put his trust in the animal that had carried his father safely through skirmishes and blizzards, ever at the side of his liege.
Enemies and allies alike gave him a wide berth once they realized that Ange was more of a threat than his rider. The stallion was as deadly as any weapon, and Rodrigue could barely control him.
Steel shrieked against steel and the screams of horses, griffins, and men mingled together into a single rush of noise. Rodrigue hacked at his foes with his sword, proper form a distant memory while he clung to his steed and bashed at axes with the Aegis Shield. He was weary, and could see no end to this gruelling fight.
Just in front of him, Lambert pushed forward, his own horse's white sides streaked and splattered with mud and blood. Rodrigue called out to him, but he was locked in battle with a warrior carrying a halberd and unable to keep up.
Ange snorted and kicked out at a foot soldier approaching from behind. Rodrigue twisted his body, turning his mount so that he could catch the warrior's axe on his shield. The impact made his arm ring with pain. Panting, Rodrigue looked beyond the warrior to Lambert ahead of him.
"Above you!" Rodrigue shouted--but it was too late.
A griffin rider swept downwards like a falcon on a sparrow, knocking the king to the ground. Moments later, a stray arrow found the Lambert's horse's neck and the animal collapsed, screaming.
Rodrigue swung his shield arm to deflect the warrior's next strike and kicked at Ange's sides so that the animal charged, headlong, at their enemy. Swinging downward with his blade, Rodrigue felt the warrior fall beneath their assault, and then they were soaring to where the king had fallen.
With his shield arm, Rodrigue yanked the reins to draw Ange to a stop. Some ways off was a low rise--and a large group of enemy soldiers was gathering there.
Leaping out of the saddle, Rodrigue landed in the mud beside Lambert. He crouched, reaching out to turn Lambert over, onto his back.
Gouges from the griffin's talons marked his armour, but it seemed that it had been the fall itself that had injured him the most. Rodrigue sheathed his sword and pulled off his glove, to touch a faith-glowing hand to Lambert's temple.
He looked up at a horrible shriek.
The griffin rider had circled back, diving on them. Rodrigue stumbled backward, preparing to cast an offensive spell, but Ange had reared onto his hind legs and flailed with his front hooves at the griffin. The wind from its wings blew back Rodrigue's hair and Ange's mane as it pulled up to avoid the stallion's sharp hooves.
Rodrigue watched the rider draw back her bow and threw himself over Lambert's still-unmoving body, hiding his head behind the Aegis Shield. The arrow struck it directly and went flying somewhere into the muck.
There was another scream. Rodrigue dared to look over the top of his shield and saw that Ange had reared up again, and sunk his teeth into the narrow eagle-leg of the griffin. The great beast beat its wings as Ange dragged it down. Rodrigue stared in horror, barely believing the stallion's behaviour--then saw that the griffin rider was drawing her bow back yet again, and aiming the arrow at Ange.
Rodrigue flung himself to his feet, golden faith gathering in his hand. The griffin was being more or less held in place by Ange, making it an easy target for a blast of Aura. The spell released from his hand easier than ever, exploding in holy light that made Rodrigue's eyes spot.
Letting go of the griffin, Ange cantered away, moving in a wide circle as the enemy dropped to the ground, dead.
Rodrigue turned his attention back to the king. "Lambert," he gasped, hand flat on his friend's cheek. "Lambert!"
"Hm--Rodrigue?"
"Get up--we have to fall back."
"What--"
"Now." Rodrigue shook him, forgetting for a moment that he had healing magic at his disposal. He dragged Lambert upward by the arm, panting, flicking dark wet hair out of his eyes. Standing, and barely able to keep Lambert upright, Rodrigue looked for Ange while he absently touched another healing spell to Lambert.
"Ange!" Rodrigue clicked his tongue and staggered to meet his horse. He didn't bother grabbing the reins just yet, instead guiding Lambert to the animal's side. "Do not bite--"
To his surprise, Ange stood still as Lambert weakly pulled himself into the saddle. Not sure why his bastard of a horse would suddenly allow anyone but himself to ride, Rodrigue patted Ange's neck as he gathered the reins and mounted behind Lambert, his body acting as a shield at his king's back. He could barely see in front of him, but a glance to the hill told him that the enemy soldiers were about to charge.
"Ange, go!" Rodrigue put both arms around Lambert and kicked his horse's sides, away from the enemy.
Rodrigue did not leave Lambert's side, until he was informed that his warhorse was blocking the king's tent and keeping anyone from going near. Because Lambert seemed to be recovering--the image of him falling to the ground, struck by a griffin, simply would not leave Rodrigue alone--it seemed acceptable to leave his side and see to the Bastard.
The animal was standing in front of the tent flap, ears back. Rodrigue slipped out, not liking to be at this weaponized end of the horse. At the sound of his approach, Ange turned his head. Still in full armour, the horse had to be exhausted, yet he was standing guard like a soldier.
"He's all right," Rodrigue said, not that the Bastard cared about the king. Still, it seemed only right to share the good news after riding the stallion so hard to escape the battlefield, carrying two passengers, no less. At the horse's head, Rodrigue realized that the animal had to be tired. There was no wicked glint in the creature's eyes, no threat of being bitten at all.
"You did well," Rodrigue said, into Ange's ear. "Thank you. Thank you--you saved him."
Ange blew air out his nostrils, and allowed Rodrigue to lead him away, where he could begin removing the armour piece by piece, and give the horse the care he deserved.
Rodrigue could see now, why his father had taken to this animal. The stallion was fierce, and loyal--as much a shield as any Fraldarius. All of the effort, the bruises and early mornings and failures--were worth it, to have the respect of such a fine warhorse.
Eight years later found Rodrigue alone, and empty. The man he had fought so hard to protect was gone, and Glenn was gone, and whatever Rodrigue said, Felix would not speak to him.
He should have been there. He knew it--his place had been at Lambert's side, but instead, he'd sent his son. It had all been a waste. Everything Rodrigue lived for was crumbling into nothing. He had nothing to believe in anymore, least of all himself.
Gustave had simply left. Rodrigue wondered if that was the best thing to do. He was no good to Felix, or Fraldarius, or Faerghus. Though he wished to believe that Glenn had died as a knight, it was hard to convince himself that there had been any honour for his son at all. What little there was for the family belonged to Glenn, though, who had at least been there. Rodrigue deserved none of it.
He found himself in the stable, alone, after midnight. He could do it--saddle Ange and ride away, never to return. He could free Felix of the shame of having someone like Rodrigue for a father.
Rodrigue opened the door to the stall and went inside. Ange was sleepy and quiet, far from the cantankerous bastard he was in the day. It felt as though speaking would only lead to sobbing, so Rodrigue was quiet as he sought Ange's tack. Without a word, he threw the blanket over Ange's back and then turned around for the saddle.
The sound of the blanket falling into the hay stopped him. Rodrigue looked over his shoulder and saw it, crumpled, on Ange's other side. Grumbling under his breath, Rodrigue circled the animal and picked it up, shaking it out before throwing it back where it belonged. Making sure he'd done it properly, Rodrigue walked to the edge of the stall, his steps sharp.
Behind him, the blanket slid to the floor a second time.
Shoulders tensing, Rodrigue spun on his heel and glared. Ange watched him from one eye, looking bored.
"You're doing this. I don't care how late it is." He put the blanket on Ange's back. "Leave it."
Ange dropped his head, in defeat. Rodrigue exhaled, and nodded, then circled back to the saddle. Hoisting it, he turned around and watched as the Bastard slowly, deliberately, craned his neck around to take the blanket between his teeth and fling it into the hay.
"Stupid Bastard animal," Rodrigue spat, lifting the saddle and slamming it onto the door of the stall. He stormed to the horse's side. "What is wrong with you? Hein? We are leaving."
The Bastard's ears went back. When Rodrigue tried to bend to pick up the blanket, the horse pressed his head against Rodrigue's chest, then pushed him backward.
Rodrigue swore. He reached for the Bastard's halter. The stallion lifted his head, wrenching Rodrigue's arm. He turned, circling Rodrigue, twisting his arm until he let go. Rodrigue dove for the horse's halter again, but missed. The Bastard headbutt Rodrigue a second time, sending him sprawling onto his back in the hay.
Winded, Rodrigue knew well enough to scramble away before he was trampled to death in his own stable--but the stallion stayed where he was. Rodrigue watched the animal, catching his breath, his back up against the wall and his legs splayed in front of him. He pushed at his hair, trying to think. Ange swivelled one ear away, head high and proud, haughty.
"What do you know of shame and grief?" Rodrigue asked. "What do you know of all the things I've lost--there's nothing here. There's nothing--"
Rodrigue put his face in his hand, shoulders shaking. He sobbed, thinking of all his failures and how this was one of them--this horrible creature that he had never been a good enough man to be the master of.
Hay rustled as Ange walked closer, head low and nose extended. Hot air, sweet and musty, blew into Rodrigue's face, sending strands of wavy hair flying back. Rodrigue pushed the animal away, but Ange was determined to stick his velvety nose in Rodrigue's hair.
"No, get back--you horrible creature--" A reminder of his father, of the shame the old man would have felt at seeing his eldest son like this. A reminder of all the things Rodrigue would never be--strong, implacable, fearsome, respected--
Ange snorted, but instead of biting, he pressed his forehead into Rodrigue's chest, against the pounding of his heart. Rodrigue curled forward, crying, burying his face in Ange's mane and wrapping his arms around the animal's chin in a desperate, lonely embrace.
"I'm sorry--I'm sorry--I failed him--I failed them all--"
Rodrigue didn't know how long Ange put up with his tears and erratic gasping, but it was until well after he'd finally calmed down. Carefully, he stroked Ange's soft ears.
"Please forgive me," Rodrigue breathed. "We'll stay. We'll stay, and I will try to redeem myself, here. I can count on you to help me?"
Ange didn't answer, but that perhaps was a 'yes' in itself.
Nine years later, Rodrigue clung to Ange's back as he galloped away from Fhirdiad, with the prince's armour and Relic secured to the saddle. Of all the thoughts that should have been running through his head--where he had to go next, how he intended to evade Cornelia's scouts and hunters, whether he would be on time to rendezvous with the ragtag Kingdom army at Ailell--all Rodrigue could focus on was time. He hadn't been in Fhirdiad since learning of Dimitri's execution. He had ridden there in fury, riding Ange.
Eight years before that, he'd taken the warhorse to battle in Sreng. With Lambert's relic at his back, reminders of his king and the fighting came flooding back to him. Rodrigue could feel the years dragging at him, tiring him, but beneath him the Bastard galloped strong, vibrant, young.
Long, long ago, Percival had said something to him about the horse. How unusual the creature was, how ageless and eternal--
Rodrigue lay one hand flat on the side of Ange's neck, trying to convey to the animal his respect. None of this would have been possible without the powerful warhorse as his companion. Though Rodrigue did not understand just what Ange was, he knew that the stallion was a blessing upon Fraldarius. Perhaps he always had, but never felt worthy enough to have such a remarkable guardian.
Now, he was optimistic. He knew that he still had work to do, but the future in front of him was bright, and true. He still had time to keep his promise to Lambert.
When he stopped for a brief rest, Rodrigue hesitantly circled to Ange's head--such a decision would have earned him a sharp bite just months ago, but Rodrigue was allowed to near the animal this time.
"You've always been here for us, haven't you?" he asked the animal. Ange watched him with big, dark eyes. "Just as we are at the side of the royal family, you stand by us. And--I am grateful. I know that I have nothing to fear."
Ange blew warm air on Rodrigue's hands, his ears pointed forward.
"Whatever happens, I will look after the prince. And I'm counting on you--if something happens--find Felix. I know that you can. Find him and keep him safe."
Ange dipped his head.
Rodrigue wondered--had his own father asked the same of Ange? Was it right of him to, to ask more and more of this loyal, powerful creature? He shook his head. That wasn't how this worked. He was already forgetting--they were fighting side by side, just as they always had. It was a partnership.
"I'm sorry, that's enough sentimentality. Shall we keep going?"
Felix squinted through fog and smoke and the stinging in his eyes. Some way off was a horse--it came closer, warily, nose pointing forward. It was draped in Fraldarius colours--the animal had to be his father's stallion.
"Wait," Felix said, pulling away from Ingrid.
"Felix, we have to go, before the Imperial army--"
"You," Felix called, then coughed. "Ange! Here, come here--"
The horse tossed his head, tack jingling. Felix froze, not wanting to spook the animal. Nothing else his father had left him had been alive. What value did a shield have, or a sword? Rodrigue's horse was a beast it was true, but the animal was breathing, even though his rider was not. Felix blinked quickly, thinking that this creature likely had more memories of Rodrigue than anyone else.
"Come back, wait!"
The horse turned and cantered away, his pace smooth.
"Felix," Ingrid called, "stay with us!"
Felix looked over his shoulder at her. "Ange," he said, as if that explained it. In front of him, the horse seemed to fade in and out of existence as smoke from the battle rolled in between them. Ange's ears swivelled, pointing backward.
"Father," Felix breathed. What was the point? How could he have left, too? What was all of it for? What was there to believe in? They were leaving him here for the Empire to find, no time for a burial, nothing--
Ange took a few steps further away, like he was taunting Felix, asking him to follow, back to Rodrigue and right into the path of their enemy.
Maybe the animal had always been bad luck. Maybe it had only ever bitten and hurt and acted as some symbol of how nothing they did would ever be enough.
"Fine then!" Felix shouted. "Go! No one ever needs to know whether you outlive me, as well! Get out! You useless Bastard of an animal! Join your rider!"
Ange flicked his ear and disappeared into the fog, and Felix had never felt so alone, even when Ingrid wrapped her hand around his arm and dragged him away, telling him to leave it, that escaping Gronder alive was all that mattered.
"They must be retreating."
"I'm surprised they'd start showing sense now! Too bad, I was hoping to see some combat."
"Ugh, look at all the dead--at least there's a good amount of blue on the ground--"
"Where's your rider? Dead on the ground--but that's a fine animal, we'll have to catch it."
"If it's lame there's no point--"
"Wait, look--I know that cloak."
"You know that cloak?"
"Yeah! I saw him at the Academy!"
"Oh, the Academy! Where you went to school with the Emperor, only she never knew you existed!"
"Shut your mouth! This guy is a Duke from the Kingdom!"
"You mean 'was'."
"Ha! But I bet he's bound to have something good on him."
The horse was standing over the Duke's corpse. Blood speckled its coat and drenched the fallen rider's chest. The animal had been nuzzling at the man's face, hair a tangled mess around it. But he was laying carefully, like someone had gently placed him on the ground, wanting him to look comfortable.
At the Adrestians' approach, the horse lifted its head. Its ears were flattened back and it raised one rear hoof, wary, irritated.
"Spread out, I'll catch the rein," the soldier in front of the small party said.
His comrades did as he suggested, trying to surround the animal and spook it towards their leader. It worked, or seemed to.
The horse leapt towards him and then reared up, hooves flailing. The animal screamed, and screamed, like the battle was still ongoing. The soldier in the lead reached for the trailing rein but there was a sharp crack as a hoof connected with his wrist.
With a shout, and a curse, he fell backwards. The horse drove his hooves down, then fled as one of the other soldiers tried to catch him. He trotted back to his rider, nudging at his face with his nose.
"This is too much trouble," one of the Adrestians said.
"That beast must be worth a fortune," another moaned.
The horse twisted one ear towards the speaker--the other lay flat against his head.
"Dead or alive, that creature is coming back with us," the leader of the soldiers said, struggling to his feet and cradling his broken arm.
The horse flicked his tail. At his feet, his rider lay still. The animal dipped his head a third time, blowing air into the man's face.
"He's dead you stupid animal! Go on! Get!"
Hot air blew into his face. It felt like sunlight, golden and glowing as Faith. Eyes opening a sliver, there was nothing but light, bright and pure and divine.
Something nudged at him. He had to move, but couldn't. There was pain in his chest, deep and eternal, and fog, and the smell of horses and hay. There was wind, too, but he couldn't hear it.
He could hear speaking, though.
Opening his eyes more, they gradually adjusted to the light. It was dimmer than it had seemed. Some of the ache in his chest was receding. It was time to move.
The horse's leg was right beside him, so he wrapped his hand around it--moving made it sting like a million wasps were biting him. He couldn't make a sound, but this was his horse. He knew it. His horse was standing over him, protecting him.
What else did he know?
He tried to sit up, gasping and tasting the coppery tang of blood. His hand was in the damp earth, palm stinging. Everything hurt--he knew that. He'd had something to do, a promise to fulfill.
Had he done it?
He didn't know that, but he clung tighter to his horse's leg--though he knew the animal didn't like it, he trusted him. He had never trusted anything more.
"What--no, that's--"
"We should go--"
"Don't be cowards, it's just a man--"
The stinging in his hands was easing, but it lived in everything else he tried to move. He turned, pulling himself onto his knees, and stared up at the faces of four terrified Adrestian soldiers. So he'd have to fight, then. Staggering, clinging to the side of his horse, he pulled himself upright.
The enemy soldiers backed away. He didn't know why they should fear him so, but it gave him time to haul himself, still gasping, into the saddle. If he could stay upright, then he would at least be able to flee.
It was comfortable, atop his horse--familiar. He looked around, no longer concerned about the soldiers. He'd made a promise, yes--to the king. He was to guide the prince, keep him from straying from his path, and if he failed then help him find his way back--
His vision was strangely blurred. Some colours seemed to be missing--reds and oranges, leaving the world cool and blue. There were soldiers lying on the ground, dead, but they were impossible to tell apart.
Blinking seemed to clear his eyes a little. Maybe this would go away. The pain was certainly less now than it had been. The soldiers in front of him were frozen in fear.
Gently pulling the reins, he turned his horse to the East. Without needing a command, his horse began to walk, stately and calm.
Rider and stallion disappeared into the fog.