Geoffrey of Delbray

Another jerk, his legs held as tight to either side as he possibly could, Volke had to brace an arm against the general’s shoulder to keep himself from sliding all the way out of the saddle. “Don’t-!”

Finally the beast slowed. 

Fitfully, and with a shake of his head, Dashing pattered beside the stable fence, nearly in the same spot as he’d initially raced off. He made some ridiculous horse sound and came to a halt beside the mare.

There.

“Forgive him,” Geoffrey offered, if through gritted teeth as he held steady so that Volke could regain his balance. Leave it to Dashing to make a fool of them both in front of the Fireman of all people. “He’s not been allowed a run in some time. I’m confident he’ll behave once we set out.” 

“I just… feel something? Like when I’m moving a lot, all of a sudden I cannot move anymore? Tired? Is it called being tired? Stamina? Running out of stamina? Me?’

Rutger’s whole world was starting to fall apart even more than it already had. Rutger decided to plop his butt onto the floor to process what was happening to his body.

“Yes, rest there a moment,” Geoffrey said, kneeling beside the stranger. Perhaps he was only dehydrated, so strange his speech and behavior. “Some water should do you well.”

Ranked City Trial

Rutger was scaling a wall when all of a sudden he was not feeling it anymore and fell 10 feet. Weird, but not the weirdest thing ever so Rutger just brushed it off. Later, he was sprinting to his destination, but all of a sudden he was not feeling it anymore again.

“What the fuck. Something is not right.”

Geoffrey frowned, glancing the passing stranger over. A foreigner, but from where he could not tell. 

…

It isn’t the dark he registers first, when Geoffrey lurches forward from the sheets, newly awake and drenched in sweat. His heart is a drum, thrumming and pounding and spreading fire to the extent of every limb. A moment passes before he can breathe. Air fills his chest in a ragged inhale, a burning pass of breath that hisses between his clenched teeth.

This nightmare is nothing new. A dreary parade of images assaulting his slumber. First the rope, then the heckling crowd beneath the grey skies. Geoffrey is always alone in these visions. More alone than he was that horrid day. But strangely, terribly, his sister is never alone at the end of the parade. 

Duke Renning swings beside her. And Elincia beside him. Then his father, then his lover, then his knights-.

“Enough,” Geoffrey chokes out, but it is only a whisper. A pathetic whisper from a pathetic man.

Another lurch, another snapped cuss that did nothing to slow this godawful creature, and Dashing made a turn sharp enough that one of Volke’s boots slipped from the stirrups. 

“Dashing!”  he snarled, forcing his thighs tight to either edge of the saddle. He couldn’t keep himself upright entirely, but still slid far enough to the side to see the stable come back into view. “Stop!”

He turned on a bit, Dashing such a responsive steed for as foolish as he could be. Too sharp of a turn, actually, Volke left nearly hanging. “Ho there,” Geoffrey called, jogging forward with an arm out to catch whatever of the harness that he possibly could. 

Fucking beast. 

“Hey!” Volke snapped, scrambling for the reins. He had to grab the saddle horn just to keep from tipping back at Dashing’s first lurch. “Knock it off!" 

Dashing didn’t. He threw his head and made some noise over the sound of his hooves, like he was a wild thing instead of a knight’s mount. Even after Volke snagged the flapping reins Dashing didn’t slow, but just put his head down and went. 

"Dashing!" Geoffrey barked, a second too slow in catching a hand in the saddle straps. "Hold, damn you!" 

But no, of course Dashing didn't listen. Geoffrey'd not taken him for a ride in a fortnight or more, it was no great surprise that he'd dashed off the moment he thought it appropriate. 

prideofdelbray​:

Well, no time like the present.

Dashing didn’t waver enough to make getting a foot in the first stirrup an issue, held decently in place by the general’s grip as Volke swung his leg over. The straps were just loose enough that Volke could kick free if needed. 

“Here,” he said, holding a hand out for the reins. Saddled now, maybe the horse would quit acting the fool and just let Volke quietly exist on his back.

If so, maybe he could start to piece together why exactly Crimea’s foremost knight was hiding out in the countryside. 

Perhaps his estimation of Volke’s nerves had been overblown. He was saddled, calm in tone and demeanor. Dashing was decently behaved, though perhaps only because he knew the scolding he'd receive otherwise. 

"Don't let him decide his own way," Geoffrey instructed as he passed the reins, patting Dashing's shoulder. "Else he'll decide to just-."

A step brought Volke close enough to the fence to hang the rejected saddle on a post, and also a step away from where Dashing was nosing aggressively at the general’s boots.  He leaned against the frame, eyeing the dark clouds on the far edge of the horizon. Wasn’t sure how fast they were moving yet. Be nice not to spend another day drenched. “Didn’t think your last mount was old enough to replace.”

“Not quite,” Geoffrey replied, tugging the saddle pad to lay straighter before setting the panel and flaps, not that Dashing’s fidgeting helped matters.  “Constance still gets around well, but I doubt she has more than a few years left of any sort of rigorous exercise. Given the nature of my departure, I took Dashing in the hopes that-.”

Ah, fool! He’d not meant keep on like that. Apparently he was more starved for conversation than he’d thought. 

As if that would help. 

Volke held out the more worn of the two saddles and eyed where Dashing was investigating something on the ground. A mistake, for the fool horse apparently felt the weight of his eyes and lifted his head with a trilling inquisitive noise.

“He always this…active?” 

That wasn’t the right word, but there was little more foolish than casting shade on a Crimean man’s steed. 

Geoffrey snorted as he reached past the offered saddle to take the newer of the two. “Like I said, he’s friendly. And rather young.” 

“Friendly isn’t the word I’d use,” Volke muttered as the general took both his fool horse and the mare towards the stable gates. He put an agitated hand through his hair before shutting the open stall. The neighboring horse gave him a side eye afterwards.

There were only enough fittings for two mounts hung on the rack beside the gate, one set faded leather and the other embellished with the sort of needlework that spoke to a certain level of society. Volke took both in hand and trailed after Dashing’s shadow. 

Maybe he’d just take the mare, stubborn or not. 

The air outside wasn’t so humid as Geoffrey had feared after a night of rain. Even the sun was shaded by a haze of early morning clouds, the light enough to get about but not so strident that Geoffrey felt its heat. 

The stall door swung open easily after being unlatched, but Volke had to slide a rapid step back when the fool horse decided it wasn’t opening quite fast enough. Dashing thrust the door forth with his shoulder as he stepped out…and continued right into Volke’s face. 

“Hey,” Volke tried again, terser than before. He put an arm out to try for some distance, the feel of a horse always strange under his hand. “Quit, alright?”

Dashing didn’t quit, but decided instead to snuff at Volke’s hair and press further into his space. 

It only took a whistle, though one that became sharper when he was initially  ignored, for Dashing to leave off and comes towards Geoffrey’s outstretched hand. He likely expected a treat for his terrible manners. “He’s quite friendly,” Geoffrey said aloud, taking hold of his steed’s bridle once in reach. “You don’t need to worry about him snapping at you or anything like that.”

All true, but Dashing was still large and obtuse enough to bowl a body over if neither were paying attention. Usually that was an unlikely concern when considering the Fireman.