Royal Crown Commision: Equine Advice

[Jim Roberts]

[Jan 30 PM – Castle Sibley]

After the day’s conference and the Abbot’s predictable but lavish Heroes
Feast banquet of a dinner, the various delegations repaired to their
respective overnight accommodations. The Abbot’s team had their own
quarters in Castle Sibley, so this was simplicity itself. As was a spot
for Lord Erik, as both he and the Dwarflord had reserved rooms up in
“VIP row” that were always set aside for them. Whether the Khuzdar and
his blonde girlfriend would get up to activities not usually associated
with holy castles was left unsaid. At least, overtly.

Dame Sharpe was granted one of the VIP suites for her sole use, and the
other two ladies of the Commission agreed to share another of the well
appointed VIP suites. The other guests, including the other members of
the Baldy delegation, were well content with individual rooms up in “VIP
row”; they might not earn a constellation of stars in the renowned
guidebooks, but they were quite comfortable, and scrupulously clean.

However, not all of the delegates at the conference chose to overnight
at the Castle. One such delegate was making his way into the well
appointed Sibley Stables, something palmed in each of his two large
hands. “Good evening, gentlemen,” Sir Tregarth called out softly. No
human was present to hear his gentle greeting. But two white chargers
perked up their ears at the greeting, and whickered softly. Their equine
response became even more enthusiastic as Tregarth revealed what was in
each palm, their eyes now confirming what their noses had already
sensed. In each palm was a fine apple.

An empathic sense of gratitude flashed in the knight’s mind from his
huge steed. Maximus’ neighbour had no way to empathically communicate
with Tregarth, but that was no impediment. Sir Erik’s own steed,
Miracle, had a far more direct way to make himself understood.

“Thank you, Sir Tregarth,” Miracle said simply, and an empathic
confirmation flashed in the knight’s mind from Maximus.

“You are very welcome,” Tregarth replied, and with a half bow, presented
apples first to Miracle as the ranking horse present, and then to
Maximus. “You two have the more boring of the jobs today.”

Miracle was far too polite to speak with his mouth full. Maximus,
however, was easily able to use the empathic link they shared while
contentedly munching on his own apple. Tregarth chuckled at the sense of
admiring shieldmaids giving both Divine chargers most comfortable
rubdowns. Something was perhaps being slightly lost in the translation,
as Tregarth rather doubted that Castle Sibley actually *had* any busty
Norse shieldmaids, but the knight was left with the firm impression that
neither steed considered the day to have been a waste. It had, it
seemed, been rather a nice vacation.

A sense of gentle inquiry with Maximus’ eyes flicking to the interior
made the next communication quite clear. “Things really *are*
developing,” Tregarth confirmed for the two curious horses. “Once we can
bring you both into something a bit more magically protected than these
fine stables, the Boss and I will most certainly put you into the *full*
picture.” Both horses nodded, showing a positively UNequine grasp of
Operational Security.

Another question formed in Tregarth’s mind, this time around a certain
lady with silver hair. Slightly embarrassed, the knight replied, “Well,
yes. I am rather hoping to see her soon.” After a generally encouraging
interrogative, the knight explained. “Rather to my surprise, I found
this note in my papers after one of the afternoon session breaks.”

Carefully, Fort Resolute’s Seneschal unfolded a slip of parchment and
presented it for each steed’s inspection. A sense of approval radiated
from Maximus. Miracle, as usual, was able to communicate more directly.
“The Bard Tramma asks to meet you after dinner *here*, with us, right
about now,” Erik’s steed paraphrased the note. “I would say that things
are looking up for you. Well done.”

Maximus gave an affirming nod, and then thought a separate question to
his Rider. It was just as well that the communication was empathic, as
the words to describe the emotions – and especially the actions behind
the emotions – that the thought encompassed were not generally spoken
aloud in holy castles. But the image was tinged with another interrogative.

“Well, yes,” Tregarth confirmed. “I would be lying if I said that I was
NOT hoping that might be on the cards for tonight. But a gentleman must
never *assume*.”

“Very true,” Miracle replied. “But if I may offer an opinion?”

“Most certainly, sir.”

“While a gentleman indeed ought not to *assume*,” Miracle agreed, “a
proper warrior of Heimdall should both see and be prepared for *all*
possibilities. Including the most probable one that I am certain my
colleague here is envisioning.”

Maximus gave a snort, and Tregarth’s mind felt an impression of
something coming into focus. Something sweet scented.

Miracle, being obviously fluent in equine, had no need to interpret
empathic projections. “A rose,” the Divine Steed observed. “A most
*excellent* suggestion, Max.”

“Indeed, old chap,” Tregarth agreed. “Though they are somewhat out of
season.”

“The botany is hardly as important as the thought, sort of a corollary
of ‘a rose by any other name would smell as sweet’,” Miracle noted
before suggesting, “I am quite certain Sister Erin could point you to a
covered garden with some sort of winter flowering plant.”

Tregarth nodded. “She could, at that. But I would hate to disturb her;
she’s rather a lot on her plate keeping this whole affair running.”

“True,” Miracle agreed. “But this *is* important. Morale of the
hardworking troops is critical; you *know* this. So, if you do not seek
out the good Sister, I *will*. And I think you might make less of an
impression than I would.”

Tregarth blinked. “I would, at that,” he agreed. To both horses, he
added, “Please give Tramma my apologies if she arrives while I am away.”

Both horses nodded. “And we’ll reassure her that you’ll be *right*
back,” Miracle confirmed. “This works out well, I won’t have to bother
Madame Aronson the chamberlain for ‘indoor’ shoes after all.”