(no subject)

[tu_vas_triompher]

Even the excuse of coming out of a very strange week of not being himself isn't enough to keep Feuilly from work--but he finds that in that week, barely remembered, he finished up his translation of the Pasteur volume, and made a great deal of progress reading it over! Or at least he thinks that's what he's done. The notebook with the translation is full of marks in green pencil, in his handwriting, making corrections that he certainly agrees with.

So for the morning he carries on correcting his work, now with a dog lying on his feet in a way that will be welcome in winter weather; and when his two hours are up he makes his way to the stables with an odd feeling of having gotten ahead of himself somehow.

Comments

[harryhotspur]

"Didst climb a deal of walls and rooftops in Paris?" he asks. "But I think there will be little need-- we shall go slowly."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"I didn't. But who knows about Bahorel?" Feuilly shakes his head. Even supposing that half of what Bahorel says about anything is pure invention, you're left with quite a few adventures.

"--All right. So."

So.

Horse.

[harryhotspur]

Horse! Harry gives Duncan's nose a pat.

"Wilt please thee watch whiles I do saddle him, and then when next we come, thou canst lend a hand?"

[tu_vas_triompher]

"All right, that sounds good." Ordinarily he'd push to try it himself--the best way to learn--but he'll be taking in enough new things today that the saddling can wait. "I have seen it done before," he adds hastily.

[harryhotspur]

"I doubt it not!" Harry calls back, already en route to the tack room.

In fact, Harry isn't particularly good at this part of things: he knows how, obviously, and is perfectly capable, but he's used to having grooms to take care of the saddling and such. So he moves through slowly, deliberately, narrating each step to Feuilly as he goes.

When Duncan is saddled and ready, Harry leads him out into the paddock.

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly appreciates the slow walk through, yes. And not only because it means putting off the moment of truth when Harry discovers--what, anyway? It's not as though he has any reason to expect failure and embarrassment.

As he reminds himself several times as they go out to the paddock.

[harryhotspur]

Harry stands expectantly for a moment or two before it strikes him that Feuilly doesn't know how to get on.

"O-- yes-- I will help thee. Put one hand here--" He places one hand at the base of Duncan's neck. "And t'other here--" Farther down his back. "And I will make a step for thee, here, while thou dost pull thyself up, and swing'st t'other leg over."

Easy! Right?

[tu_vas_triompher]

Yes, right, getting on.

The first attempt ends with him kicking Duncan's rump, and apologizing to him and to Harry. The second attempt gets him stranded for what feels like an hour clinging to the side of the horse before he slides down again.

The third time he kicks Harry.

[harryhotspur]

Harry, knocked backwards, takes a moment or two to sit on the ground and make sure his nose really definitely isn't bleeding.

"Thou couldst lie across on thy stomach, and then sit up," he says dubiously from behind his hands.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Oh, God--I'm so sorry--" Feuilly slithers down Duncan's side--he'd made it maybe three-quarters of the way up!--and hurries over to check the nose situation himself. "I'm so sorry--are you--I almost had it that time but--"

[harryhotspur]

"Nay, go back!" Harry cries, waving him away. "Thou hadst nearly made it!"

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly retreats, and decides that it's about time to break out another piece of carrot. "You're a saint," he murmurs to Duncan. "I am so very sorry. --Are you all right, Harry? I'm--I'm so sorry--"

[harryhotspur]

"Thou needst not apologize-- I will forbid thee say the word if thou speak'st it again." He gets to his feet. "Come. We will to the fence, and see if thou canst not make it up from a greater height."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"I'm--" He doesn't say it. "--Yes, let's try the fence?" Feuilly doesn't have to worry about kicking the fence in the face.

"Maybe I should try to find one of those donkeys. The ones that are only about so high."

[harryhotspur]

"Nay, sir!" Harry declares. "I will see thee on this horse, or I will die in the attempt."

He leads Duncan alongside the fence. Then, since he can this time, rather than just describing it, he demonstrates how Feuilly can use the fence to boost himself up.

"And I will hold him still," Harry assures him as he dismounts.

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Not worth dying for, Harry--"

Duncan, bless him, is used to the fence business; he's getting rather tired of all this up and down and on and off--not to mention the kicking--but he has a faint hope that now that they're by the fence the people will stop all this nonsense.

And really, Feuilly does feel that he's almost got it now! Hands here and here, and a little bob with the foot on the fence, and--ah.

Yes.

Right. That's much easier! There we go! Feuilly-on-a-horse!

[harryhotspur]

"Then 'tis well there is no need," Harry says.

"It is not a question of holding fast," he explains as he comes over to nudge Feuilly's legs into a better position. "But of sitting sure. Bear thyself straight-- straighter than that."

[tu_vas_triompher]

Feuilly displays all the proud erect posture of someone whose professional and recreational lives both center around sitting down for close work at a table--someone who is now sitting up on top of a large living animal that might move at any moment. (Not that Duncan seems inclined to do more than shift a foot now and then while he noses Harry's clothing for hypothetical carrots.)

But he tries to straighten up, and loosen his death-grip on every part of the horse and the saddle in reach. "Yes?"

[harryhotspur]

"Well..." It's close enough. "Thou wilt feel the way," Harry says. He takes hold of Duncan's bridle. "Now, do but give him a nudge with thy feet, and he will begin."

[tu_vas_triompher]

Poor Duncan's had rather worse than a nudge from Feuilly's feet already today, but he responds favorable to the (timid and gentle) prod from Feuilly, and ambles forward.

Feuilly does not fall off!

[harryhotspur]

After a few paces, Harry lets go of the bridle.

"See!" he says. "As I told thee. There is nothing easier. Now, it is just as thou wouldst guess: as thou guidest his head, so will he walk. Pull right-- and he will go right. He is well-trained, thou canst pull but gently, and he will go."

[tu_vas_triompher]

This is all very proper and ordinary, so far as Duncan is concerned. And this part is at least somewhat evident and familiar to Feuilly; the two of them walk at a leisurely pace along the line of the paddock fence.

The litany running through Feuilly's head--sit sure, bear thyself straight, feet so--goes along in English.

[harryhotspur]

"Thou'rt a master horseman!" Harry laughs. "Now, bid him stop: do but pull back."

[tu_vas_triompher]

"Holà," he tells Duncan, with a tentative pull on the rein; somewhat to his surprise, it works. Which says more about Duncan's training and temperament than Feuilly's horsemanship, but. It works.

He slumps a little, catches himself, and straightens again.

[harryhotspur]

"Wouldst go a little faster?" Harry asks. His eager expression probably makes it obvious what he hopes the answer will be.