Chapter 3: The Second Collision
****
The next day, Princess Loisette sat in her room, fidgeting.
She wanted to go back to the stable. She liked being around all the horses, even if they *did* smell.
The reason she wanted to go had *nothing* to do with that impertinent stableboy. In fact, he was the reason why she *wasn’t* going--she simply couldn’t stand seeing him again!
After eating a piece of an orange, she placed another slice on the floor in front of Robert Bigmouth’s mouse hole. He poked his head out, grabbed the slice, and went back inside.
The princess sighed. She should have placed it further away--at least then she could have managed to pet him once.
She began pacing around her room, feeling restless but unsure why. She suddenly stopped in front of her bed. Lying there was her small doll.
She picked it up and looked at it. She had never really liked dolls, but this one had belonged to her mother, and so she slept with it every night. The toy had a white dress on that was slightly yellowed with age, and her blonde hair was ratted due to infrequent brushings. Loisette had never brushed her own hair, let alone a doll’s, and none of her ladies-in-waiting had cared enough to offer to assist with the maintenance of Loisette’s toy.
As Loisette stared down at the glossy eyes and frozen smile of the doll, she thought back to her experience in the stable the day before. Too often, she felt like this doll--frozen in time and place . . . watching as everything around her changed but herself . . . cared for and cherished by no one, not even the one person who was supposed to love her above all else . . . . But when she had ridden alongside that stubborn stableboy . . . it had made her feel alive.
Determined to break out of the porcelain shell of her life within the castle walls, Loisette placed the doll on her dresser and turned her eyes to her chamber door. She was going to go to the stable again.
****
As Loisette walked through the large entrance of the stable, she faltered when she realized the person she had wanted to see was nowhere in sight. Instead, a slightly older boy--perhaps fifteen--was standing near the entryway and pounding away at something. It looked like he was working on fixing a stall.
Seeing her, he bowed and then stepped toward her, his hammer in hand. “The name’s William,” he told her in a level tone. “Did you lose something, Your Highness?”
Loisette frowned at the implication that she was not meant to be in a stable, but she sensed the amusement behind his question, so she didn’t get as angry with him as she might have otherwise. Which was not to say she wasn’t angry.
“*No*,” she bit out with a glare. “I came here to ride.”
“That usually is what people want when they come into a stable,” William commented dryly.
She glared at him. “Well, I do not want *your* assistance. I wish to be helped by Clarkent.” The words had come out of their own volition. But on examining her feelings, she realized it was true--she *did* want to be helped by Clarkent. She didn’t know why, but it did seem like he truly cared for her safety. The only person she’d ever felt that with was Aliss.
A man--likely the Stable Master--walked up to her, having heard what she said. After bowing, he told her, “Clarkent is looking for an escaped horse, Your Highness. The mare splintered the bars of her stall. It will probably be ten more minutes before he returns. But Billy and I can help you now.”
Loisette turned to look at the dry-humored “Billy.” There was a hint of a smirk touching the corners of his mouth.
“I will wait,” she said firmly. It was hard to keep from sticking her tongue out at the stableboy.
“Suit yourself, Your Highness,” Billy told her. He stepped away and resumed fixing the stall--which had to belong to the horse the man had mentioned, Loisette realized.
Though Billy moved away, the man stayed with Loisette. He stood there quietly for a minute before commenting, “It’s good to see you in the stable, Your Highness. Your mother loved horses.”
Loisette gave a brittle smile. “So I have heard.”
He gave her a discerning look, and she wondered how much he knew about her. He noted casually, “The horse Clarkent’s looking for used to be hers.” He must have seen the light in her eyes, as he quickly added, “But I don’t recommend riding her. That horse really gives new meaning to the word ‘petulance,’ Your Highness.”
Loisette smiled at him. He seemed like a nice man.
****
Penelope Grace walked right up to the stable door and stopped.
Clarkent made a clicking noise. “Come on,” he encouraged. He tugged at her lead rope, but she wouldn’t budge.
He tried giving her a light pat on the rump, and she looked at him with disinterest. Then she snorted.
Clarkent resisted the urge to growl. He had finally tracked down the blasted horse and brought her within yards of their destination, and now he couldn’t finish the job because she had suddenly decided it was more enjoyable to stand motionlessly out of a stall than in one.
He was contemplating giving her an even harder smack on the rump when he heard a piercing whistle. He turned and saw Dwayne a few yards away. Penelope Grace, who had heard the Stable Master’s call, trotted forward obediently, nearly yanking Clarkent’s arm out of its socket in her attempt to oblige Dwayne. Clarkent made an annoyed face, but he rushed forward and finished putting the horse in her stall before she could change her mind. As he turned away from the stall, his eyes widened as he realized the princess was standing in the stable and looking at him.
He made an awkward bow, not sure why his heart was suddenly galloping in his chest like a spooked courser. “Your Highness.”
“Princess Loisette just arrived,” Dwayne told him. The princess threw a grateful look at him, though Clarkent wasn’t sure why. “Since you’re here now, you might as well help her saddle up.”
“All right,” Clarkent mumbled. He moved to get out the equipment, resigning himself to putting on the horse’s full royal regalia.
But the princess stepped up to him. “I don’t need everything this time,” she told him. “Just--you know--the saddle and stuff.” She shifted uncomfortably, and it was obvious she felt as awkward as he did, especially considering how they had last left each other.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Clark said softly, not wanting to question her motives.
Perhaps a second later, she proclaimed, “I wish to ride High Flyer again.”
Clarkent nearly groaned. He had been hoping he could convince her to ride a different horse. It worried him when she rode High Flyer, even though she had only done it once. But when the princess had brought the horse into a trot, there had been a glint in the horse’s eyes . . . . And that didn’t bode well. Given a little more time, Clarkent suspected the horse would have *really* been flying high, and Clarkent would have been hard-pressed to keep the princess from falling off and breaking her neck. Still, he couldn’t help but make one attempt to change her mind: “Perhaps a different horse--”
“No,” the princess said sharply. “I like High Flyer.”
“Yes, Princess,” he muttered. He looked over at High Flyer, who was munching contentedly on a mouthful of hay. Maybe things would turn out all right. He would simply have to make sure they kept the pace to a walk.
****
After the horses were saddled up, the princess requested Clarkent ride with her again. He did as she wished, knowing a royal request might as well have been a royal mandate for all the free will that a requestee had in deciding whether or not to oblige.
As they left the stable, he found himself again mentally listing all the things that could go wrong if he was going to have to train the princess to ride. However, the sun was warm on his back, and the air was fresh, and his spirits soon lifted, and his mood brightened. The princess did seem perfectly capable of taking care of herself--and besides, everyone had to start learning somewhere. He was simply fortunate that she had proved such a good student. Already, she looked as if she had been riding horses for months. And before long, it would look like she had ridden them for years.
“It’s really nice out here,” the princess commented as she looked around at the field. A playful breeze was tickling the blades of grass, causing them to ripple in silent laughter. A bird flew overhead and let out a fragment of a song which another bird happily responded to. Then, as if wanting to complete the picture, a white cloud passed lazily overhead.
Observing all this, Clarkent smiled. “You’re right.”
Neither of them had exactly apologized, but what had just passed between them was close enough. And as long as the princess didn’t suggest racing again, Clarkent thought he would get along well with her.
But then she had to go and burst his bubble. “Would you let me trot at least?”
“What?” he blurted out accidentally. “Your Highness, that isn’t a good idea.”
“I didn’t fall off last time,” she pouted.
“That doesn’t mean you won’t fall off this time.”
“Oh, fine,” she grumbled. He was relieved she didn’t press the issue any further.
A few minutes later, she patted High Flyer’s neck gently. “You’re a good horse,” she told him, her voice pleasant. Then she looked at Clarkent. “Do you like working in the stable?”
For some reason, the question took Clarkent aback. Did he *like* working in the stable? It had never really been a question of whether he liked it or not. It had been what he was Assigned to do, and so he did it. It wasn’t like he could really change his lot in life.
But on considering the princess’s inquiry, he found his answer quickly, and he told her, “Yes, Your Highness.”
She frowned. “You don’t have to keep calling me ‘Your Highness,’ you know.”
Clarkent’s bottom lip quirked upward into a smile. “Yes, Your Highness.”
The princess rolled her eyes and spread her arms out, the reins resting on the front of her saddle. Clarkent was barely able to restrain himself from ordering her to stop. They were going at a slow pace--if she fell, all she would hurt was her dignity.
“Ah! I want to go on an adventure! I feel like Gareth!” the princess proclaimed, sounding a bit frustrated.
Puzzled, Clarkent tilted his head. “Who is that, Your Highness?”
The princess brought her hands back down to grab the reins, and she turned to look at him as if he had just asked what food was. “You’ve never heard of Gareth? What about Gawain?”
“I do not know them, Your Highness.”
She shook her head, looking disappointed. “It’s sad you haven’t heard of them. Gawain was a great knight who went on many adventures.”
“What kind of adventures?” he asked in interest.
She smiled at him. “All kinds. But I’ll tell you my favorite story. One day, Gawain’s youngest brother, Gareth, heard that Gawain was fighting a chimera. He’d been at it for two days. Though Gareth hadn’t ever quested before, he took his horse and looked for his brother, hoping to reach him in time.” She punctuated her story with a bouncing motion meant to mimic horseback riding. High Flyer snorted in discomfort, and she continued her story with a gentle pat on his mane. The silly motion served as a subtle reminder that this princess--though she often spoke like an adult--was very young. “But Gareth ran into trouble and came across a dangerous black knight who felt loyalty to no man. They were in a brutal battle, and at last, Gareth won. But he was mortally wounded. Still--that didn’t stop him from riding to his brother. Gareth finally reached Gawain, who was standing at the body of the dead chimera. Gareth was relieved that Gawain didn’t need saving, but he had lost too much blood from his injuries, and he slumped and fell off his horse.”
Clarkent stared at the princess as she told her story. There was such a fire in her eyes and her movements, and he was entranced. The energy put into telling this story was much different from that put into her anger, and there was something mesmerizing about it. The thinness of her face faded into the periphery in the light of her passion. It made her look almost . . . pretty.
Oblivious to how intrigued her audience was, the princess went on. “Gawain ran over and took his brother in his arms. Gareth told him how happy he was that Gawain was alive--and that it was all he could have wished for.” Her voice became quiet and sad. “Gawain cried as his brother died in his arms. After that, Gawain became fiercely protective of his remaining brothers--Gaheris, Mordred, and Agravaine--and also of his king and friend, Arthur . . . . It was said no man could hope to defeat Gawain after that day if they threatened the ones he loved.”
Clarkent looked down at Esroh Repus and leaned down to stroke his neck. “That’s a sad story, Your Highness,” he commented.
“But it spurred Gawain on to even greater things,” she pointed out. “King Arthur never had a better knight.”
“What about Lancelot?” Clarkent asked. In truth, Lancelot was the only one of the legendary King Arthur’s knights whose name Clarkent knew.
The princess shrugged. “Lancelot is overrated--and he took his best friend’s wife away.” She shook her head adamantly. “No, Gawain is a greater hero.”
Clarkent looked at her as she turned High Flyer toward an apple tree. She had led them to the royal orchards. “Do you think they--Gawain, Arthur, Gareth--are real?” Belatedly, he added, “Your Highness.” It was getting harder to remember to be formal with her. He had to be careful.
As she reached up and got an apple, the princess smiled at him, and he blushed, though he wasn’t sure why. “Does it matter?” she asked.
The princess gestured him over, and he moved Repus closer. She handed him the apple, which he took hesitantly. He looked down at it, twisting it in his hands. “I guess not,” he conceded.
She reached up and got another apple. She tossed the fruit into the air and caught it with both hands, though she almost lost her whip in the process. “We should go on an adventure,” she declared.
Clarkent had just taken a bite of his apple, and he paused to chew. After swallowing, he told her with careful slowness, “It’s dangerous for a princess to go on an adventure.”
A shadow fell over her face. She looked down at her untouched apple--squeezing it briefly--and then threw it to the ground. “Yes. It is.”
Clarkent felt terrible for his words--he hadn’t meant to upset her--but what he had said was the truth. If Princess Loisette was to succeed her father to the throne, then she couldn’t simply go gallivanting about the country seeking adventures. She had duties to her kingdom and to her father.
“I’m sorry, Princess,” he said in a soft voice.
She shook her head. “Why should you be sorry? After all, you’re right,” she told him bitterly. “I’m not allowed to have adventures.” She kicked her heel and flicked her whip, and High Flyer began walking away from the tree.
As Clarkent pulled on his reins to signal Repus to follow her, he found himself pitying the princess again. Perhaps she was just as trapped in her life as he was in his. Maybe that was the reason for her misery.
They walked a little while longer before the princess led them back to the stable. She brought High Flyer to the platform and actually waited for Clarkent to come assist her. As he gently helped her down, she gave him a look that was equal parts sorrow and gratitude. Struck by her expression, he kept his hands at her waist for a few more seconds. Then he slowly removed them, his cheeks growing warm.
She descended the steps in a slow and methodical fashion, and at the bottom of them, she turned her head to look up at him. “Thank you for the ride,” she said. And then she walked away.
Clarkent mumbled, “You’re welcome, Princess,” but he didn’t think she heard him. He continued to watch her as she disappeared into the distance. He felt sad for the princess--she was very smart, but it was obvious she had had to grow up too quickly. Due to the Assigning, Clarkent had seen that far too much, though he hadn’t really expected it among royalty. He also got the feeling that the princess hadn’t been around other children her age very often. But still . . . he had hope for her. Though she was bowing under the weight of some heavy burden he couldn’t fully comprehend, he had the feeling that she was a fighter. She simply needed someone to help her lift her chin . . . and then she could take on the world.
Thinking he would much rather see her temper than her sadness, Clarkent gave a slight smile as he led the horses back to the stable. He hoped he would see the princess again soon.
****
Chapter 3 Glossary
Courser: This kind of horse was the most common type of horse used in warfare. They were the fastest kind of horse--small, light, strong, steady, and long-winded. They were valuable and expensive, though they weren’t the most pricey horse. They were frequently used by knights and cavalrymen.
Gareth and Gawain: Though Gareth and Gawain (and the others mentioned) are characters in Arthurian literature, the story I have included about them was entirely made up by myself. In Arthurian stories, Gareth *is* killed (as is Gaheris), and Gawain *does* become really angry, but Gareth’s death is brought about by Lancelot, who was sincerely apologetic about it afterward (not having meant to kill him).
Chimera: A chimera is a monster made up the parts of different animals, usually a snake, goat, and lion.
