Hunting for Horses {Victor}

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]564 WORDS FOR Victor Notes here: N/A HORSES [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Henri blinked sleepily in the early light which shone in his bedroom window. He'd forgotten to shut the drapes last night when he'd gone to bed tired and worn out from a busy afternoon of lessons, sneaking off to read from Chauvelin's seemingly unending list, and then meeting with some of his little friends in order to plan something that he might be able to do to show more support for some needy families they'd discovered (not that all of France currently wasn't needy with its poor economy and teetering on the brink of civil war and/or revolution yet again... ) but these people were in particularly poor straits and Henri liked to help as many people as he was able. It made him feel slightly less ineffective than the affable foolish fop that the Chouannerie was setting him up to be as a marionette for them. Their little puppet king that they believed to be far more stupid and immature and with much less knowledge than he really possessed on many subjects, not the least of which was their true intentions toward him. Regardless, his constant vigil to make sure he wasn't being caught onto while keeping up with his numerous studies - both official and.. extracurricular, if that's what you counted Chauvelin's .. was wearing on a boy as young as he. He was, however, determined not to complain. He could do it. But at the light of day he was suddenly awakened very excitedly as he remembered what the day was. Despite how tired and overwhelmed he'd been recently, today something special was happening. Something that could bring back all the vim and vigor of his normal thirteen year old self. That was the nice thing about being young - a distraction was always enough to cheer him up and help him focus again. And today was going to be the distraction of all distractions! He had finally been told by Captain D'Anthès the man thought he might be ready for his own horse. Henri adored Atys, and hoped he could continue to ride him at times, but Atyas was older, and Henri wouldn't be allowed to keep him if and when Captain D'Anthès were to have to go to the front in the event of a war, or leave his position, or be called back to Samur. Henri didn't want to think about any of those things though. Victor was, without a doubt, Henri's favored teacher, and he hated to think of them not being together. He cast the gloomy thoughts out of his mind for once and all as he rose and threw on clothes as fast as he could - all of his clothes were a little more formal being that he was expected to present a certain image, but he did have some clothes that were a little less formal than others - clothes for riding and playing. It was this that he donned today before rushing out of his room, as he pulled on his shoes and heading for the stables where he was to meet Captain D'Amthès. He knew he wasn't guaranteed of getting a horse that very day, but he also knew it was a possibility - and they were at least going to look at some not too distant stud farms. "Good morning!" He exclaimed as he caught sight of his riding master. "We're still going right!?" [/style]

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[VICTOR D'ANTHÈS]

Victor was far from certain that the boy was ready for his own horse, but it was a close enough thing and concerns of revolution recommended it. Atys was a good horse, but his recurrent lameness would make him a difficult horse to use for more than lessons. Victor knew better than to expect that the king would be able to remain safely in Paris if unrest intensified much more. So the suggestion that King Henri might do well to get a personal horse was not a foolish one, and Victor thought he might at least be able to guide him into making a good—or at least acceptable—decision. Like most children, Henri had sometimes unrealistic and even almost dangerous ideas about horses.

He came early to get his charge to go out of the city, longing silently to go back to his own quarters and curl back between the sheets of his own bed. It had been a late night for Victor, and the remnants of the night's activities still pulsed behind his temples. Breakfast had hardly helped, and though he knew that technically the water he had drunk that morning should eventually offer him relief, it had done nothing but make him almost feel ill. He squinted as the sun shone through the open door of the stable, as if it had come strictly and entirely to oppress him.

The boy's still high voice hurt his head, though the excitement in it seemed genuine enough. Whether Henri was actually speaking loudly or not Victor couldn't be entirely sure in his present condition, for it seemed that every man-made sound was as much a villain as the sun itself. If only he had had another hour in which to formulate various hangover remedies, but nothing presented itself in his aching mind. “Good morning,” he answered, doing his best to conceal the discomfort of the hangover from his pupil. “We'll go in a carriage,” he confirmed. He thought it likely that the boy had assumed they would ride, but for such extended riding the king still needed further work to be without pain at the end and Victor did not want to present the King of France to various rural aristocrats with a limp as marked as Victor's own brother's. “It's easier when they suddenly decide to expect formality.”

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]402 WORDS FOR Victor Notes here: N/A HORSES [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]"Give me a second. I brought Atys an apple. I want to say goodmorning to him really quickly before we go." He frowned slightly feeling the need to explain himself. "I just don't want him to think I won't like him as much as the new one. You know. I still love him to pieces. Be back!" he said, dashing (perhaps mercifully to the riding master) away and into the barn, his pocket bulging with the aforementioned apple. He jogged quickly over to the riding stable where horses that were frequently ridden were kept in roomy box stalls inside a beautiful stone and wood building. He found Atys' stll without difficulty, and the sound of his voice encouraged the old gelding to put his head over the stall door expectantly. It was early still, and he was probably awaiting his breakfast - at least from the sounds of other horses stamping and looking round in their stalls to see if Henri was their usual stable boy. He loved the smell of the barn - a mixture of leather tack, horsey smell, and hay, sweat, and well.. of course the inevitable manure smell - but one got used to that aspect and didn't think about it as much after a while. He petted Atys' nose and forehead gently as he munched contentedly on the apple, and then leaned over to press his forehead boyishly against the horse and hug him about the neck before hurrying back to the main yard to meet Captain D'Anthès. He noticed by the grimace when he charged up again that the riding master was not his usual cheerful self this morning even though he was trying. He wondered vaguely, but didn't give it more thought when he heard that they would be going in a carriage rather than riding. A sort of disappointment to him, but the thought they might be going a good distance, and that he wasn't quite up to it yet and, if they rode, then how would they get a new horse, if they bought one, home. He wished, vaguely, if they were to be going by carriage, that he'd brought his chess set, but wasn't sure he wanted to take the time to retrieve it. He giggled vaguely at the formality comment before crawling up into the waiting carriage. "What kind of horses are we going to look at?" He inquired, sounding excited. [/style]

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[VICTOR D'ANTHÈS]

Victor nodded at the boy's request for a bit more time. He leaned against the wall of the stable, closing his eyes to rest his aching head a bit more. Sometimes he questioned his own judgment when it came to cutting himself off for the night. He could almost envy the boy-king his energy levels, but really all Victor could find himself wanting was to return to his bed. And to be fed a lavish breakfast while laying there in the soft sheets by a beautiful and scantily-clad woman. He smiled at the fantasy that danced through his head.

The sound of the boy's boots on the stone floor of the stable approached again, and Victor straightened up and opened his eyes. They had good weather, at least, even if the sun seemed like it existed purely to oppress him this morning. One of the servants was due to show up with the food for their trip, and he felt almost like an adolescent again in his fantasies about that as well.

The carriage was almost stupidly official-looking, Victor thought, though he had spared the forethought to arrange for one that was not marked as a royal vehicle. Anyone with half a brain might still be able to figure it out, but with tensions growing as they had been, it seemed unreasonable to expect safety if they went about marked as exactly what they were. The cavalry captain had no doubt he could protect the boy if called upon to do so, but he preferred to spend the afternoon enjoying himself in a much more peaceful environment rather than dealing with angry malcontents.

And peasants. He had never had overmuch patience for peasants.

He climbed up into the carriage after the boy, unfastening the saber from his belt and laying it next to him on the seat. It was comfortable, at least—though it reminded him of the boredom of traveling in such things as a small boy. It had been his delight back then to roughhouse with his brother, much to the torment of his parents and eldest brother.

“Riding horses, naturally,” he responded, almost distracted by looking out the window as the carriage began to roll forward. “There are a few estates that breed horses that should be suitable within an afternoon's drive.” Settling into his seat, he relaxed and pulled off his boots, unfastening the buttons of his jacket. “It'll take over an hour to get to the first one, though. Might as well get comfortable.”

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]663 WORDS FOR Victor Notes here: Poor Henri. HORSES [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Henri laid his face against the glass pane of the carriage window and breathed a long sigh. The cool glass felt very nice against his face which was flushed with a mixture of heat, excitement, and maybe even a little sunburn for all of the time he'd spent outside today. He felt overly stuffy in his nice riding outfit and couldn't wait to get out of it and roll around at the end of the long (but exciting) day. He had a feel he had developed a new empathy for how carriage horses must feel when they had nothing to do but wear their harnesses day in and day out and pull around carriages while waiting on people to go and come. It must be a boring and frustrating life, Henri thought, to be constantly attached to a large piece of equipment on wheels and never be free from it except for a few hours in the evening after the parties had ended and then back to it with the sign of the first light of day. He made a mental note to make sure he had a lot of horses for that so at least maybe they could take days off or something. That was how he'd felt when he'd first been dressed like a royal. He'd always been a fils-de-France, but he hadn't always had to dress like it back when he'd been living in Naples. He was allowed play clothes. That was rare to non-existant here unless he snuck them from the servant boys and returned them to their hooks before the boys noticed they were gone. It had been a long day regardless of his attire, however. He had just finished the sixth visit to potential stud farms of the day, and the sun was decided down in the western horizon. There was still perhaps an hour to two hours of light left, but that would be it for that day. And it had been a long one thus far. Though Henri was tired and becoming slightly disheartened that they'd not yet chosen a horse for him, he had also had a great deal of fun and excitement on this day. They'd visit farms, met many horses, many of them he'd ridden.. but Captain D'Anthès had never said the magic words, "We'll take that one." And so their search pressed on while Henri saw many fine horses he enjoy - particularly and perhaps six month old colt with a pretty chestnut colt who pricked his ears forward at the sound of a soft voice and cantered around on his spindly little legs with his short little tail out. If it had been up to Henri - he would have wanted that one, though the grown up part of him understood that the colt was not a good choice. He wasn't old enough to be ridden or trained. Still. Henri liked him. But what the Captain was looking for, Henri could not guess. He'd seen many good, suitable, even wonderful horses that afternoon.. but none of them had, apparently, been what his riding master was seeking. He knew that they would find him a horse and if all they would have done all day long was look at horses, there would have been nary a problem. But. Of course, everyone they'd stopped to visit had wanted them to come in. Had tried to feed Henri. Had encouraged him if he wasn't hungry to at least have some tea. So he had had some tea while staring back out at beautiful horses in fields of lush green grass. He watched them frolic and roll and play and nip and run. However, the consecutive glasses of tea were causing a problem. He sighed and fidgeted, tired of sitting still also. "Are we almost to the last place?" He inquired with some hope. "And what are you looking for in a horse for me anyway? We've seen a lot of nice ones today." . [/style]

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[VICTOR D'ANTHÈS]

Victor found the monotony of the carriage wheels and the constant, repetitive tone-strike beat of the carriage horses' hooves, combined with the stuffy air in the carriage and the horrific, boring pattern of the day's activities—ride in the carriage, disembark, look at some half-quality stud colt that needed to be sold as a pleasure riding gelding or maybe to pull an omnibus, eat some formalized snack, get back in the carriage, do it all over again—a sleep-aid equal to even a good strong wine. The reddened face of his young charge told him that, although Henri was not filled with the same immense level of almost lazy boredom as Victor felt, he did at least feel the heat. Some of it was sunburn, and Victor wondered if it was inappropriate or unfashionable to suggest that the king wear a hat.

He stretched his legs, finally setting one sock-covered foot on the velvet seat across from him. The extension of his leg felt good, and he moved the other to join it. The sort of behavior that was absolutely unthinkable when traveling with a woman was almost the expectation when traveling alone, save for the company of a fourteen year old boy—to whom such expressions of casual unconcern were still, or perhaps already, a half-guilty pleasure. Victor leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, but felt the heavy, tugging temptation of sleep on his eyelids and forced himself to straighten back up. He kept his feet where they were. Nevertheless, his eyelids drifted shut again, almost of their own accord.

The sound of the boy's still-high voice brought him back to himself once again. He straightened up—since when had he actually slouched?--and crossed his arms in front of himself, trying to keep that insidious sleepiness at bay. The hangover was gone, at least, but the long night was catching up to him in other ways. It took him a moment to understand the question the boy had asked, but once he had it seemed only too logical—though somehow amusing, given the way he squirmed about in his seat.

“First, you're squirming about like you need to piss.” He wondered how long it would take for him to admit it by something other than his body language. Most children, Victor thought, could convince their guardians to let them out of the carriage to relieve themselves. That would apply doubly, in his estimation, to the King of France. All it would take was a simple order. “And yes—though there is still, I regret to tell you, a good forty-five minutes left of the Fontainebleau Forest.” He moved back one of the cloth curtains, perfectly matched to the velvet seat cushions, that obscured the window. Reports of rebel activity in the forest abounded, but Victor wasn't sure whether he should believe it. More likely, he thought, were simple highwaymen who found the tense atmosphere of that Year of the Lord 1832 perfectly conducive to their endless robbery.

Regardless, he had neither seen nor heard any sign of them since they had entered the forest. He released the cloth and let it fall back into place, and returned his eyes to the boy.

“And as for horses, I will know it when I see it.” It was that way with schoolhorses and cavalry mounts alike; as an officer, he had some say over his own assignment of horse—beyond his ability to purchase mounts for himself—and more often he could explain his decision better with the assertion that he simply knew rather than seeking some specific trait in conformation or psyche that had attracted him to some specific animal over another. “Good-natured. Started or ready to start under saddle. As beautiful and well-formed as a young whore's tits.” He smirked at his last criterion.

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]411 WORDS FOR Victor Notes here: HORSES [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Henri noticed that he was not the only fidgety party in the carriage which was drawing them further away from the hub of France, Paris - that boisterous, busy, exciting, and currently frightening place which was the center of his whole entire world. And the country which had been entrusted upon him by God's grace was indeed almost his entire world. However, he had more pressing concerns to think about right now than the state of affairs in his country and its capital. It was a poor day, he thought, when he couldn't even go out and enjoy himself on an afternoon outing without thinking about the nastiness. He avowed that he would not think about it for another second today, but merely enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Albeit, it would be difficult to relax and enjoy when he needed desperately to relieve himself from the six cups of tea he'd ingested. He looked over at Captain D'Anthès as he pointed this out, slightly relieved that the heat in his face was from the day's sunburn rather than being slightly embarrassed that he'd been quite that.. obvious.. Surely he should have been fine. Victor didn't seem to be having any particular problems. He shifted his weight again and tried to avoid thinking about lakes and rivers full to overbrimming their banks. But with the captain still looking at him expectantly he sighed and turned around on the carriage seat. "Well, imagine that. Everyplace we've been gave me something to drink! At this point I'm pretty sure I could piss more than Atys." He muttered with a roll of his eyes. He tried to remove his mind from the pressing problem by considering the requirements for the new horse. He thought they were good and sensible. However, 'I'll know it when I see it.' was a little less descript than he'd hoped for. He wondered what would happen if Victor didn't find something at this last studfarm they would be visiting and was about to voice this concern when Victor added on that in addition to being good natured, ready to start, and nice looking, the new horse needed to be as beautiful as... Henri felt his face flush and his body jiggled slightly as he tried to hold back a burst of laughter. "I suppose since the horse is coming before the girl, now I'll know what to look for when I find the girl." He added with a wink. . [/style]

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[VICTOR D'ANTHÈS]

Victor pulled the cord that ran to the front of the carriage, signaling to the driver to bring them to a halt. “Best to let him know we're stopping. It wouldn't do to piss down the side of the carriage if your trajectory is not quite as admirable as you wish.” The driver responded, and the carriage began to slow, jostling its passengers as it rolled to a stop on the uneven forest road. Victor unlatched and opened the door before the footmen could come to their assistance. Hopping out, he offered a hand to Henri to help him from the carriage should he choose to use it.

“It's the most basic rule of horse-buying, unless you're buying them in bulk.” Purchasing large numbers of cavalry mounts was an entirely different task, but the king was not some private called up from Brittany or anything of the sort. “So far, we've seen six pairs of cow-hocks, a mean-tempered ridgling being called a spirited gelding, shoulders too straight for even a cart-horse, a ewe-neck, and a creature I'm not even quite convinced was a horse.” He kept count of these latter defects on the fingers of his left hand, tapping each with his right as he counted. “In short, nothing I would purchase for an unproven second-lieutenant—let alone for the king.”

Really, most of them hadn't been so bad. He might have purchased some of them as cavalry mounts, even for Saumur. The English horses he might have chosen in another situation didn't make sense for the boy, and it was far more fitting for a French animal to carry the King of France. Once the boy was out of the carriage, he moved toward the trees surrounding them, turning away from the carriage before unfastening the front of his trousers. He closed his eyes with a relieved sigh, vaguely aware of the sounds of Henri doing much the same nearby.

When he was done and had returned to the side of the carriage, he pulled out a canteen of water and splashed some of it on his face, then offered it to Henri. “Best freshen up. Makes you feel better... not quite as much as a good piss, though,” he smirked again, teasing.

[HENRI D'ARTOIS]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]478 WORDS FOR Victor Notes here: N/A HORSES [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Henri was, actually, rather relieved that Victor had figured him out. Once the carriage stopped, he hopped out behind the Captain taking the proffered hand since the carrige they were in was a decent way off the ground. He hopped down without a lot of fuss however, grumbling in his internal monologue as jumping about was not something he preferred to do when he was practically floating away in tea, lemonade, milk, and every other (it seemed) liquid substance under the sun. Not to mention, his body was still a little used to the rolling motion of the carriage they'd been riding in all afternon. He chuckled at Captain D'Anthès' remark about the reason for their stopping. "Now, let me ask you, have -you- ever done that?" He inquired with an impish grin. "And if so - how was your trajectory?" He inquired as he fiddled with his laces and was finally able to let out a deep sigh of relief. He thought, briefly as the captain was talking about the horses they'd seen, that either he was missing some particularly obvious faults, or else that the captain was being particularly harsh on the animals they'd seen - or a mixture. He thought they'd been handsome animals with decent spirit, but, clearly, Victor didn't agree and that was why he was leaving the purchase decisions to his riding instructor and not to his own quick eye. "I suppose hopefully we'll find something better at the last place. Or else we're going to have to extend our search. And, no, nothing else is as good as that - especially when you've had as much to drink today." He agreed, sloshing water up on his face and along his hair line, slicking it back with his fingers a little bit. He felt much better even with these few ministrations. He climbed back into the carriage slightly reluctant and glad they were on the way to their stop for the evening. However, his attention was captured once they arrived by an array of beautifully colored horses grazing lazily and playing in their paddocks and rolling fields in the part of the land where the surrounding and ever encroaching woods had been cleared for farming, food growing, and horses. Most of the animals he saw were, he thought, very nice looking horses and he glanced at Victor to see if he thought the same as they climbed out of the carriage again for the last time that day. "This is more like it.." He murmured quietly as he noticed a woman heading toward them. She was tall, statuesque with copper-red hair which glinted like a chestnut horse's in the sunset. "Who is -that-?" muttered Henri with a grin. "... Does .. she.. breed these?" He wanted to burst into a giggle though he couldn't quite tell why and managed not to do it. [/style]

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[VICTOR D'ANTHÈS]

“I've done most things more than once,” Victor answered with a smirk. “My trajectory has been of variable quality, depending chiefly upon experience, road conditions, and my own state of intoxication or lack thereof.” He had avoided drinking as much as he might have, simply to keep a clear head to help the boy find the best possible horse without falling for the tricks of any wily old aristocrat who thought he might be able to pull the wool over a boy-king's eyes.

“I believe, at least, that we will not be tricked there.” Marie Roquefeuil was far too proud to make an attempt to trick the king, Victor believed. If there was any flaw in whatever animal she elected to show them, it would likely be something she honestly did not recognize—or else the doing of some untrustworthy servant. “Even at my age it's one of the greatest pleasures after that much to drink,” he agreed. “Even once you find out about things you would think could put it to shame. But, you get desperate enough after enough glasses of wine... and, well, you can understand as well as anyone even now.”

It had been a long time since Victor had seen the estate they now approached, but its resemblance to what it had been even the first time he had seen it was surreal. He wondered if the woman's son would be home—there were rumors that spread like wildfire about him, but Victor had never been particularly well-acquainted with the young man despite their relative closeness in age. Three years had still been far too much a difference when Victor had been eleven and Henri, now the vicomte of the estate, only eight.

“That,” he answered in a conspiratorial tone. “Is the Vicomtesse.” She was beautiful, especially given her age. “She's a widow now... technically her son inherited, but we'll see whether he's here now.” He patted the king gently on the shoulder, feeling very much like he had shared with him something that, had their roles been reversed, might have been treated practically like a state secret. “I suppose you don't get much exposure to the everyday drama of the provincial aristocracy.” Military life might have separated Victor from it, but his proclivities toward women had made him the center of plenty of rumors in his adolescence. “Technically speaking, the horses are a blend of stock from her husband's family and her father's. Both men are dead now, of course, so I suppose she likely is behind the current program... I haven't heard anything about either the current Vicomte or any of the servants being the brain behind the operation.”

He greeted the woman with a respectful bow, a smile parting his lips slightly. She was something of a sight for sore eyes.

[MARIE EVANGELINE ROQUEFEUIL]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; text-transform: lowercase; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]1382 WORDS FOR Victor notes can go here. HORSES [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]Marie had been pleased to receive the correspondence from an old friend's son, who had long been at Samaur, that he was now the King's riding master and would be bringing the boy on a tour of the stables and studding farms in the area to select a mount that he could train for the boy as he had earned the privilege of having his own horse. It had been some time since she had heard from the D'anthès family, and she was anxious to hear how her old friend and his family were doing via his son. She hoped her friend's family was doing well, at any rate. She was also pleased to find attached to her letter an extra memo - she expected the same letter had gone out to several different stables but that this little letter was for her alone. It explained that Barbizon and its surrounding estates was definitely far enough from Paris for one day's journey and that they would be imposing upon Marie's hospitality should she choose to give it for the evening. Marie was, therefore, to be playing host to the King of France that night and she'd been seeing to the arrangements for this visit for over a week making sure that both of her guests and any retainers they brought with them would have the best accommodations that she could arrange. Something which, she had the feeling, had been annoying her own Henri rather greatly. It irritated him, she gathered that she was going to a great deal of expense and trouble to be certain that the King's stay would be marked with excellent meals, the best linen, the best entertainment and so on and so forth. She and her son simply didn't see eye to eye on what things were important. She knew it goaded him that she made it clear that she didn't trust him to make good decisions by fighting against turning over control of the estate and its giant purse strings to her son. However, she knew he'd just take the money out and give it to those guerilla revolutionaries out in the woods that he was helping out. At least, that was what she assumed he was now doing out there considering how often he came home smelling of gun power, blood, dirt, and horses - all the smells of a soldier. He had never been up front with her about his activities and, in a way, it made her glad because the she didn't have to feel guilty about what she was doing either - including the multiple account ledgers she kept on the estate to make sure Henri didn't realize just how much money they had. The less he knew about, the less he could use to support causes that she didn't agree with. One day, when she was gone, he could do with the place as he liked - she knew he would anyone whatever wishes she left in her will - especially since, to all rights, the place was technically his - but she could certainly give him so much of a hard time and waste so much of his time that he didn't have time to both row with her, try to get his hands on the money, and manage his ever-increasing duties in the woods. Good. Let him stay out there if it was where he was happy. He might be getting into foolish and wreckless trouble - and that made her worry, but at least he was leaving her family estate - the home she'd grown up in and loved and cherished, alone. And that was what mattered. And the letter had not come a moment too late to put her mind at ease about another matter concerning her Henri. A certain horse. The horse in question was one of her favorite foals that had ever been produced by her family's breeding. She was particularly fond of the mare for numerous reasons from conformation to temperament. The letter had said that Victor was looking for geldings or mares at the ages of 6 or 7 with good training, perfect conformation, and good temperament suitable for an intermediate rider with good promise who might need the horse to be able to perform any assorted task between parade marching calmly to covering distance expediently. Marie hoped that this particular horse, especially, might suit the King's needs. And she hoped they would buy and take the horse with them the next day. In a perfect world, she would have kept the mare and bred her herself and ridden her over the property as her own mare, but that was not to be. She was not the only one who'd taken a liking to the mare. Her son had as well. And once Henri got his mind to something these days.... He was dead set on having that mare and taking it into the woods with him as a cavalry mount for whatever the devil he was doing there. And Marie was not going to have it. She would make sure the horse would have a good home where she would be treasured, loved, spoiled, and always taken care of. And from everything she knew of Victor and how he kept his horses, she was quite sure he would have trained the boy king in the same way. Enough that she would entrust the horse to them before Henri. She knew that he would be furious in a few days when he returned to find the horse he had claimed sold to the one person who he could not reclaim her from, but she, personally, thought it was a stroke of genius. And, so, she met Victor D'Anthès and the boy king at the steps to the manor house, sending a groom to see to their carriage and horses and be sure they were well taken care of. "Welcome. It is an honor to meet you, my king." She murmured, offering a small curtsy to the boy. "And good to see you again. You look well." She said to Victor with a smile. "My home is yours for the evening. Please, make yourselves comfortable. My servants will see to any request you may have. They'll take your overnight things up to the chambers I have arranged for you, and I hope they will be to your satisfaction, but if anything is lacking you must only but ask. Now, I suspect first you will want to see the horses - knowing the Captain- that I think meet your qualifications. I have one particular mare I wish you to see especially." She said, leading the pair up the path toward the mares' stable. "I'm very proud of this particular mare. She, like most of the other younger horses here, is of my own breeding program, and I think she'll suit your needs quite nicely. I, myself, regularly ride her and broke her to saddle and she is, what I would consider, my prized mare." She stepped into the barn, opening the door for the men and went to one of the roomy box stalls. The whicker of horses as they walked and the smell of hay and horse feed and leather tack washed over them. Marie considered them nice smells even if they were rather provincial. Out of the stall at the end, Marie led a gorgeous mare out into the sunny paddock in front of the stable for them to admire. The horse walked calmly - though with a brisk step and a swish of her tail. She was a gorgeous coppery chestnut color, her coat glinting like coins in the sunlight, her mane and tail perfectly trimmed to one length. She tossed her head and whickered at Marie, but other than that stood very still looking at the two strange men before her. She stood at 16.2 hands high and was beautifully filled out and not overweight nor too thin. "This is Rococo." Marie said simply, causing the mare to whinny quietly, clearly recognizing that it was -her- that was being talked of. She thought it fitting to have called the horse after the new term being bandied about to describe the over-elaborate, refined, and beautiful architecture of the last hundred or so years. [/style]

TABLE BY CALIFORNIA DREAMING @ CAUTION 2.0