That he was going to settle down for the night did nothing for the destrier's foul temper. It was a bit of stretch, claiming that Big Red Bastard was any less nasty when they were back at Sir Xolan's estate, Weirwood. Back there he was lord of his own paddock and had the company of an old wether that would put his horns up Red's backside if he got too bossy. As soon as they met up with Vethrys' party at the Horn Red declared war on her stallion and every other horse in the group that spent any time intact. He spent most of the trip trumpeting challenges and testing the strength of the line tying him to the poor packhorse. When they arrived at Stonesthrone he lunged, snapping, at the stablehand that approached him. He bit air, but it convinced the stablehand to try his luck with another horse and distracted Red long enough for Asharys to grab hold of his halter and jog him over to the stables. There wasn't much to do with Red, other than check his hooves and give him something he could put his teeth into once he was in a stall. Red stamped each foot a few times before he would lift it and, thankfully, didn't have any stones. He announced successfully walking into his stall with a ringing trumpet, looked left and right for neighbors to snort at and began nosing around for food. The stablehands made sure there were stalls available with food and water, so Asharys left him to eat and went out for the other horses.
Sir Xolan had a knife in one hand and his palfrey's hoof in the other, he flicked a pebble loose as Asharys approached. They brought four horses with them and a significant portion of his evening would be gone if he took care of them all by himself. He liked to care for all the horses - it was his job to take care of Sir Xolan's horses. Trouble was, Sir Xolan only really considered Red his horse. Red was the horse he rode in tourneys and, if there was any trouble at the palace or any of the manses they visited on the way, Red was the horse he would ride to deal with it. His palfrey got him from one place to the other and the packhorse carried everything he wasn't wearing or stashing in a saddlebag. They were still horses, but they were more tools. Interchangeable, without much of a difference between the old one and the new. Someone, some other squire or another knight in their party, might see Sir Xolan tending to his own horse and accuse him of laziness.
As usual, Sir Xolan grinned a little when he looked up and saw the look on his face. "Get one of these boys to help you get everything unpacked, you should show up before the first course at your own brother's feast." He sheathed his knife, let go of the palfrey's foot and started walking toward the fort after clapping him on the shoulder.
Tarys might be able to forgive him if he was running a little late. He was a squire once, he knew what it was like and he was his brother. This was the last place he needed to be seen shirking his duties off on others. Asharys hustled. He nearly dropped a saddle on his foot and in the end didn't turn away the stablehand that approached him as he began unpacking the pack horse. The pack was wobbling too much, he didn't want to tell Sir Xolan that he disobeyed so he'd look better and being crushed by their pack would be completely shameful. Once he wrestled their dress clothes free he scurried into the main building, wheeling through the guest chambers to find Sir Xolan where he found that, as he suspected, he'd been given his own. It was next to Vethrys... and Sir Mirak. At least the walls were thick.
He was on tiptoe as he got close to it, which was a little ridiculous. If she was in her room and busy doing anything she wouldn't hear him out in the halls. At least he hoped her hearing wasn't that good. Sir Xolan heard him coming, but he was running then. Now he was creeping, creeping his way into his room so he could get ready for the feast.
Apparently he misjudged how much time he had. He was combing his wet hair when Sir Xolan swaggered in, opening the door in the middle of a jape about saving the powder and curls for another day.
"My hair's still wet," he protested, reaching for the leather cord he tied it back with.
"No one cares about your hair your lordship." Sir Xolan's long, black hair was still damp, a few long wisps at his temples pasted against his face like spiderwebs. "As long as it stays out of anyone's eye you're fine."
Asharys finished tying the cord around his hair and left with Sir Xolan, staring at his nails most of the way to the dining hall to make sure they were cut somewhat evenly. They were ragged, but once the thin layers of nail on the end were scraped off they wouldn't look too bad.
They got to the dining hall a little early. Their party was just trickling in, exchanging a few words before they made their way to the tables. Asharys slowed down once he entered, looking around for his older brother. When he saw him, Asharys stood on the balls of his feet for a moment and waved his arm up in the air before trotting over to him. "Evening Tarys. Are you going to make it to the last course? You look exhausted."
He wondered if Tarys was in the middle of another project, or if the work of running Stonesthrone that made him look tired. Hopefully it was the first. Asharys liked to see the things Tarys created.
