Chapter Text
PART 1: FIRE
He has flown too close to the sun...
The snowflakes are large, maybe about the width of his thumbnail - large enough to see the intricate detail of it, and notice that each one really is unique. It may be that somewhere in the world it has a twin, but in this relatively small sample size, he wouldn't be able to say for certain.
With a breath, he blows the snowflake off his coat, sending it twirling towards the ground. He doesn't have an issue with the snow in and of itself, but he'd still rather not have more of it on him than necessary.
"Lord and Lady Rasmussen!" the head groom calls from the entrance to the stables. The horses, a matched set of handsome chestnuts, whicker as he collects their reins. The head groom doesn't even cast a glance at him, and it doesn't sting as much as it used to. It means, over a year later, he's finally settled in here, that he's blending in. Seventeen months ago, not being noticed would have been the worst thing he could imagine. Unnoticed, unloved, unremarkable. Now, he'll gladly take anonymity over the sneers and snide comments he'd gotten before.
He leads the horses back to one of the stables and gets them settled in. One of the horses huffs and nudges against his arm, and he gathers an armload of hay and drops it into the food trough. Immediately, the horses dismiss him and go for the hay.
"I'll be back with some sugar later," he tells them. They ignore him, but he knows they'll be happy enough to see the sugar cubes.
He steps back out into the uncovered courtyard and looks up, squinting against the snowflakes to the warm yellow glow of the window up above. A couple is silhouetted against the glass, and he watches the man brush some hair behind the woman's ear.
I should be there, he thinks, and feels a pinch of anger that he is out here in the cold, when by all rights, he should be inside where it is warm -
He shakes the thought away. His father had made it quite clear that he no longer had any rights to anything, and that it was only due to the accident of his birth that he wasn't moldering in a cell or rotting in the ground. At least he is alive. At least he has fresh air and the sun. At least he has the company of the horses, who keep his clamoring thoughts from overwhelming him. The process has been grueling but he is, slowly, learning to be grateful for these things.
"Lord Dahl!" the head groom calls, and he goes to collect Lord Dahl's palomino. Lord Dahl is a frequent visitor, and Pia recognizes him, lowering her head so he can pet her.
"Evening, pretty Pia," he coos to her. She snuffles at his jacket, seeking out his sugar cubes. "You're impatient tonight, hmm? Come on, let's get you settled in first."
This time, as he passes under the windows of the ballroom, he doesn't glance up again. He may always feel that anger when he thinks about how things used to be, but tonight he has the work of his hands and the horses to see to, and for now, that is enough.