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It isn’t until she’s face-to-face with one of the noble beasts that Brae remembered. She had spent most of her childhood atop her horse, Marigold, riding up and down the meadows surrounding their old estate. Marigold had been the closest thing she had to a best friend, and had been her only confidant when her magic had first appeared. Marigold had never looked at her with fear—had never turned away from her in shame.
The horse in the stables now wasn’t Marigold, but Brae couldn’t deny the joy in her heart. She happily petted the horse; fed him a little feed from his bucket. And when the horsemaster offered him out to her, she had nearly shouted out in agreement.
Her companions, however, didn’t feel the same way. Solas was content with walking, Varric turned a little green as he looked up at the horse, and Iron Bull was nearly the size of a horse himself. It made no sense for her to the only one on the horse and, as Varric put it, “might as well paint a target on your back that says ‘shoot me first,’ Inquisitor."
"Well, I suppose I can’t be the only one riding a horse," she said softly, stroking the horse’s nose. It ninnyed and she said a sad goodbye inside before turning away, only to pause when she saw the uncomfortable look on Varric and Iron Bull’s face.
"It could carry our gear," Varric said, lifting a shoulder to indicate his bag. "Better it than I, anyway. I wouldn’t mind not carrying all those Inquisition flags you love planting everywhere, Inquisitor."
Iron Bull, surprisingly (given how much he and Varric didn’t get along), nodded.
“Think it could carry a cask?” he asked, which made Varric roll her eyes. It took a moment for Brae to realize what they were doing, and when it did, her heart filled with joy again.
It wouldn’t be the same as riding again … But who was to say she couldn’t do a little solo riding after they camped for the night?
She was sure her companions would look out for her.