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Out of all the Scions, Elayne was by far the heaviest sleeper. It was almost impossible to wake her once she was out, except in emergencies, which was also the only time she tolerated rude awakenings. While this was sadly due to a combination of autism and PTSD, it was still a fact that she slept quite a lot, sometimes resulting in comical situations.
One morning, Elayne was awoken by the incessant ringing of her linkpearl. Groaning through gritted teeth at the pounding headache that blossomed, she felt around her nightstand until her fingers caught the pearl and held it to her horn. “What is it?” she asked without preamble, her voice hoarse.
“Oh, Mistress Hallow. Mine apologies for disturbing your rest, but I looked in on the animals this morning, and it appears one of them escaped their stall. And when I checked the front pasture, I saw the escapee lying still on the ground. I believe it’s your horse,” Ser Aurelle informed her worriedly.
Elayne growled under her breath, but it concealed her growing concern. Hrímfaxi was a tough and hardy horse who regularly got into all sorts of shenanigans and somehow came out of them no worse for wear, but she truly would burn the city down if something happened to him. “I’ll be down there in a few minutes. Please make sure there aren’t any other escape artists in the meantime,” she told the knight.
“Will do, madam,” Aurelle replied, and the line went dead.
Elayne threw off the covers, walked to the bathroom, and prepared a dose of pain medicine to kill her oncoming headache. With the bitter draught in her system, she snatched her snow boots off the shoe rack by the kitchen door and walked to the kitchen table, pulling out a chair and falling into it to put on her boots. Her dragging the chair across the wooden floor woke Alphinaud, who was sleeping on the newly-reupholstered sofa bed.
“Elayne?” he warbled blearily. “What are you doing up so early?”
“One of the knights at Camp Dragonhead called me with a problem at the stables,” she said, slipping one boot on and tucking her pant leg in.
“Is everything alright over there?” he asked, sitting up. His long hair was mussed and tangled.
“My prized fatass escaped his stall again, and the knight found him lying motionless in the pasture, so I have to do a life check,” she informed him, slipping on her other boot and pausing at the laces. “The funny thing is that he has escaped his stall a bunch of times in the past. I’ve tried almost every lock I could find, even magitek locks, but he somehow always figures out how to undo them. One time he even managed to jump out of his stall window, which believe me, I did not know was possible. I mean, how is it possible for an eighteen-hand draft horse to jump out of his stall window without getting hurt?”
“Oh, dear. I do hope he’s alright,” Alphinaud fretted.
“He’s a horse. It’s their god-given goal in life to find the stupidest way possible to get maimed or killed. My dear criminal has made it a career by now – how he ever made it to sixteen is beyond me.” Elayne carefully laced up her boots, then stood up to grab her coat.
“Do you know when you’ll be back?” Alphinaud called.
“No, I don’t. If I’m not back in an hour, just make yourself some breakfast. Everything is clean, there is plenty of firewood in the log rack, and there are eggs in the icebox,” she informed him, and she threw her coat on over her nightclothes and left the house.
Camp Dragonhead was once famous as a breeder of high-quality show and racing chocobos, especially for the prized black chocobo. However, the Calamity decimated most of their stock, and with only one stud and two breeding females left, they opted to retire them from breeding, and thus the camp lost quite a bit of income. However, soon after he met Elayne, Haurchefant decided to open the stables up to any mount that needed shelter, and thus Dragonhead was graced with beautiful rebuilt stables, a respectable reputation as boarders, and animals from chocobos to horses to lanners. Elayne kept her own horse there, and she used to share responsibility for everything with Haurchefant; these days, that other half of responsibility lay with Estinien, Emmanellain, and Honoroit.
Elayne trekked to camp through the snow, and no one glanced at her when she ran through the gate with the sun barely risen on the horizon – she was a common sight around Dragonhead at all hours. She dashed into the barn to check that all the animals were safe inside their stalls, then ran to the front pasture.
Sure enough, Hrímfaxi was splayed out on the snowy ground, snoring peacefully as the light of the sunrise creeped up his feathered white legs. He was honestly quite cute, especially with his blaze, perfect pink nose, and adorable white belly spot. But that did not change the fact that anyone who saw him from a distance and didn’t know what to look for would think he was a rotting corpse.
“Hrímfaxi!” Elayne shouted across the pasture. The gelding raised his head slowly and stared at her. “You cat-brained moron, I thought you were dead!”
Hrímfaxi whinnied innocently.
“Don’t talk to me like that! It is Lightsday morning. Lightsday morning,” she repeated, stomping over the snow to her Clydesdale. “It is the beginning of the weekend. I had no tattoos booked. I had no problems in the barn to keep an eye on. I am in my fucking nightclothes. I was finally going to sleep in. Then Aurelle called and told me you unlocked your stall door and went for a joyride! Again! What do you have to say for yourself?”
Hrímfaxi snorted and nudged her leg.
“Well…at least you got your blanket on,” Elayne remarked, gaze softening.
He huffed.
“You want some snuggles?”
Hrímfaxi nickered and pawed at the ground.
“Fine,” Elayne sighed. “Just let me get a blanket.” She walked back to the barn for some soft waterproof blankets and a sack filled with hay, then came back and arranged it all into a proper makeshift bed. She flattened the hay sack into a pillow, laid down beside her horse, and pulled the blanket over her body. Hrímfaxi promptly draped his head across her chest and stomach and relaxed into her scratches. Before long, both mistress and horse were sound asleep.
An hour or so later, Estinien arrived at Camp Dragonhead, searching for his best friend. Aurelle directed him to the stables, and before long he found them laid out in the pasture, snoozing and completely unfazed by the cold.
“Like rider, like horse,” he murmured, shaking his head. On a whim, he also got blankets and a hay sack, spread them out, and laid down beside Elayne. He threw an arm around her and scratched Hrímfaxi’s nose until he followed them into slumber.