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maggie finds herself in the stables, with a not unpleasant nervous apprehension settling somewhere deep in her stomach. she, has, over the weeks, found the shadows of the stables with its half-light and soundtrack of shuffling and eating from the horses, a comfort. at first the smell was near overwhelming. the litany of staff that seemed ever-present and paid her no mind, were intimidating. maggie held some fear of getting in the way, of interrupting some long-standing and precious routine. at the same time, she could not deny the lure of the stable block. the feeling wasn’t something she could put her finger on, or try to name, maggie just felt herself drawn to the building. she wonders, perhaps, if distant memories lurk somewhere. fragments of a childhood spent running up and down corridors between the stalls. if such a happiness does exist, maggie doesn’t remember it. instead, she finds the simple pleasures of the present to be enough. she spends hours watching groomers care for their charges, and stable boys muck out and bring in wheelbarrows full of straw to be used as fresh bedding. there are times as well when maggie watches a saddle or bridle be dismantled, cleaned and polished until shining, crops and whips are given the same dedication as well. such care is given by staff to all of the horses in the stable except two. they’re a pair of arabian horses, according to the stable boy maggie asked one morning and the only person allowed to care for them, is, apparently, lucy herself. it is lucy who emerges from the tack room now with a saddle in her arms and a soft smile on her face “so the one at the far end,” she’s explaining, “is polo.” she smiles as she sets the saddle down on a wooden bar that blocks polo from absconding his stall. maggie eyes the chestnut behemoth of a horse wearily. it’s not that she’s scared of horses per se, it’s that polo is the probably the biggest horse she’s ever seen. she watches as he swings his head around lucy’s body and shifts forward a few steps to get a better of maggie, or so it feels like those are his intentions. he eyes her and maggie eyes him back, her hands are twisting behind her back, tugging at the hem of her shirt and trying not to be unnerved. she has memories, like so many with her past, do, of horses. or rather, not the horses themselves, but the all too common cruelty of their masters. maggie still bears the scars of roped twined around her wrists and secured on the saddle. she carries scars where her knees had ripped against the road. none of these, of course, were the horses doing. more often than not they suffered as she did from whip and beating. the horses before her, both polo and his neighbour, a deep grey colour, have never known such cruelty if their attitudes and greeting to lucy are anything to go by. polo seems to sense what’s about the happen and ducks his head back into his stall, turning obediently as lucy lifts first the bridle from the wooden rail “have you seen this done before?” she asks, and it’s the way she asks that makes maggie smile. lucy could probably guess that maggie’s never seen this done. she could guess and simply offer to explain, but instead of such an assumption, lucy asks. she asks and maggie smiles and shakes her head “no.” she says, still perched on the edge of a hay bale, watching the proceedings. “would you like to learn?” lucy offers. maggie eyes polo, unsure. “he’s a sweetheart.” lucy promises “but if you’d prefer, i can show you when we tack up scrooge.” she nods to polo’s neighbour, who’s nibbling at a hay net, utterly unperturbed. maggie nods once “can i,” she starts “can i go say hi?” lucy nods “of course.” she encourages “scrooge is a teddy bear.” she says “especially if you feed her one of the apples we grabbed from the kitchens.” maggie nods, not making any mention that a horse carrying such a name does not exactly lend itself to the notion of being friendly upon first meeting. reaching into her pocket and palming the halved fruit lightly, maggie takes a breath and then slides off her perch, landing on the cobblestone floor of the corridor. she takes it as a sign of progress that no more does a landing like that, or even a stumbled misstep leave maggie’s entire body aching. there is a less than comfortable, and slightly more pronounced than she would like twinge in her ribs but compared to the litany of pains maggie has felt of the years, she can brush it aside. she walks forward, towards the space where scrooge has migrated away from her snacking and is now watching maggie with interest. “hey lady,” maggie murmurs softly, low enough that lucy won’t hear, won’t think to laugh at her. she’s not sure why she decides to speak, but it feels like the right thing to do in the moment, as if admitting her apprehension will somehow steady the horse “you’re pretty.” she says “but i bet you hear that all the time.” she flattens her palm and offers one half of the apple forward. scrooge snuffles at her fingertips before rubbery lips part and the apple is taken eagerly. she watches the horse chomp and munch, aware that lucy has disappeared back into polo’s stall and it seems that for the most part, no one else is around. she takes another, more hesitant step forward and raises a barely shaking hand, pressing it the flat of it to scrooge’s muzzle. she wasn’t sure what to expect, but scrooge pressing back in return was the last of it. “it’s been a long time,” maggie says “since i’ve ridden. you think we can take it easy today?” scrooge nudges at her hand and maggie takes that as some sort of yes. or she hopes it a yes. she’s sure that a tumble from a horse would do little for her recovery. even still, scrooge hasn’t bitten her or stomped at her or done anything that outwardly gives maggie the impression that this first meeting went poorly. she brings a hand to scrooge’s cheek, scratching lightly there, watching the horse for any sign of unease or discomfort. she loses herself in this moment, in the soft, hot breath washing over her bare arm with scrooges exhalations. she is inordinately soft, and, by maggies judgement, tolerant of fumbling fingers brushing down her neck as maggie takes another step forward. she is pulled from her reverie by the slide of wood slotting back into place, and that’s enough to bring her back to the stable and to lucy walking out of polo’s stall “you know,” she says “scrooge used to be my sisters.” maggie senses that the appropriate response is not, you have a sister? so she fumbles over her words and finds herself stuttering into silence, until “sorry.” is what comes out.maggie feels as if she has, in some way, let lucy down. such an admission is never an easy one and all maggie found herself able to say in response is an apology. all that lucy has done for her and she can’t even speak a few simple words of comfort. frustration at herself twists in maggie’s gut. “it’s okay.” lucy soothes “it’s not exactly an easy topic of conversation.” she says, coming and standing by maggie’s side, leaning against the wall and studying scrooge “they’re siblings, polo and scrooge.” she says “they were a bribe, of sorts.” maggie’s brow furrows, but lucy continues on “my father was about to go off to the open front. he felt bad, he always feels bad, and i was not the most obedient of children.” maggie can’t help but laugh lightly, she can imagine lucy running amok happily. “lois was going to be the head of the house, responsible for me. so my father bought us the horses. in the hopes that they would give us something to bond over, besides his continued absence as his most common presence in our lives.” lucy swallows hard “it worked, for a while. we used to ride all the time together. and then,” lucy breaks, she sighs and detangles scrooges mane absently as she continues “lois was always writing. she had a pseudonym, had to pretend to be male just to get published. she loved it, loved being able to comment freely on what was going on around us. she wasn’t afraid of anything or anyone. she spoke the truth, she exposed men in power. which,” she drops her hand “gave her enemies.” maggie can only imagine. she says nothing, instead giving lucy the space to tell this tale. one that, but the tapping of her foot against the floor, she does not tell often. “they hunted her down, figured out he, was, in fact, a she and,” lucy swallows hard and her shoulders are slumped, “ran her out of the country. they probably would have killed her if it wasn’t for who our father is, was, even then.”“i’m sorry.” maggie says, and this time those feel like the right words to say “that, that must have been hard.” “if i’m being honest,” lucy says, meeting maggie’s gaze finally, “i think the hardest part is knowing that lois doesn’t regret any of it. she would do it all again, even though it means leaving,” she swallows hard “leaving home behind.” she shakes her head and sighs again. her posture changes in a beat. her shoulder slip back and she smiles “let’s get scrooge ready to go.” she says “i can show you how to do it and once you’re comfortable with it, you can ride her any time you want.” “oh,” she says “i-okay.” lucy smiles “we’ll get her tack from the room first.” she says, nodding down towards the end of the corridor. they walk, side by side, that way and maggie finds herself astounded once again at lucy’s kindness. she is rendered speechless by it really, on nearly a daily basis. this estate is lucy’s world, one that she has spent her entire life in and yet she has welcomed maggie into the fold of it with ease. even a week back, when maxwell lord stormed the gates with his fancy words, lucy faced him with weapons at her hips. it’s a dedication that maggie has not found herself on the receiving end of in quite some time. she still remembers that moment, when lucy came into the hidden room and found maggie curled against alex, the relief in lucy’s eyes. the way she sank to the edge of the bed and murmured that it would all be okay. that she would be safe. that the general was seeing to it. the tack room is a far more muted space than maggie is ever prepared for. it smells of leather and oils. it’s dark, the light kept away lest it harms the multitude of equipment stored here. in the past, it has always seemed as if there is someone in here, perched on a barrel with a dismantled bridle splayed across their workspace. each piece would be cleaned and polished before all strung back together and rehung on the wall. today the room is theirs, all dark corners and walls lined with saddles and leads and stirrups and other equipment maggie has never seen before. she watches as lucy reaches first for a bridle, offering it to maggie “scrooge’s tack,” she says “will always hang here.” she explains, gesturing to the extension upon which the saddle rests and underneath, the bridle hangs “but if you’re unsure, always-“ her last word is lost on maggie as another sound catches her attention. the crack of a whip. it happens once, twice, a third time and each time maggie flinches harder than the last. in those seconds her mind is split, torn away from lucy’s explanation and cast right back to another time. a terrible time. maggie blinks quickly, fighting her own mind not to be reminded of the screaming pain that wracked her for weeks after she last heard those sounds. even so, it seems that the scars on her back are alight once again and maggie forces herself stock still, hand curling into the nearest available support. she does not register that said support is actually lucy, lucy’s offered hand. lucy who has taken a step forward, seeking the source of the distress but in the same motion moving to ground maggie. she had least expected maggie reach out and grab her, a hand curling around her wrist. although lucy guesses that maggie barely knows where she is apart from whatever fresh torment is being wrenched forth from her past. the stable boy, who having freshly cleaned and shone the whip, checked for its veracity, makes to return the implement to its hook, but he is stopped by a sharp wave off from lucy. maggie isn’t breathing. it all feels trapped in her chest and she’s sure that if she tries to exhale her back will ripple with pain all over again. she won’t, can’t go through that. the echoes of memories long since past are alive and well in her head, cruel masters with haunting laughs and unyielding cruelty. she bites back a cry, knowing that any expression of pain this early on will only prove to encourage them. not that they need encouraging, their own wickedness will serve to do that all on its own. she screws her eyes shut, fighting to keep still, to keep – “maggie,” a soft voice cuts through the haze and maggie blinks “maggie, you’re in the tack room.”she blinks again, and those words must be true because the courtyard is fading and in its place is, is somewhere darker. maggie has known many breeds of darkness in her lifetime. a hood over her head, a cramped cellar, a frozen forest. she has known them all, and will never be able to forget that which unites them: the way their darkness would smother her, would seep into her bones, into her heart and threaten to consume her. she braces for such a place now, except, this is not an unforgiving darkness, sunlight creeps in through the open door. the smells are not of damp, but of something else entirely, something maggie doesn’t have the capacity to pin down right now. what she focuses on next is the way someone’s fingers are playing lightly against her skin. tracing soft patterns, speaking softly about nothing in particular. delicacy in touch is not a luxury maggie is accustomed to, which aides in the way it cuts through the haze of memories. for no such kindness has been afforded her in a past beyond that involving the lane estate. “it’s okay.” lucy says, veering away from her continued murmurings on the prices of straw this time of year – a trick alex had explained “you’re safe.” she says “no one can hurt you.” maggie nods disjointedly “sorry.” she forces out, her voice feeling raw and uneven. embarrassment twists in her stomach and maggie does her best not to focus on it. except it’s there, fresh and present and mocking her. soft, ugly taunts from the corner of her mind that are cut short as lucy speaks again - “don’t be.” lucy murmurs “don’t be sorry. it happens.” she speaks with an air of understanding and maggie once again remembers that lucy has been through a hell of her own. they haven’t spoken about it, not in detail. there’s no need, really. the brand, exposed to her that very first night, had told maggie all that she needed in regard to the men who forced lucy into their company. beyond that, sharing the more intimate details of their individual sufferings would do little more than traumatise them further. the sheer fact that their sufferings existed had bonded them in a way maggie could not yet explain. maggie takes another wavering breath “do you, do they,” she trails off before the question finishes itself, almost ashamed at asking the question – but lucy minds not at all. “they do.” she replies, “less than they used to.” she continues “but sometimes a sound, or a smell,” lucy explains “it will send me back there. to what they did to me.” maggie swallows hard and ducks her head “to be startled here,” she says softly “it feels silly.” “it’s not,” lucy promises, her fingertips still tracing patterns into the delicate skin of maggies wrists, over the thin, white-lined scars there “it’s not, i promise.” she pauses and then “did they,” she starts with a question of her own that fades before a conclusion. in the silence, maggie knows what question is sitting on lucy’s lips, half-spoken “they did.” she replies “more than once.” she continues, her back burning at the mention “it was a punishment, mostly.” “i’m sorry.” lucy murmurs “that you had to suffer that.” maggie swallows hard “it wasn’t the worst thing.” she speaks the words before she considers them, but even after maggie knows they stand true. in comparison to the long list of horrors passed upon her, the feel of a whip was a near kindness. “i’m sorry you had to suffer those things as well.” lucy replies, her words gentler still in a way that startles maggie. there is no pity in them, only a deep, aching sadness that rocks maggie. she had never considered how her own suffering would rock someone the way it seems to have unsettled lucy. the realisation leaves maggie unsettled herself. the feeling isn’t bad, it’s not negative, it simply exists in a way she hasn’t experienced before. she tries not to think about it now, where lucy’s hand is skating up her arm and curling around her shoulder gently “do you still want to ride?” she asks. “i do.” maggie nods, she wants the fresh air and the sun on her skin, she wants the freedom and, well, she wants lucy’s company. “we’ll go to the creek.” lucy says, hefting scrooges saddle into her arms. maggie notices, stepping out of the tack room, the offending whip sitting curled atop a bale. it catches her attention and stares for a moment and then steps past it. it’s not the implement itself she was ever afraid of – much like horses, it was the master of it who scared her more. and here, maggie has come to realise she has little to fear from the lanes.even if she has not actually met the general yet. a fact which sits with her as a sort of disrespect for the man who has, apparently, removed the bounty on her head. they arrive back at scrooges stall and lucy leads the way in. scrooge greets her readily and lucy first lays out a saddle blanket “so,” she says, putting the rest of the saddle to rest on a beam “we can do the bridle first. the bit goes in her mouth. she can be a bit temperamental about her bit sometimes, but that’s only because she likes to play with you.” maggie looks down at the bridle in her hand and then over at scrooge “be nice.” she says, to scrooge more than lucy “we talked about this.” she reminds “so do i just,” she looks over at lucy “give it to her?” lucy nods “check these two pieces are undone first,” she says, stepping over to maggie and indicating to two different, currently undone straps of leather “the noseband and the throat lash. it’ll make your life easier.” she says “and then, just slip the reigns over her head.” lucy says, “and you can just leave them on her neck.” maggie goes through the motions lucy instructs, feeling her heart race as she steps closer to scrooge. however, scrooge remains stock still and only bobs her head as lucy steps around maggie, to help her with the next step in the process. “if you take the rest of the bridle in your right hand,” lucy says “and then keep your hand near the bit, scrooge should take it.” maggie feels the cold metal bump against her fingers and she brings the rest of the bridle over scrooges head, rocking up onto her toes just to make sure she’s doing it right. when her palm brushes against soft muzzle, scrooges mouth opens readily and the bit slides into place. “she’s showing off for her new friend.” lucy says “proving me wrong.” maggie can’t help but smile “we talked about it,” she says “i told her it’s been a long time since i’ve ridden and she needs to be nice.” “well,” lucy says, not at all thinking it strange that maggie spoke to her steed “it’s good that she listens to someone because she never listens to me.” maggie beams, she can’t help it “so what next?” “pull her mane through, so it’s not caught under any of the bridle.” lucy explains, content it seems to linger nearby, and allow maggie to do these pieces that she can. for as much as maggie feels like she’s fumbling her way through this, scrooge doesn’t shift or stamp. she only stands obligingly as maggie works through securing the noseband and the throatlash to an appropriate tightness. all the while, lucy explains and teaches and steps into maggie’s space to show her how to feel underneath the straps to ensure they’re not too tight. she moves with such a confidence and such a sense of self-assuredness that it leaves maggie feeling more able than she was expecting. the process stands in contrast to her past, where new mandatory duties or tasks were explained quickly or not at all. she was expected to know any one of a thousand different things it felt like, making beds, cooking food, to other, far more physically demanding tasks. during such events, maggie would feel herself stiffen every time someone stepped into the room, or god forbid into her space. a watchful eye seemed ever present, ready to scrutinise and scorn and punish. lucy is a contrast to all of that. there are no harsh words, just gentle correction and instruction. there was no hurry, no haste or pace in her teachings either, she and scrooge alike seemed content for this to take as long as it needed. the only one who seemed disapproving of the wait is polo, who could be heard shifting in the stall next door. even then, all it takes are a few words from lucy, “be nice, polo.” she chastises lightly “we’re learning in here.” for him to calm and assumedly become occupied with something else outside the wait. next to be placed is the saddle, and lucy hefts it up into her arms first and offers it to maggie. this is the first step in the process that maggie balks at, not because she’s afraid, but because she’s simply not sure she’ll have the strength or the ability to hoist the saddle up and over scrooge. lucy must notice her stall and encourages “i can show you this time, if you want. it might be easier on your ribs.” she adds. “yeah,” maggie says “my ribs.” and it is her ribs, but it’s also the harsher reminder of her own limitations. “do you want to get a feel for it?” lucy offers, and maggie’s not sure that lucy can read her mind, but perhaps it’s in the way maggie’s posture changed and she closed in on herself as she spoke that sparks lucy to offer the saddle to maggie. maggie steps forward, curling one arm underneath the saddle and then the other. she can feel lucy’s arm against hers, still holding the weight of the saddle, until “ready?” lucy asks, catching maggie’s gaze. swallowing hard, maggie nods and she feels lucy shift the weight onto maggie’s arms. it’s far heavier than maggie was expecting and she has to brace for it, or drop it on the ground. it takes all her strength and maggie hates how she has to strain, how her breathing quickens and “take it.” she says quickly, and lucy steps forward at once. her arms curl under the saddle and maggie lets her own drop. “you okay?” lucy asks, watching maggie’s face, studying the way she shakes her arms out and steps back, steps away. “fine.” maggie nods, biting her lip. her response is a lie and maggie knows it. she knows that lucy may even know it, but right now she doesn’t care because frustrations with herself and her body and her mind come thick and fast these days. strength is a simple thing that even now, after weeks, she can barely handle. “hey,” lucy says gently, the word curling around maggie “hey, maggie,” she says “it’s okay.” maggie swallows thickly “i’m frustrated.” she says “i want to,” she shrugs “i want to be able to do more. but i can’t. my body, my mind, it doesn’t want to cooperate.” lucy reaches out, her fingertips brushing against the back of maggie’s palm for a moment before taking her hand. it’s an intimate gesture that tugs maggie out of the shell of herself she was curling in to. she steps forward, into a shared space and she lets her gaze flicker to lucys. she’s studying maggie carefully, softly “you’ve been in survival mode for so long,” lucy says “just trying to make it from one day to the next. now that you’re not in a place where you need that, it’s going to take time to recalibrate and heal. and there’s nothing wrong with that.” maggie swallows hard, looks away. her heart is pounding in her chest and maggie is startled to find that she wants to cry from the kindness of it all. “you have to be patient with yourself.” lucy says “be gentle and remember that it will all come with time.” maggie lets out a trembling breath that mixes into a shaky laugh “patience is not one of my strong suits.” she says. “you’re in good company,” lucy says “because nor is it one of mine.” she steps back, reaching for the saddle and saying “i can show you how to put this one on?” maggie nods, watching as lucy lifts it into her arms and then places it carefully onto scrooges back “it should sit just behind this part here,” she says “it’s the withers, and it should look comfortable for them. then you take this bit,” she says, pulling another belt looking piece over from across the top of the saddle “the girth, and it will go underneath from one side of the saddle to the other.” she explains “polo is a nightmare when it comes to putting on his girth. he’ll shake his head and breath out so you think it’s tight enough and then you try and get on and suddenly the saddle is slipping sideways.” lucy explains all of this as she shows maggie the indentations where the buckles will slide into, a guide for where the straps are usually tightened to. maggie watches, learning and absorbing and when lucy slips a hand under the girth to check, she does the same, feeling scrooge’s warmth against her fingers. there is something cathartic about this process, about the ritual of it all and the way scrooge tolerates every step. “if you want to lead her outside,” lucy says “i can grab polo. there’s a mounting block that might make things easier for you.” she says “those step things by the pasture fence.” she adds. maggie knows the ones, she had noted before that it seemed like a strange place for steps that lead to nowhere. as it turns out, they have a function. one that could possibly save her from looking like an idiot, ideally. so she lets lucy walk out first, and then using the reigns, maggie starts to lead scrooge. she half expects the horse to resist, to fight against her, except that’s not what occurs. scrooge follows easily, startlingly so if maggie is being honest with herself. together they walk out into the sunshine of the afternoon and the fresh air washes over maggie. she continues across the yard to the mounting block and waits, watching and moments later, polo and lucy emerge from the shadows of the stable. maggie watches lucy stop once on the soft dirt of the yard and slipping one foot into the saddle, mounts polo seamlessly. it’s graceful and practised and maggie blinks quickly. she’d never been in a position to admire the grace of the movement before now. she only hopes she can someday become half as practised. mounted now, lucy and polo amble over. she looks natural there, lucy does, crossing the space until she’s close enough that maggie can hear her “slip your right foot in the saddle.” she says, “then, you can hold the top of the saddle if you want, and jump up.” sure. simple. maggie knows that she should be able to do that. she repeats lucy’s words under her breath, going through the motions in her mind before even beginning to attempt the whole process. when she does, however, scrooge stills, and maggie slips her right foot into the stirrup and presses down, feeling its strength underneath her. she trusts that it will not give. with the reigns in her right hand, she curls that hand around the top of the saddle and bounces on one leg. it twinges her ribs but she goes on anyway, she bounces three times and then, then maggie is seated. which startles her. she feels more than mild shock that she is now sitting in the saddle. in more than one way, she feels proud of herself, and thankful for scrooge’s patience. and lucy’s, if she’s being honest. to her left, lucy gives a small cheer “there,” she says with a smile “how does it feel?” she asks. maggie ponders and then “weird.” she decides “but in a good way.” “good.” lucy says, flashing her a megawatt smile “weird is good.” maggie’s whole being relaxes at that smile. “we’ll go to the stream.” lucy says “you can see where alex and i would pretend we were great explorers, discovering new lands and not at all absconding from lessons.” maggie has to laugh, she can only imagine the trouble lucy and alex caused when they were younger “how long have you and alex known each other?” she asks, knowing it must be for some time, but curious all the same. “oh,” lucy says, casting her mind back “since we were kids.” she says “our moms were friends.” she explains “so, since before we could walk probably.” maggie doesn’t have to see lucy’s face to know the smile she’s wearing. it’s a small detail, one that maggie’s picked up on the longer she’s been at the lane estate. whenever lucy talks about alex, her whole being just seems to light up the space they’re in. that effect is tripled when alex herself is in the room. it’s curious in a way that leaves maggie sure that their relationship is more than just childhood friends. a fact which, maggie hasn’t faced that part of herself, the part of herself that kissed the daughter of the neighbouring farmer in a barn, in the dark. the part of herself that felt alive and free in that moment. the part of herself that maggie has locked down, locked away, for fear that it would be used against her. she wonders if here, in the freedom of what might just be her new life, she may one day face that part of herself again. maybe she will. maybe she never will. maggie isn’t sure, and right now she’s not sure that it matters because the sun is high in the sky and lucy is beside her, explaining the path that they’re going to follow and not for the first time maggie realises,she’s alright.