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Ennis likes his human. Sean is loud, loud and cheerful. Ennis likes cheerful. And Sean's loudness is a comfort. A steady stream that is as calming to him as the wind for others.
Sean buys Ennis in a stable with an actual gold bar, and while Ennis doesn't understand why humans like the shiny metal so much, he knows that it means that he is a good horse. Sean can't read, but he holds the papers that declare Ennis his own with an iron grip. An iron grip he maintained while he stows the papers in his shiny new saddlebags.
On the way out of town, he whistles a melancholy tune, stopping at a fresh mound of dirt near the town outskirts. He tips his hat before kicking Ennis into a trot.
The first interaction Ennis ever has with his human is him expressing grief.
Sean talks a lot, and Ennis can't help but be charmed. He is a braggart, someone who tells stories, and it makes Ennis grow fond of him fast.
The stableboy back in the place Sean bought him from had been far too quiet, and it had scared Ennis more than once. Made him kick and bite, and it had made the stable's employees wary of him.
Sean doesn't do that. He talks in a manner that Ennis hears some other horses describe as incessantly, but it always lets him know where Sean is. One of his ears can always find his human, no matter where in camp he is.
Out of the herd, Ennis gets on best with Silver Dollar. The older Turkoman stallion was fiendishly clever, and Ennis was always happy to hear the exploits he had partaken in with his own human. It made Ennis dream of the exploits he and Sean could get up to.
Sean seems to have a lot of thoughts regarding those as well. Sometimes during longer trail rides, he practically drapes himself over Ennis' neck, letting go of the reins to cushion his chin on Ennis' mane, all while speaking of things he had experienced.
He had gotten the gold to buy him from a woman he calls Rusty, and tells Ennis of her stallion, a "paper eating bastard". Sean murmurs of her telling him to buy a good and proper horse, and that being the reason he went for Ennis. That the stallion's eyes reminded him of the one her horse had, that same quiet intelligence.
Ennis takes it as a compliment.
Sean sometimes belts out songs in a language that Ennis doesn't know. He does know that Sean is tone-deaf, and that calling the singing caterwauling would be generous still. He inquires around the herd at some point what the young man is actually singing, and it takes a while to get an answer.
According to the Count, the young man is speaking Irish Gaelic, not a language any of them truly understand. When some of the humans call Sean out about him singing in tongues, he barks back that it's his mother tongue, forbidden by the English. That he was proud they never beat it out of him. The anger in his words is dripping red-hot, like molten metal.
Ennis listens more closely then. To the twisting words, the homesickness in them. He can't exactly speak the language, but he can still learn.
The latest robbery goes horribly wrong. Chaos reigns in Blackwater, and Ennis throws Sean when a lawman clips him in the flank. He bucks and bolts, becoming aware of the lack of weight on his back only when he is at camp, being tied into a group of horses pulling wagons.
Sean is gone, and it is his own fault. It is his fault his human is gone.
The cold is horrible. Ennis never had to grow a winter coat before, always living in a warm climate, and now he bemoans the fact he can't grow one in a few days. He is cold.
Not all of it is cold from the weather. Some of it is from the fact that Ennis is the reason Sean is gone. He saw them bury Jenny and Davey. There is leaden certainty that Sean would have the same fate.
Another human joins the herd. He is small, near stick-like. He is afraid of everyone and everything, which is admittedly not all that stupid. Ennis doesn't fault him for his fear.
He doesn't. But he hates how it makes him wonder if Sean was afraid.
The trek down the mountain is a relief for Ennis. Finally some of that cold leaves. He takes the sight in, the way the birds start to sing and jump, the sight of squirrels and other critters.
He wishes Sean could see it. He isn't ready to face the world without him. Without that reliable chatter in his ears.
Taima tries to cheer him up, as does Silver Dollar. The former includes him more in the ever-present horse gossip, tugging him closer by the mane. He didn't speak much, just listened. It was better than standing alone. It still isn't the same.
Silver Dollar on the other hand stands near him ever so often, helps him break into the treat boxes, and teaches him how to beg Arthur for those treats he kept in his satchel. The small exploits keep his mind off the looming dark.
And then comes the day that Boaz, Brown Jack and Taima canter into camp with news.
Sean lives.
Boaz is the one that carries Sean back to camp. Ennis' human is weary, down teeth and the ability to walk painlessly. Boaz' story of what Sean had so carelessly shared made Ennis' stomach churn. To have one's feet mangled… An ice-cold shudder down his spine.
That night he doesn't get to stand with Sean, but he watches with relief how he mingles. How he chats and sings and talks, how he absconds with Old Belle's Karen. He is back. He is alive.
When morning comes, Ennis wakes him up with a gentle snort, blowing air into his face. Sean's eyes fly open, pupils practically pinpricks. It takes him a moment to recognize Ennis. Thin hands reach up to his muzzle, cradle it.
"Hey, Ennis." A thumb brushes over his nose. "You ain't supposed to be here. Old Miss Grimshaw will tan your hide. Mine too." He struggles up, grins crookedly at Ennis. "Best get you back to your hitching post."
Sean is slower now. He inches over camp, and it makes Ennis wonder if he will even be able to ride him. Stirrups require pressure after all.
"Ach, stop eating my hair, Ennis." He would not, please and thanks. He huffs, knocking Sean's hat off, then rests his chin on his human's head with a content nicker. "I'm supposed to be on guard duty. Can't guard shit if you distract me like this."
"You alright there, Sean?" Silver Dollar's human rounds the corner, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Looking a bit occupied."
"Ah, just fine 'n dandy, Mister Matthews. I think he missed me."
"So it seems, so it seems." The old man reaches over to give Ennis a scratch on his withers, and he can't help the satisfied noise leaving his throat. "How long have you been on guard duty today?"
"Not long. Just took my shift, sir." Ennis catches the shrewd look on the man's face as he eyes Sean.
"You go and put that rifle down for the day, son. You had a harrowing few weeks. Go ride out with your horse, before he eats you bald. I'll get someone to cover for you."
The weeks blur together. Once, Sean comes along with Arthur, John and Charles, following them onto a robbery. Ennis is excited for the chance to stretch his legs, to contribute to the chatter of the herd. He neighs in pure glee when they dash away from the law, nerves holding strong under fire. He had Sean on his back. He'd keep steady as long as they needed for that.
His hooves fly over the earth, and when they finally come to a halt, he shakes off with a groan of relief. His fur is sweat-slick, but they are all here. And that is what counts.
That night, Sean curls against him and Ennis happily rests his head in his human's lap.
Sean hums under his breath a lot. Broken up with English and Irish every so often. He can't stay silent long, and Ennis likes it. Sometimes he mutters questions he doesn't expect an answer to.
"What about it, Ennis? Wanna learn to lie down on command? Make it easier on me?" Ennis can smell the sting of the alcohol when Sean uncorks it. He knows his boy drinks it to make it less hard to walk. "You're clever enough for that." The comment makes him preen. He probably could learn it, yes.
He reaches his head back, nibbling at Sean's knee.
The move to Rhodes is one that Ennis isn't quite so happy about. The grass is perpetually crunchy with red dust, and his own silvery tail is more copper than anything else at this point.
"You're a dirty man, Ennis." Yes, well, Sean isn't much better. Ennis stomps his hoof, snorts. A small cloud of red dust flies off of Sean. "Though I am probably not much better." No, not at all. In the back, he can hear the other horses snicker slightly.
Step by step, Ennis shepherds Sean, until he falls off the dock, arms pinwheeling, and splashes into the water. He neighs loudly, before jumping after him. The crash of his heft in the water is loud, but so is Sean's laughter as he pulls onto Ennis' back, drenched.
"Aye, I suppose we needed that."
The first time Ennis actually gets to leave the new camp is when Sean needles Arthur about a house that would make for a decent robbery. Ennis is almost immediately a fan, the idea of getting to stretch his legs and race a little appealing in a way few things are these days.
Riding out next to Bukephalos is a little intimidating, admittedly. The Shire is far quieter than he should be from size alone, but he knows where the good grazing spots are, especially once their humans dismount. They both watch them approach the cabin, and Ennis can't help the snicker when the man out front asks if Bukephalos' Arthur is Sean's daddy. It seems that neither can Bukephalos, the shire making a huffing noise that is a rather good approximation of how his owner shows amusement.
The ensuing shootout is rather easily ignored by them both, since they are far too busy engaging with the grass and the difference in dirt taste.
On the ride back, Sean is uncharacteristically silent, bowed low over Ennis' back. When he speaks again, it's low and quiet.
"I ain't lookin' that much like English, do I?" He sounds fragile. Ennis huffs, turning his head ever so slightly to get a better look at his boy. "He ain't my Da. Da's gone." The grip on the reins gets tighter. "So why's that making me feel angry? That that bastard thought I was Arthur's boy?" Ennis doesn't know. All he can offer is a low nicker, and a huff of air in Sean's face when he dismounts.
Another jaunt comes rather fast. Ennis' ears perk up when he hears Sean grumble at a map, a grumble eventually revealing a plan to Mary-Beth and Arthur.
A coach robbery, a good, faithful old thing. When Sean clambers onto Ennis' back, he practically starts dancing under saddle, hooves stomping up dust.
"Keep your horse still, Sean! He looks like he's about to run away under you," Arthur calls, and Ennis can't help the mocking neigh. Excuse you? He listens damn well to Sean, please and thanks.
"Ah, shut up, English. As if your big bastard ain't started dancing either."
The robbery goes swimmingly. Ennis gets treats from Sean that evening, some licorice. Sean's favorite, apparently, something he had hoarded for weeks and now shared with Ennis.
"I really should teach ya to lie down, Ennis." He reaches up to scratch at Ennis' cheek. "Or can you do that already, buddy?"
Ennis snorts, nudges Sean's hand. And then lies down, looking happy as can be.
"Well, I'll be damned."
Sean brags for a while about how he taught Ennis to lie down on command. Ennis leaves him with that thought. It helps him cut down on the alcohol. The pain is less bad.
Arthur returns days late from a "peace treaty", stinking of infection and nearly breaking his neck upon falling from Bukephalos' back. Ennis' ears are pinned back in horror, eyes wide and white.
Sean sticks close to him, all the more dilligent about guard duty now that their best man was out of commission. Was under threat of dying.
"It ain't right," Sean murmurs through a cigarette once. "King Arthur dying like that. He ain't ready for that. He's all… all strong 'n shit. Doesn't deserve to go out with a whimper." Ennis can't answer. All he can do is press his bulk against Sean. "He's gotta make it."
Four days later, Arthur stumbles out of his tent, sick still, but no longer on death's door.
Something is wrong in Rhodes. Ennis can feel it in his marrow. It is too empty. There are no people, and the train station is practically deserted. His ears pin back, and he can feel his heart begin to race.
He had to move. Something was going to go wrong. He pulls at the hitch, cursing the talent Sean had for rope-knots.
Baylock is the one that sets him free. Tugs at the hitch until the rope is gone. Ennis thunders down the road before he has a chance to think otherwise, right at the four men ahead of him.
Sean turns, hearing the thunder of his hooves. Something glints on the rooftop.
Ennis shrills.
Blood fills the air.
There is a whirlwind of action. Bullets whizz by, but Ennis doesn't care. He crashes into a lying position next to Sean, muzzle nudging him. He doesn't react, the pool of red spreading underneath him at an alarming rate.
Bill runs up first, getting covered by Arthur and Micah, and it is the first time that Ennis gets to see genuine panic on the man's face. He lifts Sean up by the armpits, awkwardly draping him over Ennis' back.
"Never thought that damn trick of his would ever come in handy…" Ennis can feel the slick warmth of the blood in his fur, the thundering thing in his chest. Rope is loosely wrapped around him, securing Sean even more. Then, a slap on his rump. "RUN!"
And Ennis does.
The additional thunder of hooves comes soon after. Brown Jack, Bukephalos, Baylock. Ennis barely notices. He has to run to camp. He has to run for Sean.
It takes two people holding him by the reins to make him see that he crashed into camp already, past the hitching posts and nearly into the cooking station. His flanks are heaving, legs trembling. Someone unties the rope around him before Bill drags Sean's limp body off.
The crust of blood in his fur feels like fire. He can't breathe. Sean can't die. It can't be his fault again. It can't be, can't be, can't be.
Branwen's human is the one that brushes the crusted blood out of his fur and tries in vain to make him eat. He doesn't feel like he can keep anything down.
He watches Belle keep her woman sober, and it makes something in his chest crack.
That night he breaks into camp, trotting into Sean's lean-to. He knows where Sean kept his things. Where he kept the treats. The licorice.
Ennis digs through the bags Sean kept until he found that small paper bag with the sweets. It is dark. Maybe that is why he isn't seen.
Maybe that is why he can sneak into the tent they keep Sean in. The stench of blood and sick is strong. Sour.
Sean is still. Still and silent. He shouldn't be. Ennis nickers softly, drops the bag of licorice on Sean's stomach.
The bandaging is tight, from what Ennis can see. One half of Sean's face fully obscured under thick, swaddling white.
"… 'nis?" Sean's voice is a croak. One eye barely peels open, unfocused. His hand shakes when he raises it from his blanket and drops it on Ennis' cheek. "Y'… y'ain't s'ppsed to be here…" Ennis doesn't care. With a grunt, he drops to the ground, and rests his head on Sean's torso, right next to the bag with licorice.
Sean's fingers feebly card through Ennis' fur, his breathing labored. But he is alive.
He is alive.
Silver Dollar's human finds them both come morning, exhaustion clear on his face.
"Well, I don't think you're supposed to be here, Ennis." One of Ennis' ears flicks up. "You were worried about your boy, weren't you?" Hosea sits down with a sigh and the crack of old bones, noticing the paper bag on the cot. "Hm… You're a clever one, aren't you?" A whuff of air from Ennis, strong enough to make Sean screw up his face slightly.
"Mister… Mister Matthews?" His croaking voice is a balm on Ennis' soul.
"Hello, son." A tired, relief-filled smile. "Welcome back among the living."
Ennis can't exactly be easily removed from the tent he set himself down in. He stays in there until they remove Sean's bandages.
He is down an eye. The side of his face is a wreck, but he is alive. And Ennis is happy about that.
When the rest of the gang moves out for revenge, Sean and Ennis stay behind, the former leaning against the latter, a repeater in his arms.
"You saved me, Ennis. Didn't you?" Ennis huffs. "Dunno how you knew shit was wrong. But I'm glad you were there." One hand digs into his pocket, before holding a handful of licorice to Ennis' muzzle. "Here, boy. You deserve it."
Damn right he does. But so does Sean. For surviving. For not leaving Ennis in silence.