This is the first thing that I have written in over a year of being out of the fan-fiction loop. It's the start to a story that I have somewhat plotted out in my head. Let me know if you like the start!

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It was a dismal, depressing day. Rain trickled steadily through the misty trees, soaking a lone rider as he plodded on. The dappled brown and gray stallion didn't seem to mind the weather, content to flick his ears and trot a bit faster when his rider clucked his tongue and gently nudged his side with a booted foot.

"Half a mile more, Argo, and then you can rest," the gravely, tired voice reassured. The horse snuffled and danced forward a few steps, slightly startled at hearing his master's voice for the first time in hours. "Easy, boy," the man mumbled, patting the horse's neck. "We're almost home."

That was a word that Argo recognized, having been with the man long enough to know that it was associated with shelter, hay; and lately, apples from the man's mare. Pricking up his ears, he let out a short neigh and jolted into a fast gallop, causing the man to let out a soft grunt of surprise and tighten his grip on the reins as one hand flew to the gray fedora that was threatening to tumble off his head.

Thundering around the last bend in the road, Argo kept his sights trained on the open doors of the stable, while the man was otherwise occupied with watching the large castle loom into view. The two made such a racket in this final, short leg of their journey that a stable hand came to see what all the fuss was about, only to leap out of the way as horse and rider tumbled in out of the rain, both breathing hard. After they both caught their breath, the rider checked his pocket to make sure that the paper he carried was still there. It was. Good thing, too, the man thought, or Jeb would'a killed me. Dismounting with a short groan, he patted Argo on the neck.

"Well done, boy. Well done." The horse nudged his master gratefully as he reached over and remove the bit from his tired mouth, slipping the bridle from behind tired ears. Grinding his teeth together in a familiar way, he locked his knees and was about to let his eyes droop into a peaceful doze when another two-legged came charging into the stables, bringing with him a swirl of mist and a sense of urgency. Glaring at the messenger boy with a large equine eye, he let out a snort.

"Commander Cain! Commander Cain!" the boy crowed loudly. His master turned tired eyes on the boy and one of his hands went to the brim of his hat in a small nod.

"Right here."

The boy referred to a piece of paper as he read the message. "The Queen, Her Majesty Lavender of the Northern-"

"Yeah, get on with it, kid." Cain grunted. He'd heard the Queen's formal title before, and knew that it stretched on for some time.

"-demands immediate audience with you on upon your arrival." Knowing better than to ask questions, Cain simply raised an eyebrow.

"Where?"

"In t-the third floor-" The boy stopped, re-read his orders, and then started again in a more incredulous tone. "In the third floor hallway, about half way down, sir?"

Swearing, Cain took off at a quick jog for the palace, only stopping at the stable doors to turn back and bark an order for his horse to be fed, watered, and rubbed down. Argos blinked a grateful eye in his master's direction, finally closing his eyes and letting out a contented sigh.

Home.