Date   

Re: Matchmaker! Matchmaker! Att: Nykantiath/Sunstreath

Jerzy Tobin
 

((Of course, lovely Nykantiath!)) Sunstreath asserted, and dared to bring his head around to nuzzle her. ((I am a mighty flier, as well as the handsomest bronze you will meet here, though Mine and I were Hatched elsewhere. Mine is very strong and smart, as well; he was chosen to assist in important matters. We do not fly Fall right now, but we will rise again soon, and even stronger.))
((Certainly you are the most handsome fellow here, at the moment,))
the young gold agreed. She wasn't going to say 'in the entire Weyr'
because that was something subject to change depending on her whims.
((Where did you and yours come from, if not Arolos? And if yours
injured, that you do not fly Fall?))

--
"Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely
in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a
shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted,
and loudly proclaiming: "F*** ME, that Rocked!!" -unknown

Whizzy: Jerzy
Aim: Yue146


Re: Matchmaker! Matchmaker! Att: Nykantiath/Nerenth

Jerzy Tobin
 

Nerenth shuffled aside to give Nykantiath a bit more room, though he remained in front of the weyr opening for the most part. {{Thank you for the offer, I will bathe later. The young ones are good for such things.}}

Nerenth turned to look behind him for a moment at the mention of His, then huffed and shook himself before turning back to Nykantiath. {{He is.}} And he sent an image of Zy'fen walking with crutches, followed by one of him with his wooden leg. And accompanying the images was a strong feeling of relieved happiness.
Nykantiath took in the images and feelings, head cocked to the side
studiously, before answering. ((I am glad yours is doing better.
Mine checks the infirmary often, but there are many there, and she
doesn't always get to spend much time with anyone in particular. But
if you and yours need anything to make you more comfortable, you need
only ask, and we would see it done.))


--
"Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely
in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a
shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted,
and loudly proclaiming: "F*** ME, that Rocked!!" -unknown

Whizzy: Jerzy
Aim: Yue146


Re: Matchmaker! Matchmaker! Att: Nykantiath/Sunstreath

Steelsilver
 

((Of course, lovely Nykantiath!)) Sunstreath asserted, and dared to bring his head around to nuzzle her. ((I am a mighty flier, as well as the handsomest bronze you will meet here, though Mine and I were Hatched elsewhere. Mine is very strong and smart, as well; he was chosen to assist in important matters. We do not fly Fall right now, but we will rise again soon, and even stronger.)) 


Oh, She's Yours? (JP) Garatt/Lennaye

Jerzy Tobin
 

It was possible that sending Garatt to the BeastCrafter quarters was
the best thing they could have done.

If they had kept him in the Infirmary the chance were he would have
stayed there, trying to read, too nervous of being found to venture
out where there were people and with all the time in the world to
reflect on what had happened. But no. He was near the stables, well
away from the Barracks and everyone where and where he could hear
runners clattering and talking to each other from his room.

With that noise outside, no-one had to coax Garatt out of his room. He
came out himself, shyly at first but then no-one stopped him or said
he should be in bed or paid much attention at all and the runners were
right there. His hand was too sore for grooming and riding was out of
the question but there was absolutely nothing to stop him fussing over
the runners and some of them were more than happy for the attention.
Particularly if that attention came with a redfruit or orangeroot.

He was hanging over the door chatting to a particularly lovely mare
when someone came up behind him.

Chores and lessons had ended for the day, for Lennaye, at least. This
was her free afternoon, and as she had ever since getting her runner
at the Gather, she spent it in the stables with said runner, or at the
very least, in the stables. Who ever would have thought that she’d
find beast crafting so interesting? Certainly not Lennaye, not when
she’d first come to Arolos. But today she was looking forward to
being able to take Pip for a nice leisurely ride, getting more
experience herself at being in a saddle.

She was not the only one visiting Pip, though. Lennaye spotted a
familiar form at her runner’s stall, talking quietly to the mare. She
hadn’t really seen much of Garatt lately, not since the Hatching, now
that she thought about it. But, he definitely looked happier here
than she could ever recall him looking.

“Hello, Garatt,” Lennaye said softly as she approached. She clicked
her tongue at Pip. “Hello Pip!”

She spoke quietly enough that Garatt didn’t startle; sometimes what
worked on nervous runners worked just as well on nervous boys. He
turned at her approach, one hand -- the one that hadn’t been bandaged
- on the runner’s neck. “Oh! Is that her name?”

“It is! The holder Papa found selling her was calling her ‘Red’
because of her coloring, but that didn’t really seem to fit as a name,
so I renamed her to Pip.”

Lennaye felt herself puffing up with pride at the words, and the
memory. Pip was hers, completely, bought with the marks she’d won
from the Arolos Cup. Not a loaner, not borrowed to learn lessons with
- well and truly hers.

“I had originally wanted to buy one of the Callamere runners, since I
won the marks at the race during the Midsummer Gather, but they don’t
sell to candidates, or people who don’t know how to ride. But, after
getting Pip, I’m glad about that, because she’s really such a big
sweetie, and I’d have missed out on her completely, otherwise.”

“She’s yours?” Garatt’s eyes went wide and wistful at that. “You’re so
lucky.” He stroked his good hand down her neck again. “She’s not as
shy as some of the others. Came right over to see me when I called
her.”

Lennaye shrugged, but couldn’t really argue. It had been luck that
had gotten her Pip, after all. A lucky choice, a lucky win.

“I think she must have been around a lot of people before I bought
her. She’s always been friendly, and not at all nervous or spooked or
anything like that. Nice and gentle, which is good for me especially,
since she’s the first runner I’ve ever owned, or actually ever have
been around, really. She’s the reason I joined the beast craft. And
I can’t say I regret it, even if mucking out stalls does stink
horribly.”

She offered a small grin at that comment.

Garatt actually giggled. It was a small giggle, but still. There had
been precious little giggling from him in the Barracks, or smiling for
that matter. “My auntie used to let me mess around with hers,” he
admitted. “Just kid stuff, you know? How come you got her though if
you haven’t been around runners?”

“I watched the races at the gather,” Lennaye answered. “And the lady
that won the Arolos Cup, she’s a rider, and she races too! And well,
I was so excited by all of it, and the idea that maybe someday I could
race like that too, that I wanted to get a runner of my own. Papa did
try to talk me out of it, at first. Told me to wait a few days before
I spent the marks I won in case I changed my mind, but…”

Lennaye blushed a little, feeling a tad bit silly. It had been a
sudden, abrupt change in her life, that was for sure. She’d spent her
childhood playing it safe, doing things that someone being up as a
proper lady would do, like sewing and embroidery and the like.
Joining the beast craft had been a huge shake up to her normal
routine.

“But,” Lennaye continued after a moment, “it also seemed to make sense
to me, too. Its not so much different than what I’d be doing if I had
to care for a dragon. Not the learning to fight Thread part, but the
taking care of a large creature. And learning to ride. At least,
it’s a starting point, and if I never do Impress, at least I’ll have
Pip.”

“Your father sounds amazing.” Garatt didn’t sound like he thought she
was silly. Mostly he sounded wistful and a little jealous. A father
who could stop someone like M’ayen and would let someone buy a runner,
just like that, because she wanted to must be amazing indeed.

“I guess so,” Lennaye said, with another little shrug. “Honestly, I’m
still getting to know him, really. I never met him before I came
here. Ma and I lived in Igen for as long as I could remember, and he
was elsewhere, here, I guess. He is nice, I can say that much, at
least. And he does try to make time for me, so he must think I’m
important enough to make time for, even if I was a surprise to him.
But, a bronze rider doesn’t really have all that much free time to
begin with, and Papa is a Wingleader to boot. I only get to see him
for like an hour every week, and we have to actually plan for that.
Sometimes I get jealous, that his work takes up so much of his time.
But what can you do? He can’t help it, and neither can I, so I guess
there’s no sense in getting worked up about it.”

And she doubted that Garatt wanted to hear her mope about her home life.

“Are you thinking about working with the runners, here?” She asked.
“You definitely seem to like them a lot!”

Lennaye talked a lot, but Garatt was quite happy to have someone else
carry the bulk of the conversation. He fussed over Pip as she talked,
mostly relieved that she didn’t seem at all jealous of sharing her
runner’s time with him.

He shook his head when she finally seemed to stop for breath. “My
father wouldn’t like it,” he said regretfully. “I don’t know what’s
going to happen really.” For a moment he was quiet, combing his
fingers through the runner’s mane. “I didn’t meet him much for turns
either, not until I was ten really. My aunt had me until then but he
wanted me to go back.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Especially since you seem to get on
with them really well. He wants you to follow what he does, instead?”

She didn’t actually know much about Garatt. And it wasn’t all that
uncommon for weyrbrats to be fostered out, so the fact that he had
lived with his aunt for a spell instead of his parents wasn’t really
shocking to her. It was a shame, though, she thought, that Garatt did
appear to be able to choose what he wanted to do himself.

“I’m meant to inherit.” Garatt admitted to that quietly and a little
sheepishly, and whilst carefully avoiding the subject of just how much
he was meant to inherit. Sometimes people looked at you funny when
they found that out and Garatt much preferred to avoid attention. “Run
the hold and stuff. You know.” He shrugged with one shoulder without
looking at her. “He thinks runners are mostly just wasting time.”

Well, Lennay thought that Garatt’s father must not be too bright if he
thought that, but she was smart enough not to say that out loud.
Garatt probably wouldn’t like it, and probably wouldn’t like her if
she did say it. But that first comment had her a little confused.

“But...He let you become a candidate?” Lennay asked, the confusion
evident in her voice. “What was going to happen, if you Impressed?
Dragonriders can’t be holders too.”

“I think he’d let my cousin inherit then.” Garatt turned to glance at
her, looking uncomfortable. “I’m-- honestly, I’m not very good at it.
He’s just not allowed to say that because I’m his son, you know?” His
voice was low still, it wasn’t exactly something to be proud of.

“Nonsense. You’re a very good person, Garatt!” Lennaye insisted. “I
bet your father is proud of you, even if he hasn’t said it. Maybe you
just have to find your own way of doing things. Just because some way
works for you Da, doesn’t mean it’ll work for you. You just have to
work out the way that’s best for you. And...maybe if he was willing
to let your cousin inherit if you Impressed, if you really, really
wanted to work with runners, maybe he’d let you join a craft instead,
if you thought you’d be better suited for it. Shouldn’t he want to
let you do something that would make you happy?”

“I don’t think my father’s really very much like yours,” Garatt
admitted. “Yours sounds great. Mine--” His shoulders were hunched,
unconsciously drawing in on himself. “I think he mainly just needed
someone who could inherit and I was the only one there, you know? I
bet he wishes he had gone with my cousin now, but he already got me
back off my aunt so he can’t exactly say it.”

She hadn’t meant to make him upset, but she could see that she had,
and now Lennaye felt bad. She wasn’t sure how to put it right,
either. Pip, on the other hand, had no problem with nudging at Garatt
with her nose when he stopped rubbing her; people were there, and that
was supposed to mean pets if they weren’t doing anything else.

“Sorry!” Garatt apologised to the runner, reaching automatically to
rub her with his other hand before realising it hurt and letting it
drop again. “You aren’t having any more redfruit though. You’ll get a
stomach ache.” He spoke conversationally to the runner, much more
easily than he managed with people.

Pip whickered softly at the boy, lipping the hand gently, even if no
more fruit was forthcoming. She then nudged at Lennaye, who did fish
out a small lump of sugar for the mare, who took it eagerly.

“You, miss Pip, are very spoiled. Sugar and redfruit, today? Who
knows, maybe later you’ll get an orangeroot too.”

In an awkward situation, it was a lot easier to turn to the runner
instead. And it gave Pip a lot of attention.

“You’ll have to walk it off later, though. Otherwise you’ll turn into
a fat runner, and then what’ll we do?”

“You probably wanted to ride her, didn’t you?” Garatt realised
belatedly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to -- I can go do something else if
you need her out. Or-- or watch, I guess?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Lennaye said, quickly. “Unless you want to
go do something else. I can always ride her a little later. I just
wanted to spend time with her, since I had the afternoon off.”

“No lessons?” Garatt looked a little surprised by that. It was easy to
lose the swing of things once you weren’t in the Barracks and besides,
M’ayen had eaten his free time for so long he had forgotten it was a
thing other Candidates had.

“Not this afternoon. Its my afternoon off. But I promised Papa when
I got Pip that I’d spend all my free time working with the runners, or
in the stables and all. That was part of the bargain for getting her.
He wanted to make sure I was really serious about it.”

“What’d happen to her then, if you Impressed?” It was Garatt’s turn to
be curious. “She’d miss you, wouldn’t she?” He hesitated. “I mean, she
is your runner. We could actually go in the stable rather than
standing here.”

“She’d be taken care of by the beast crafters,” Lennaye answered.
“And my wages would go to pay for her keep. Well, it already does -
the rest of the marks I won, and the eggs that my flit will have will
be sold to help as well. I know the other apprentices would take good
care of her, and after I became a full rider, even if I didn’t have a
lot of time, I’d still have some time to come and ride her. The
Weyrwoman’s daughter has a runner here, and so does the Weyrwoman. I
think some other riders do, too. So its not like I’d have to give her
up completely. Just while I was a Weyrling, and when I first start
flying in a Wing.”

She supposed they could actually go in, instead of standing outside.
She could groom Pip, if nothing else, while Garatt was around. She
didn’t want to chase him away if he was happy around the runner.

“Ok. I can give Pip a quick brushing, at the least. You can help, if
you want. Or you can just pet her.”

Garatt held up his bandaged hand looking sheepish. “It’s a bit sore
for grooming,” he admitted. “Sorry. I can pass you things though. If
you want.” The offer was made awkwardly, as though he were ready for
her to say no and would prefer not to look as though he minded if she
did.

Lennaye flushed with embarrassment. She had forgotten for a moment
that Garatt was recovering from injuries. She didn’t want him to feel
like he was being chivvied off, though.

“Sorry, I forgot about that,” she mumbled as she picked up the brush
and began applying it to Pip’s coat. “You can keep her company,
though. You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to.”

“Sorry.” And now Garatt was looking embarrassed that she was
embarrassed in what was clearly a chain reaction of embarrassment.
“I-- when it’s better I’d like to help though. If they let me stay and
you didn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Lennaye said hastily. She didn’t comment on
the ‘if they let me stay’ bit. She wasn’t sure if he was referring to
the Weyr at large, or maybe his parents. She was too afraid to ask.

“Maybe once you’re feeling up to it, you could ride her, too. Do you
know how to ride?”

“Oh, yes!” And Garatt stopped looking awkward and suddenly looked so
radiantly happy that it was as if it hadn’t taken a fairly horrible
situation to get him at all. “Before, uhm, when I wasn’t getting
detention, Master Tolfast sometimes let me ride Dara -- the dark brown
one out in the field. Have you seen her? She’s lovely.”

Seeing Garatt looking so happy again had Lennaye perking up too. She
thought for a moment, then shook her head.

“I don’t think I’ve met her, yet. Have you seen the white one with
the blue eyes? SilverSpark, I think that’s his name. He looks amazing
too, but his owner’s very particular about him. He’s a racing runner,
too.”

“I bet he’s worth a lot,” Garatt leaned against the stable door
watching her work. “At home we have really big runners for pulling the
ploughs, have you ever seen them? They make normal runners look like
foals, they’re so big.”

Lennaye shook her head, her eyes wide. “I’m Weyrborn, and I don’t
remember there being a lot of runners kept in Igen Weyr. But I also
never really looked, before, either. Can you ride those ones too? Or
are they too big?”

Garatt glanced either way as though checking for secret listeners.
“Weeeell, I’m not meant to. But sometimes if they’re sure no-one’s
around who’ll tell my father the stablehands let me up, just for a few
minutes. It’s so high up there!”

“Nice!” Lennaye giggled. “Sounds like it’d be amazing to be on a
runner that big.”

“I mean they only walk really, you don’t teach a runner that big to go
fast because I mean, if they were pulling something and then one of
them started galloping--” Garatt’s gesture was meant to symbolize a
runner whizzing away through the distance but it may have been unclear
that this was what a hand moving fast through the air meant. “It could
make an awful mess. But -- I guess they barely notice someone on their
back, at least if you’re not big.”

Lennaye listened intently as she brushed Pip. She guessed she could
see what he was saying.

“Wonder if they breed big horses like that to be dull-witted, so they
don’t spook as much. I mean, most runners are kinda nervy, aren’t
they? I’d think something that big would break the plow they were
pulling if they got spooked.”

“You can be smart and not nervy,” Garatt disagreed. “Maybe it’s just
that they don’t have to get spooked because they’re so big. Not as
much can hurt you when you’re big.”

“I guess so,” Lennaye agreed with a shrug. “I’m glad Pip doesn’t seem
to get too nervy. Least, she hasn’t with me. I’m hoping that maybe
by next turn, she and I will be ready enough to enter a race. Not the
Arolos Cup, not yet, anyways, but maybe a smaller one. That’s what
I’m hoping for, anyways.”

She gave Pip a final swipe of the brush, then patted the runner on the nose.

“But, we’ve got a long way to go before that can happen. And that’s
only if I don’t Impress, first.”

“You want me to look in on her for you?” Garatt offered shyly. “If--
when you’re in lessons? I can make sure she’s not lonely if you want.”

“Oh, that would be fantastic! Thank you for offering.”

Not that there wasn’t always someone in the stables throughout the day
anyways, but it made Lennaye feel better to know someone she *knew*
was checking in on Pip when she couldn’t.

“I can’t stay too much longer, unfortunately. I’m supposed to go meet
with Papa and Mama for a late lunch soon, and I doubt Mama wants me
showing up smelling like a stable. Thank you, for keeping me and Pip
company.”

Garatt grinned at her for a moment and then moved to politely open the
stable door for her. Hold manners of opening doors for ladies held,
even if he did have to be careful which hand he used. “I’ll check on
her.”

Grinning broadly, Lennaye did her best mimic of a curtsy before
stepping out of the stall. Still grinning, she waved to Garatt before
skipping off to get changed for lunch.


--
"Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely
in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a
shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted,
and loudly proclaiming: "F*** ME, that Rocked!!" -unknown

Whizzy: Jerzy
Aim: Yue146


Re: Matchmaker! Matchmaker! Att: Nykantiath/Sunstreath

Jerzy Tobin
 

Sunstreath didn't hesitate, taking wing only a moment after locating the gold, gliding over to her and settling down at her side. ((Of course, beautiful Nykantiath. It would be my honor!)) He declared. ((To be in your presence is a gift of itself.))
It *would* be his honor, and of course her presence was a gift! How
could it not be? Nykantiath preened a little under his admiration,
then settled down to business. ((Sunstreath, you are clearly a
handsome bronze. Why don't you tell me about you and Yours?))



--
"Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely
in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a
shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted,
and loudly proclaiming: "F*** ME, that Rocked!!" -unknown

Whizzy: Jerzy
Aim: Yue146


Re: Matchmaker! Matchmaker! Att: Nykantiath/Nerenth

Amy Frazey
 

Nerenth shuffled aside to give Nykantiath a bit more room, though he remained in front of the weyr opening for the most part. {{Thank you for the offer, I will bathe later. The young ones are good for such things.}}

Nerenth turned to look behind him for a moment at the mention of His, then huffed and shook himself before turning back to Nykantiath. {{He is.}} And he sent an image of Zy'fen walking with crutches, followed by one of him with his wooden leg. And accompanying the images was a strong feeling of relieved happiness.


Re: Matchmaker! Matchmaker! Att: Nykantiath/Sunstreath

Steelsilver
 

Sunstreath didn't hesitate, taking wing only a moment after locating the gold, gliding over to her and settling down at her side. ((Of course, beautiful Nykantiath. It would be my honor!)) He declared. ((To be in your presence is a gift of itself.))


Re: It's Nice to Have Help atten: I'des/Kassia

Steelsilver
 

"...Hi." I'des greeted as he entered. "Sorry if this is bad timing? I can come back later."


Re: Bronze Speed Bump. Attn I'des / B'ryn

Steelsilver
 

Sunstreath turned his head to give the other bronze a look of affronted dignity. ((That is the place Mine and I were heading for.)) He informed Imlearth. 

"It's fine. Lake has plenty of room for dragons." I'des responded, with a slight shrug. Sunstreath and me can head somewhere else. "

((No.))


Re: Matchmaker! Matchmaker! Att: Nykantiath/Primith

Jerzy Tobin
 

Primith lifted his head and looked over at the gold sunning herself. Of course a gold would be speaking to him, why wouldn't they want to talk to a bronze as handsome as he? He cast around for O'lar, who was off doing...something. Something that didn't have anything to do with making Primith look good. He should be out finding some oils to make the bronze sheen of his skin glow. He'd seen that glow on a few other bronzes and coveted it. But they jealously guarded their secret.

(These dragons would be surprised that they were jealously guarding a secret, because they didn't know and didn't care what their riders used for oils. They just wanted their skin to not itch.)

{{Hello, beauteous Nykantiath,}} Primith responded. The ladies loved being complimented. He knew that because he loved being complimented. {{Mine is off doing something boring, also. I would love to join you.}} He launched himself off his ledge, knowing what a magnificent sight he was. All the ladies said so. His perfect wings picked the perfect updraft, and his tail, longer than most, helped him corkscrew around to a landing.

{{I am Primith, dear lady,}} he said, bowing his head. {{And how may I serve you?}}
Pleasure colored her eyes at the compliment Primith paid her, and
Nykantiath in turn admired the bronze as he took off from his ledge to
come to her own. He was indeed nice to look at.

((Hello, Primith. I am bored, and I want company. If yours is also
doing something boring, we should send both of ours to do boring
things together, perhaps? They could keep each other company, even as
you keep me company?))

And never mind if Andronda did or did not want company. Nykantiath
had ideas of her own.


--
"Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely
in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a
shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted,
and loudly proclaiming: "F*** ME, that Rocked!!" -unknown

Whizzy: Jerzy
Aim: Yue146


Re: Matchmaker! Matchmaker! Att: Nykantiath/Nehryth

Jerzy Tobin
 

Nehryth was about to say something snarky, then cracked open an eye. A young gold. Well he could be awakened for that he supposed. Though old his hide showed him in good weight and condition. He was recently oiled, and letting the sun bake it into his hide, like old soft leather. The other eye opened slowly, and he stretched a little in the sand.

((Mmm, of course. Please. This is one of the best spots to sun. The sand here is softer than anywhere else.)) The lanky brown yawned once, then scooted himself over to make sure there was plenty of room for the young gold. This also gave him an opportunity to wrack his rider's mind as to the identity of the youngster. There was only one new gold, not counting the babies. Once resettled, and covered in sand, which he'd take back to his ledge to rub in, he spoke again.

((You must be Nykantiath. I know the other golds around here. I'm Nehryth, it is a pleasure to meet such a lovely young lady as yourself, what brings you down to socialize with a tired old fella like myself? Not that I mind. Indeed it's nice to see, when young ones seek wisdom. At least I hope that is what you are seeking?))
Once Nehryth cleared a space for her, Nykantiath settled down next to
him in the warm sand. It was indeed soft and comfortable, and the sun
was pleasant on her hide.

((I am, indeed. I came because I wished to have company, and you look
like you have lived a very adventurous life. Such as yourself and
your rider must have many interesting stories to tell, and I and mine
would like to hear them, if you are willing.))


--
"Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely
in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a
shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted,
and loudly proclaiming: "F*** ME, that Rocked!!" -unknown

Whizzy: Jerzy
Aim: Yue146


Re: Matchmaker! Matchmaker! Att: Nykantiath/Nerenth

Jerzy Tobin
 

Nerenth was sunning himself while His rested, out in front of their new weyr. The past few moons had been filled with rough winds, but the skies were clearing now. Still, the brown dragon was more protective than ever.

So the sound of approaching wings made him raise his head to look around. When he spotted a gold dragon gliding toward him, Nerenth stretched his head in her direction. {{Of course I don't mind. As long as you don't mind my dusty hide, beautiful Lady.}}
((I do not mind,)) Nykantiath said as she settled down next to him.
It occurred to her that as they were next to the Infirmary, that the
brown's rider was probably injured and recovering. The brown himself
looked healthy - dusty hide aside. She could understand him not
wanting to leave his rider's side.

((If you itch, I could summon someone to bathe you?)) she offered.
((Is yours recovering from being hurt?))



--
"Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely
in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a
shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted,
and loudly proclaiming: "F*** ME, that Rocked!!" -unknown

Whizzy: Jerzy
Aim: Yue146


Re: Matchmaker! Matchmaker! Att: Nykantiath/Kasheth

Jerzy Tobin
 

Kasheth looked up from where he'd been curled in the sun, surprised at the gold's words. He was used to Foreth who either demanded what she wanted or eshewed other dragons altogether. That the gold was requesting his attention was both flattering and suspicious.

((I don't mind,)) he said politely. ((I have a nice patch of sun and would share it with a beautiful gold.))
((Thank you.))

Nykantiath crooned her delight and settled down in the warm sun next
to the bronze, taking care not to crowd against him. She didn't want
to get overly friendly, not yet, anyways.

((May I ask your name, handsome bronze?))


--
"Life is NOT a journey to the grave with the goal of arriving safely
in a prettily preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways in a
shower of gravel and party shards, thoroughly used, utterly exhausted,
and loudly proclaiming: "F*** ME, that Rocked!!" -unknown

Whizzy: Jerzy
Aim: Yue146


And Auntie Comes Too

Laura Walker
 

Cuylar popped out of between over Attlin's hold again and then took a moment to reorient Elphith so that the landscape recalled to mind the map he had seen before. And then some twenty minutes or so later, he arrived at his second destination. He took Attlin's advice and landed far enough away to avoid spooking their beasts and then jogged in the rest of the way.


A dragon landing near their little hold was enough to attract a lot of attention, especially from the children playing outside, and they were quick to go at fetch Sherill to come and see.  She was quick to stride over to dragon and rider, curious as to what had brought the pair.


“Greetings!” Sherill called as she approached.  “Welcome.  May I help you in some way?  Offer you something to drink?”


"Hello, well met," Cuylar greeted the woman with a lifted hand. "I'm Journeyman Healer Cuylar of Elphith, the lovely lady who flew me here, and I've come at the behest of the Holder Attlin to speak to Sherill, his sister-in-law. I presume I've come to the right place?" he asked.


Attlin had sent this rider for her?!  


“I’m Sherill, Sir,” she replied, concern written on her face.  “Is something wrong?  Why has Attlin sent a dragonrider for me?”


"If I may begin at the end… Garatt is alive, well, and whole. No missing limbs, eyesight intact," said Cuylar, adding in the answers to questions he had left out when he gave his bottom line to Attlin.


"However. He has been the victim of some abuse at the hands of a rogue assistant Candidatemaster, who has been arrested. I am Garatt's primary care provider, and Attlin has insisted that you must also be notified of the situation and asked that I bring you to the Weyr to see Garatt as well."


“Oh, Faranth help him!” Sherill exclaimed, aghast.  You didn’t send riders to fetch people if there wasn’t some sort of trouble, generally.  “You’re sure he’s okay?  That he’ll be okay?  How could something like that go unnoticed?”


There was anger bubbling beneath the concern, but she wasn’t going to vent it onto the healer.  He was taking care of Garatt, was trying to help.  And at least Attlin had had the sense to send for her.


"Physically, he will be OK. The Weyr will be committing whatever resources are necessary to ensure he recovers emotionally. This assistant went to great lengths to coerce Garatt into hiding what was happening at a time when the Weyr's leadership has been occupied by several… difficult circumstances in rapid succession," Cuylar explained. "But I noticed some short time ago despite the rogue assistant's attempt to keep himself out of trouble and set in motion then the necessary steps to put a stop to it. I apologize for being unable to do anything more… expeditious."


Sherill listened with a very grim expression that grew darker by the moment.  Just about everyone knew about the attempt on the Weyrwoman’s life at the gather, and if there were other things going on after, well, Sherill might be tempted to grant them some leeway in not noticing.  Maybe.


“But, you do expect that he’ll recover?  Is it Garatt that wanted to see me?” Sherill asked.  That’d make sense as to why Attlin would send of her.  


“And this man responsible, he’s been arrested?”


"The rogue assistant has been arrested, yes," Cuylar confirmed. "Garatt didn't ask for anyone. But his father has a right to know what happened and to speak to him about it. Attlin insisted that I must also inform you. I understand you fostered the boy for some time, so I did not object and assumed you would also wish to see him."


“Damned right I do.”


Sherill turned and waved over one of the children who had been standing a respectful distance away, and sent him running off to let their father know she was going to the Weyr, and why.  Then she turned back to Culyar.


“I’m ready to go now, then, if you please.”


"Of course, ma'am," said Cuylar with a bow of his head. "You're welcome to stay as long as you see fit. Attlin is waiting for you in the Infirmary. I… tried to convince him to speak to Garatt when he arrived, but he refused to proceed without you."


It was all she could do to keep from snorting in disgust.  Of course he wouldn’t.  All these turns, and he still couldn’t see Garatt for himself, and not as a reflection of Garsha. 

“Well enough, I suppose,” Sherill sighed.  “At least he won’t have said anything that might upset Garatt further.  Let’s go, then, please.”


She was anxious to see Garatt herself, and give whatever comfort she could.


Cuylar led Sherill back to Elphith, all the while considering whether he should tell Sherill that Garatt was so easily manipulated into hiding the abuse because he was worried about what his father would think of him. But Garatt had said so much to him in that overflow of emotion through Elphith that he hardly remembered what he had learned how, and he felt like he was walking a razor edge of respecting Garatt's privacy and telling – for all intents and purposes – his parents what they deserved to know.


He helped her up to Elphith's back, buckled the straps, and then a few moments later, they were between and then landing at the Weyr.


"He'll be waiting in here. Attlin, that is," he said.


Riding the dragon was terrifying, but not going was not an option.  All the same, Sherill was glad when they were back on the ground.


“I suppose I had best speak to Attlin first,” Sherill said with a sigh.  She’d really rather not; she just wanted to go to Garatt, hug him and reassure him that everything would be okay.  “Where is Garatt?”


"He's been assigned quarters with the stablehands. That's where he'll be, unless he's gone to fetch something to eat, I expect," Cuylar answered. "If you'd like something to eat first, there are snacks available."


“No, no, that’s alright.  I’ll go speak with Attlin first, and then we’ll both go to see Garatt, if that’s alright.  Eating can wait a bit.”


Attlin had been sitting waiting. Cuylar had been kind enough to show him into a room with drinks and snacks but somehow nothing had appealed. So, he'd sat -- quietly, politely, not bothering anyone, not trying to start up conversation - and waited, at least until he heard Sherill's voice approaching.


He stood at her approach, dusting off already immaculate trouser legs before she could enter. Never  mind that she’d never shown the slightest inclination to worry about his appearance, it mattered. Somehow to someone it mattered.


It was the same well-trained and well-practiced good manners that made him move to greet her with a polite kiss on the cheek, as respectfully formal as at any dinner party rather than.. Here, now, waiting to go and see his hurt son. “Sherill. I thought you would want to be here.”


“Attlin,” Sherill greeted stiffly.  “Thank you for sending for me.  Its a relief not to be left in the dark about this whole affair.”


She might not like the man, but at least he did have the sense to make sure she was included.


“You didn’t *have* to wait for me to see Garatt, though, you know.”  Her tone was a bit scolding.


“I thought--” Attlin stepped back again, holding himself stiffly, politely awkward. “It felt as though he would prefer you to be here. Shall we go?” He had remembered to pick up the books at least, six of them bundled into a bag. If he was poor with words, at least he had brought books.


Sheril sighed and shook her head.  “Lead the way,” was all she said for the moment.  She’d see Garatt first, then give Attlin a bit of a talking to.


At this Attlin paused and looked enquiringly at Cuylar, bundling his bag under his arm. “I have really no memory as to where you said to go,” he admitted.


"No worries. Follow me, please," said Cuylar as she turned to lead them across the bowl. He might have offered to ferry them across to save time, but then Attlin would most definitely call his bluff on Elphith being unable to carry all three of them. When the reached the stablehands' quarters he held out his arm to indicate they had arrived.


"And here we are. I can tell him you're coming, if you like."


“That would probably be a good idea,” Sherill said kindly.  “Don’t want to startle him unnecessarily.”


Attlin had been watching the runners -- or watching the young lad exercising one of the runners - as they walked up to the point where he actually seemed distracted. He seemed thrown at the question, pulling his eyes away with an effort. “..Yes. Yes, very sensible,” he agreed, slightly belated.


Cuylar nodded to them and then turned to go inside. He hoped Attlin could put a lid on looking like this was such a chore when he actually spoke to Garatt. He asked around until he found the boy and then waved a greeting.


"Garatt," he said. "Your father and your aunt are here to speak with you."


No-one seemed to mind if he was actually in the room he had been given or outside it, and the runners had been right there only five minutes away, and despite Garatt’s stiffness the noise of them had coaxed him outside. Not to do anything energetic, just to pet them and talk to them, maybe sneak an orangeroot or redfruit. It was a lovely way to not think about anything too unpleasant and he had been looking positively relaxed when Cuylar hailed him.


Not that it lasted long.


“..My father’s here?” It came out as a guilty squeak as he snatched his hand hastily away from the runner as though it might burn him. “Where?”


"He's waiting outside to talk to you," Cuylar answered. "And he looked like he was about ready to fight someone for letting this happen to you when I talked to him." He smiled a sideways smile. "I was a bit worried that someone would be me, but he seems content to wait to yell at the Weyrleaders instead."


“My father did?” That came out disbelieving, and Garatt squinted at him because it was difficult to imagine Attlin fighting anyone. Being grave or stern or disappointed certainly, but those things rarely manifested in so much as a raised voice. “Are you sure?”


"I was surprised at first," said Cuylar, "that he seemed so… calm about it. But I wasn't… well, I didn't tell him the whole story at first, because I wanted to let you tell him some things. You know, to… I didn't want to betray your confidence, so I was being very careful about what I said. Buy at some point or another, I was standing up for Nayari, and, well. He could tell I was leaving something out."


"And when I told him the rest, ooh, boy. His eyes were like lightning. I offered to let him yell at me. But he wants to yell at the Weyrleaders."


Garatt continued to eye him, not entirely convinced by this version. It did not sound like any version of his father he knew. “..Did you say Auntie was here too?” he asked after a moment, and then a thought occurred. “Do they.. Do they know about the copying?”


"I didn't tell them about that," Cuylar admitted. "I told them about the Candidatemaster who was abusing you and your trust. That's the important part here. The copying is nothing. I'll tell them so myself if you need me to. But… like I said. I was trying to respect your privacy. You… you've shared a lot with me and Elphith, and I don't want to betray that. I'm your Healer, and if you'll have me, I'm your friend."


Garatt bit his lip, and then pulled himself straight, self-consciously  checking his clothes for bits of straw and runner-hair. “..Okay.” Better to get it over with and try to face it down. If his father was here, well, that was that then.


"Garatt," Cuylar said softly. "Listen. Your father? He loves you. So much. I don't know why he might have a hard time telling you so? But. He brought you books. He went… he went to your library, and he picked out the five books out of… what, a hundred? that he knew you would like so he could bring them to you. There's something… there's something he's still having a hard time with. But he loves you. And he's trying so hard. OK?"


Again that disbelieving look, Garatt squinting into Cuylar’s face as though trying to find the trick here. He couldn’t find it and he couldn’t believe it either, and the tiny flame of wild hope that desperately wanted this to be true hadn’t had a lot of fuel to feed on lately. Lately anything that seemed like it was going to be good always ended up awful.


“He probably wanted to make sure I was studying,” he muttered after a moment, dropping his gaze. “He doesn’t like it when people are idle for too long.”


"He brought you books about runners," said Cuylar. "He… he has things he thinks he needs to do, needs to say. The right things, the things people expect. But somewhere underneath, he wants to bring you the books that will make you happy. He made me go get your aunt because he thought you wouldn't want to see him. He has been here waiting until your aunt got here too, because he thought you would be sad if he came, but she didn't. I… Shells, you two. He wants you to love him, too, but he thinks he doesn't deserve it. He didn't tell me this, but. That's what it looks like to me."


“...Okay.” Garatt maybe didn’t accept that, or not entirely, but he didn’t argue either. He gave himself one last hasty brush-down (which entirely missed the bits of straw still in his hair) and then stood straight, face screwed into a determined expression of seriousness that was entirely like Attlin’s when he was trying not to react to bad news. “I’m ready.”


"Faranth, you are his little twin, aren't you?" Cuylar chuckled and reached up to pluck the straw out of Garatt's hair. "I'll go get them, OK? Elphith will listen for you if you need to talk to her while you're in with them. If you need… help with what to say, anything like that. Just call to her, and she'll hear you."


*****

As Cuylar walked away from them, Sherill turned to face Attlin, a very stern look on her face.  She hadn’t wanted to be so blunt in front of the rider, but for the moment they were alone, and now it was an entirely different face she was showing.


“Attlin, you listen to me, and you listen good.  I *know* that you’re no good with feelings and the like, but for Faranth’s sake, do make a point to try.  Garatt had been through who knows what, and you being stern and disapproving like you always do is *not* going to help him in any way!  He’ll think its directed at him, and that is the last thing he needs right now.  Do you understand me?”


All of this was said in a non-nonsense manner; Sherill was not going to take any argument on the matter.


Attlin had expected this was coming sooner or later; in truth he had expected the scolding would be for even letting Garatt near the Weyr, something he was already blaming himself heavily for. He drew himself up a little at Sherill’s lecture, far too proud to admit there might be a problem there.


“I think I can handle it,” he said icily, while his head screamed that no, actually, there was nothing in this he knew how to handle. Then, a little softer, as though in supplication. “I brought him books.”


Sherill gave him a scathing look.  Oh, she doubted very much that he’d be able to handle any of it at all; there was too much history pointing to just the opposite for her to believe any of his words.


“I’m sure,” she said, just a touch snidely.  “Are the books anything he’d actually have any interest in?”


She didn’t recall Garatt being particularly interested in books back when she’d had him, but their holding couldn’t really afford them, either.  She had always remembered him as a happy child running around playing with the rest of her brood, not a bookworm.  Was that something Attlin had pushed him into?


“Because I strongly doubt, if he’s recovering from being abused, that studying is something he really wants to focus on right now.”


Attlin had thought the books had been a good idea. Had picked out specially the ones that Garatt seemed to go for, the books he’d always been guiltily browsing when he’d been meant to be studying. And if it had been a subject he’d been confident in like field production or cothold repair he’d have been happy to double down and tell Sherill so.


But the happiness of children was altogether a trickier thing than which crops were most likely to command a high price and a little self-doubt crept in. He’d thought that perhaps recovery would require a lot of rest and books would be the thing but then here they were at the stables and maybe the boy was racing around somewhere happy as Larry.


“I wanted him to have something from home,” he said stiffly. “The Healer said he’d have nearly everything he needed.”


Sherill didn’t snort at that comment, much as she wanted to.  There was something fair in that sentiment, she guessed, but if books were the only keepsake Attlin could think to bring, it really did make her wonder just what sort of life Garatt was living back at that Hold.  Which prompted another thought to come to her mind.


“Why exactly did you let Garatt come to the Weyr, Attlin?” Sherill asked bluntly.  “He’s supposed to be your Heir.  That’s why you called him back from me after ten turns, out of the blue after never really even trying to see him or talk to him.  Why the sudden change?”


And even though it wasn’t put to actual words, the question of ‘why not just send him back to where he was happy’ hung in the air as well.


“..He wanted to go.” That was quiet, the tone an admission of guilt in himself. Attlin had had a good long time sitting waiting to ask himself exactly that question. “I thought -- there wasn’t much time to think -- but I thought either he’ll go and Impress or he’ll-- come back and be happy. I don’t know.” There had been a Searchrider waiting and it had been a bad day, a bad sevenday, and he’d regretted it after but too late then. “Shells, I don’t know. He wanted to go.”


“Lots of holder boys want to go to the Weyr when a Search rider shows up, but by and large the heir doesn’t get that chance, especially if there are no other siblings,” Sherill said, frustration at her brother in law showing.  


A part of it was frustration at what had happened to Garatt, and the thought that if he hadn’t been in the Weyr in the first place, this never would have happened.  Garatt would have been safe, and unharmed. 


“Shells, Attlin, what were you planning to do if he Impressed?  He can’t be a rider and a Holder.  You made such a fuss about not remarrying, of not having any other children, and then made a point of bringing Garatt back to make him your heir no matter what, and then you send him off to the Weyr with nary a thought?  Please, please tell me why?  Was he causing trouble?  Too active or distractive to settle down and learn?  Is it because he wasn’t as apt at taking up Hold management as you had hoped?  Or because he reminds you too much of Garsha?”


She wasn’t going to be kind, not right now.  Maybe under different circumstances she wouldn’t have pressed quite so hard, but right now, she was going to push as hard as she could.  


Cuylar had pushed and pushed and despite the pushing still never got so much as a raised voice out of Attlin. Quiet horror, a determination to fix this somehow, but everything else stayed locked inside, stubbornly quiet, refusing to bite until it was time for it.


Sherill though, Sherill knew every sore spot, every guilty prickle and bad thought he’d ever kept himself awake with. Attlin was never sure how exactly she arrowed in on them so neatly but she did, and then stuck pins in them until they bled. 


His frown before had been a passive one, less a conscious choice and more the lines his face fell into by habit. The frown he turned on her now by contrast was a deep scowl, the look of a man who just wanted her to hush up and stop saying those things because they hurt. 


I made a bad choice!” Still he didn’t raise his voice but kept his words to an angry hiss. You never did know who was listening. “I understand! You don’t have to point it out! If I had kept him home he would have been safe! I know!” He lowered his voice still further and somehow the admittance sounded like an accusation because how dare she, how dare she be so much better at this, how dare he fail so badly. “I know he would have been safe with you!”


"Ah…" said Cuylar with a bit of a wave as he came back out from the stables. "I think Garatt is ready to see you now."


Sherill had been about to respond to that, to throw another dart at Attlin, when Cuylar reappeared.  Whatever she had been about to say evaporated as she turned away and turned her attention back to the healer.


“Is he?” she asked, her voice unable to hide her eagerness to see her nephew.  


Attlin was quiet, struggling to pull himself back together, his face still set with angry lines as he pulled his bag back onto his shoulder. “Thank you.” His tone was controlled, pointedly trying not to even look at Sherill.


"Is… everything alright?" Cuylar asked as he looked back and forth from Attlin to Sherill. They certainly seemed a bit more… on edge than they had when he left.


“Fine. I’d just like to see Garatt, please.” Attlin’s voice was clipped again, back to that brisk crispness that discouraged further asking. 


“Its nothing to trouble you with, dear,” Sherill said, her voice more kindly now.  “Or Garatt, for that matter.  But both of us are very eager to see him, if he’s ready and willing.”


"He is," said Cuylar. "If you'd like to follow me, I'll show you in." He spoke more confidently this time.


Garatt was waiting, a little taller -- or a lot taller in Sherill’s case -- than they had last seen him, a little more gangly, a lot more nervous. The sight of Sherill got him moving though, his face lighting up for a moment as he trotted towards them. He walked carefully still, moving warily because some movements hurt even with numbweed.


Sherill got his first smile but it was Attlin he stopped in front of, his face returning to its solemn expression. He hesitated a moment, unsure what to do, and then offered his hand politely to shake. “Thank you for visiting, sir.” His face, his voice both rigidly formal, and Attlin couldn’t blame him for that stiff formality because who else had taught him it?


At a loss he shook his son’s hand, both as polite as two holders committing to a contract of work. “..I brought you books?” he offered, because what else did you say? What else could you say?


“Thank you.” And the thanks was as solemn as the greeting, like a thing rehearsed, Garatt’s eyes wide and dark and serious and heart-stoppingly like his mother’s.


And then he had been polite, and he could do what he wanted to do and turned on Sherill with a far more genuine and heartfelt “Auntie!” wanting a hug, demanding a hug, taking a hug, curly head buried in her shoulder.


So he never saw the flash of hurt that passed over his father’s face before Attlin managed to mask it.


The smile and then the solemn formality between father and son grated on Sherill like a raw nerve.  This was his son, for feck’s sake!  Would it kill Attlin to smile and reassure the boy, to actually offer a smile and a hug?  Did he always have to be so damned reserved?


But then Garatt was smiling at her and hugging her and it didn’t take a heartbeat for her to return the hug, wrapping him in her strong arms, though gently, with care for the fact that he had been hurt.  She ruffled a hand through his hair as she crooned to him in a happy, soothing voice.


“Oh, my dear boy!  How I’ve missed you.  And how you’ve grown!  So much taller than last I saw you.  Its been far too long.”


Garatt had missed the hurt on Attlin's face before he managed to mask it, but Cuylar had seen it. He wanted to motion to Attlin, but someone would see. But. He had a secret weapon.


((Ask him for a hug,)) Elphith said directly to Attlin in her brook-no-nonsense tone. ((Ask him, now. Go.))


Attlin froze, giving a slight shake of his head, unsure how else to communicate with the dragon. His eyes though were watching Garatt and his aunt with a desperate hunger, a wanting.


“Garatt, I--” The words felt wrong in his mouth. Somehow they flowed completely naturally from Sherill’s throat but from him they felt.. Wrong. Fake. Besides, the boy was perfectly happy there with his aunt, far better if he just crept away and left them to it. 


No. He made himself try again. “The Hold’s been too quiet without you.” It came out quietly, and Garatt was so busy being fussed over by Sherill that he wasn’t sure the boy had even heard but then Garatt went still. Not pulling away from Sherill, not sure how to react but listening.


((Hear me,)) said Elphith to Garatt. ((Your father wishes you would hug him. He is too scared to ask.))


Garatt still wasn’t all that good at forming words. It wasn’t the same terrified punch of emotions he had thrown at Elphith the first time, but it was still more feeling than words -- awkward shyness, the memory of trying a hug once at some point and his father side-stepping it, quiet suspicion because Cuylar and Elphith both seemed to believe that but didn’t adults always side with other adults? The thought mingled with the memory of telling people and telling them about M’ayen and no-one believed him and--


Bad memory. Bad. He sniffed once then again, sniffling into his aunt’s shoulder, emotions suddenly realising that yes, this adult was safe, it was safe to cry here.


“Garatt!” It took Attlin a minute to read that quiet choked noise and then he looked panicked. He stepped forward as though to do something, arms raised and then lowered again, not sure what to do. Had he done that? He hadn’t meant to do that.


((Comfort him!)) Elphith insisted to Attlin. These two were going to drive her batty if they could not simply talk to one another! Cuylar added his own meaningful glance to Elphith's words.


Sherill made quiet shushing sounds as she held Garatt close to her.  Part of her brain told her that she should let Attlin attempt to comfort Garatt as well, had heard him making some attempt - she assumed - to do so, but she didn’t want to pull away, either.  Clearly he was happy to be in her arms, and she was happy to have him there.


“It’ll be okay, Garatt, I promise.  It’ll all be okay.”


“I-- Garatt-- don’t--” The boy was fairly clinging to his aunt, burrowing into the hug. Attlin stared helplessly for a minute then abruptly turned and walked away, out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him.


Cuylar huffed and ran to chase after Attlin.


((Oy! Stop, you. No running away,)) Elphith growled to the Holder.


"I'll be back…" Cuylar said apologetically as he closed the door behind him.


Outside the door, Attlin had pressed his face into his hands for a moment, though they were quickly removed at the sound of the door opening again behind him. 


“I need to-- I need to go talk to the Weyrwoman.” He’d forgotten again that she was in meetings for the day. Had to go and do the thing he knew how to do because that room, that room he did not know how to handle.


"You do not," said Cuylar. "You need to go back into that room and comfort your son!" He folded his arms and glared at Attlin, not even realizing that he was using his Big Voice and standing up tall. "Why can't you?"


“I don’t know. He’s happier with Sherill.” Attlin pressed his lips tightly together, trying to hold back his reactions. “I shouldn’t have come.”


"He's happier because she doesn't treat him like she's unhappy to see him," said Cuylar. "How does this look to him? Probably like you're disgusted with him. That you can't stand to be in his presence. You absolutely should be here. You don't get to run away right now."


Clearly this had not occurred to Attlin. He looked aghast at the suggestion, horrified his actions might come off that way. “But I wasn’t - I just didn’t want to get in their way!”


"Well, to Garatt, it looks like you think he is in your way," said Cuylar. He was at least somewhat gratified that it seemed Attlin truly had not considered this. "You came all this way to see him, and then when he was vulnerable where you could see, you chided him and then slammed the door on him." A bit of an exaggeration, but it was likely how Garatt would see it.


"He wanted you to tell him what Sherill is telling him. He wanted you to hug him. Why can't you just give him that much?"


“Because he wanted Sherill.” There was frustrated hurt in Attlin’s voice. “He doesn’t want me here, I knew he wouldn’t. I’d.. I’d be doing more good going to talk to people.”


"Go back into that room right now and apologize to your son. You're not going anywhere else until you do, unless you think you're going to walk all the way home." Cuylar scowled. "And even then, I might throw you over my shoulder and bring you back."


“I don’t. Have. The words.” Had Attlin felt himself able to do it he likely would have turned back in. The idea that Garatt might think he was angry with him was horrifying. But it felt as though the reality was that he would get within a few feet again and freeze, unable to find the correct reaction. “Sherill… Sherill knows how to do it right. She’ll look after him.”


"You are not giving up," said Cuylar. "Here. I'll give you the words. It's easy. You say, ‘Garatt, I'm sorry.’ And then you hug him. Maybe even throw in an ‘I love you,’ for good measure. You do, don't you?"


“Of course I do!” Attlin protested then glanced back over his shoulder at the door looking hunted. “But he’s busy hugging Sherill.”  And hugging Garatt might mean pulling him away, might mean the boy didn’t want to be hugged by him instead.


"Have you ever told him so?" asked Cuylar, expecting that the answer was very likely to be no. "And is it so hard to watch them hug for a moment that you can't wait your turn?"


Attlin looked at him helplessly, mute. How did you explain that he had had his turn, his turn had been that quick awkward handshake at the start and that was done now. Forcing his way in, asking for the affection or initiating it and risking rejection.. He couldn’t.


"Do I need to throw you over my shoulder right now?" Cuylar asked. "You can do this. Go back inside and give him a hug. Tell him you love him. You can leave off the I'm sorry if it's too much to ask."


Attlin stared at him and then pulled himself straight with a curt “Fine!”, mouth setting into a line as he turned to march back in. It would be a disaster but the Healer could see it be a disaster and then perhaps leave him alone.


Inside, Garatt was struggling. The sound of the door closing had been the final straw in any kind of emotional control. Words had abandoned him and he’d cried into Sherill’s shoulder as he hadn’t since he’d been a tiny boy who’d injured himself out playing, full-on body-shaking sobs which didn’t seem to help or to calm or to stop but just went on until his throat hurt and his face hurt and he couldn’t stop.


Sherill’s eyes had met Attlin’s for just a second before the holder had abruptly turned and left the room.  She hadn’t had a chance to so much as get a word out before the door closed, and then Garatt was sobbing - actually sobbing in such a heartbroken way - that it was all she could do but hold him tight to her, running a hand through his hair and making soothing noises as she had when he was a much smaller child.  Silently, she cursed Attlin out for his idiocy, his apparent heartlessness.  Stupid, stupid man!


“Shhh,” Sherill soothed as best she could.  “It’s alright, Garatt.  It’ll all be alright.  I’ll make it so, you’ll see.”


Attlin walking out had felt like confirmation of Garatt’s utter certainty that his father would take M’ayen’s side if he knew what had happened. No amount of soothing from Cuylar about how the punishments had not been his fault could quite remove the certainty that all this had happened, had started, because of some deficiency in him. M’ayen had done far too good a job for Garatt to let go of the blame so easily.


And whatever weakness M’ayen had seen surely his father would see too.


He pressed his face into Sherill’s shoulder as footsteps came back in and stopped, shamefully hiding it, afraid to look up and see Attlin’s expression.


Attlin was looking awkward again. He cleared his throat and then stopped, meeting Sherill’s eyes helplessly, unable to quite get the words out.


Her brother-in-law’s helpless expression caused Sherill to roll her eyes in exasperation.  She *didn’t* snort at him, if only because Garatt would probably think it was directed at him, and she didn’t want to upset him any more than he already was.  But clearly it would be up to her to fix this.


“Garatt, sweetie.  I promise you, no one is angry with you, love.  Not me, not your father.  We are angry *for* you, for what happened to you, that we couldn’t protect you.  We love you dearly, Garatt.  Me and your father both.  Especially your father.  He just has trouble finding the words to say it.  But he does love you, Garatt, he does.  Please do believe that.”


Cuylar slipped back in behind Attlin, and at this point, he stared at the man, willing him to take his intense gaze as the kick in his backside he meant it to be.


Elphith was happy to help again.


((The words are easy. Here. I'll show you. ‘I love you, my son.’ See? Super easy. Barely an inconvenience. Now you try.))


With two adults and one dragon willing him into it, Attlin looked severely uncomfortable. “Well, of course I love him,” he said, the words coming out defensively. “And that man -- I’m going to have words with someone about that man.”


Cuylar fought to hold in his sigh. Yes, of course, Garatt was sure to believe him when it sounded like just saying something that could be interpreted to mean that he possibly loved Garatt, maybe, was painful to him.


But at least he could work out something close to "angry for Garatt". There was that.


Not exactly what she had been hoping for, but this was Attlin, and at least he had said he loved Garatt.  Whether or not Garatt would believe it was another matter. 


“There, you see?  Have I ever lied to you about something like this?” 


The curly head shook, and Garatt hesitantly, oh so hesitantly, lifted a pink tear-stained face.


“I’m sorry,” he blurted, because if “I love you” came hard to Attlin, apologising came easily to Garatt. “I didn’t mean-- I never meant for any of it to happen.”


Attlin’s face twisted, and he wished rather desperately that leaving the room was still an option, that he could have ten minutes somewhere to be angry and hurt and sad without getting it near Garatt. “Wasn’t you,” he said roughly. “But I’m going to speak to the Weyrwoman about that tutor.”


“You’re father’s right, Garatt.  It wasn’t you, wasn’t your fault that any of this happened.  And we’re going to make sure that nothing like this happens again,” Sherill said reassuringly.  


“Do I have to come home?” Garatt asked anxiously, still close and safe to his aunt.


Attlin hesitated, every instinct in him urging him to remove his son from anywhere this could happen. But the boy looked so worried.. “We’ll see,” he said finally. “You need to see some of those -- MindHealers, is it? -- some of those anyway. After that, we’ll see. Might be you decide you want to Stand again, but we’ll see what this Weyrwoman says. I’m not having you near those tutors.”


A very real smile crossed Sherill’s face as she looked at Attlin when he gave that answer.  Giving Garatt a chance to make the choice himself would help him feel more secure, she thought.  Let him know that he had a say in what happened to him.


“Don’t you fret now, lovie.  I’m sure no one will make you leave if you don’t want to.  We just want you to be safe and happy, after all.”


"I can assure you that the Assistant responsible for this has been dealt with," said Cuylar. "But I can still try to get you in to see Kassia… she's pregnant, if you didn't know. So. You might have to settle for talking to one of her juniors."


“...Oh.” Attlin’s face froze for a moment as he absorbed that new information. “...No. I didn’t know. A junior if needed then. And--” he almost spat the word, “this tutor, whoever he is, would I be able to see him?”


"I wouldn't expect that you would," said Cuylar. "But I don't suppose it would hurt to ask. I'm sure he'll have as many lies and excuses for his behavior for you as he did for Garatt. And he likely will say something that will get under your skin. So. Maybe it would hurt to ask."


Attlin was not a man prone to throwing fits of rage so it was notable when his jaw clenched, hands fisting at his side for a moment. “He’ll not get away with lying to me,” he said flatly. He glanced at Sherill. “Might be better if you weren’t there.” Despite knowing Sherill his brain still felt there were scenes not appropriate for a lady. Even if the Weyrwoman or junior goldriders themselves were ladies. “You too, Garatt.”


It hadn’t in fact occurred to Garatt that he might be there. He shook his head hastily in mute agreement with that.


“I have no disagreements with that,” Sherill agreed.  Not because she couldn’t stomach being in the wretched man’s presence, but because if she was there, she might do something regrettable.  She’d just as soon stay with Garatt, and give him whatever reassurance her presence could offer.


“I’d just as soon stay here with Garatt anyways.”


"Well, then. Shall we check in with Kassia now, or would you like a few moments more with your son?" asked Cuylar.


((Stay with him for a while,)) Elphith said.


Attlin hesitated, looking at Garatt, indecisive. Finally he asked directly, “Do you want me to stay?”


Garatt’s nod might have been the tiniest in history, and he looked shyly towards his feet. “..If.. if you’re not too busy to.”


“..Right,” Attlin glanced at Cuylar. “I imagine it needs an appointment or something anyway?”


"An appointment would help. Why don't I get you on the schedule, and then I'll come back later when it's time to go to dinner – how's that?" asked Cuylar, relieved.


“Thank you. If you could let me know when I need to be there.” Attlin stepped back to politely formal, where in truth he felt far more comfortable. “Can we-- are we allowed to walk around the Weyr? The guards seemed to feel I shouldn’t be there.”


"Technically, yes, once you've been cleared to be here, you can traverse public spaces without an escort," said Cuylar. "But. The guards will probably still tail you. We're pretty leery about outsiders since the attacks. I can make sure you have someone to walk with you if you need, but Garatt is more than qualified to handle that."


“They gave me a young guard anyway. She’s outside,” Attlin admitted. “I’d just-- I’d be a little more comfortable further from the stables.” Almost there was a note of apology in that.


"I can give you a space in the Infirmary, or if you'd prefer, I can take you to the Dining Cavern now," Cuylar offered with no hint of irritation.


“Not the Dining Hall.”  Garatt’s voice was quiet, but he was fidgeting with his wrist, looking a little agitated. In the main he’d been staying in the BeastCrafter quarters and well away from places filled with people. The Dining Hall, with its enormous capacity and the fact everyone, even CandidateMasters, walked through... “I don’t want to go there. Please.”


“All right,” Attlin conceded. “The Infirmary then.”


"Not a problem," said Cuylar. He smiled and said, "Follow me, if you will. Attlin, you'll remember the space well enough. And there will be klah."



--

Blackadder: I mean, what about the people that do all the work?
Baldrick: The servants.
Blackadder: No, me; *I'm* the people who do all the work.


That's *one* thing he hated. The NOISE, NOISE, NOISE, NOISE!

Laura Walker
 

It was difficult to fight the feeling that he shouldn’t have come. 


Attlin was used to being in charge of his own little world. It was a quiet lonely little world but it was his and he kept it orderly. In comparison the Weyr felt like a chaotic nightmare. The Dining Hall held more people than he’d seen except at a Gather, or at the one Hatching he’d attended and it wasn’t an occasion it was just how many people there were


Everywhere he looked there were people. Even a little guard tailing him (Although what use she was meant to be should he actually get attacked he wasn’t sure. And did people often get attacked in the Weyr? Not that it didn’t feel big enough to be believable, and clearly Garatt had been but.. Faranth, what kind of place had he sent his son to?)


It wasn’t as though Garatt had wanted to see him. Or he’d actually managed to see the Weyrleaders. In fact, by the time he trailed back to the Infirmary Attlin was unsure in his own mind whether it was to ask where he should be sleeping the night (dear Faranth, give him a room however small with no people in it) or for a lift home because clearly he was doing no good here.


"Hey," said Cuylar once a young apprentice had informed him that Attlin was back. "Are you OK? You look a little… overwhelmed."


“It’s very busy here, isn’t it?” Attlin still had that crisp politeness to him, but he seemed a little more ruffled now, a formerly big fish drowned in the immense lake that was the Weyr.


"It's definitely always on here. Are you going to stay the night?" Cuylar wondered. Now was a good a time as any to invite Attlin to play cards. After all, the man seemed to want desperately for friends. And if he was anything like his son… maybe a shoulder to cry on.


“..Maybe I should go home.” Attlin sounded as though he was testing the idea for size. “The boy hardly needs me, and-- I tried to get to see the Weyrleaders but they’re all in meetings.”


"Well. I can take you home after my shift is over if you like. Or you're welcome to come join me and my friends for a round of cards. Guest picks the game, if you like," Cuylar smiled broadly. "Plus, I've got matching stoneware now. And I could put together a mean little snack. Smoked meats, pickles, cheese, the whole nine paces. Some ale, maybe?"


It was a kind offer. Attlin looked as though someone had invited him to a wher-fighting match, possibly with the intent that he personally fight the whers. “Thank you, but I haven’t played cards in turns,” he excused himself hastily. Or gone to that kind of gathering in turns either. The thought felt terrifying, overwhelming, as though that type of socialising was a skill long-lost and impossible to recover.


"Come for the company?" Cuylar offered. Then he smiled and shook his head. "I understand, I don't mean to press you. I'll get you home to your own bed tonight, no worries."


“It’s not like-- the boy has the books now, anyway.” Attlin sounded as though he were trying to excuse his own absence to himself. It wasn’t quite working though. “But-- shells, I can’t leave him without talking to someone, can I?” Not without understanding what had happened. Not without knowing he was safe.


"You wound me, sir," said Cuylar, though he smiled to soften it. "I can introduce you to the Weyrhealer or to the Candidatemaster or both, if it would be a suitable substitute for the Weyrleaders," he suggested.


“The CandidateMaster.” That sounded like a workable promise and he relaxed a little. “I just-- I need to know how it happened.” As though if he understood the how it might become more palatable, the truth might wash the horror away. It seemed unlikely but he needed it regardless. “I don’t understand how he missed this.”


"The Candidatemaster has a lot on her plate, and she relies on her assistants to help her," said Cuylar. "That one of those assistants could do something so vile isn't anything anyone would start off expecting. And that aside, as I told you before, the Weyr has been dealing with a field trip, an explosion, and a Hatching…"


"You said it yourself – it's very busy here."


None of which felt like reasons that would prevent it happening again. Attlin sighed. “I know what you said, and I know what he wants but-- he would be safer at home.” Unhappy maybe but safe.


Cuylar frowned and tilted his head as he pondered for a moment.


"Well. It's been easy enough for me to bring you and Sherill here. What if Garatt spent some of his time here and some of his time there? And you could, too."


It seemed to Cuylar that getting out of that Hold all by himself would do Attlin some good, too.


“There are explosions here,” Attlin said slowly, as though Cuylar hadn’t heard himself speak. “They’re too busy to notice if a child is attacked. They gave me a guard in case I got attacked!” Admittedly the guard had been fourteen, but still. “This is not a safe place.”


"There was an explosion here," Cuylar pointed out, though the tone of his voice made it clear he knew this was a weak defense. "And… I noticed. And I did my best to intervene. I'm sorry that I didn't… couldn't do enough to stop it before it got this bad. I've been here for… ten Turns or so, and it's never been… this bad."


Earthquakes and floods and plagues, after all, happened everywhere. Not just at the Weyr.


“You’re a Healer,” Attlin said shortly. “By the time you were intervening the boy was already hurt, by nature. He--” He looked honestly bewildered, a little hurt but mostly confused. “How can he prefer it here?” Because as far as Attlin could see it was a terrible terrible place.


"Did you ask him?" Cuylar wondered. He wished he could tell Attlin everything that Garatt told Elphith. Or anything that Garatt told Elphith. But he could not betray the boy's confidence.


Attlin’s expression shuttered, closing off. “I-- wanted to go find the Weyrleaders.” Garatt had been busy, Garatt had been happy and Attlin had just.. Not been able to stay in that room.


"I think the two of you would understand each other much better if you would talk to each other. And tell each other how you're really feeling," said Cuylar. The sort of thing a Mindhealer might tell them.


Attlin gave him the sort of look that suggested Cuylar might as well have proposed taking his pants off in public. “We talk.” About.. Hold things. Work. Easy stuff.


"But not about why he wants to stay here?" Cuylar asked. "If you want to know, he would be the best one to explain it. And if you want him home because you're worried about him, he might be more inclined to come without fighting you… if he knew that was why."


And yet how to even begin that conversation? The thought made Attlin sweat, made him hot, clammy and abruptly so uncomfortable that even staying in this conversation felt unbearable. “The CandidateMaster.” A quick subject change. “Will I need to stay the night to speak with him?”


"You can try to drop in tonight to speak with her," said Cuylar, correcting the pronoun again. "But I would think you might have better luck tomorrow. It's up to you. And if you try tonight, and she's not in, then you can still try again tomorrow."


“It’s a girl?” He caught it this time and that clearly surprised him, Holder prejudices running unconsciously deep. “For all of them?”


"The Candidatemaster is a woman, yes," Cuylar confirmed. Well, he was bound to run into some Holderism from a Holder sooner or later. "For all of them."


“Ah.” A moment for that to sink in, considering it. “Well, I suppose if she’s the motherly type?” he suggested tentatively after a minute.


Cuylar quirked an eyebrow.


"She is an experienced teacher," he said finally. "And she was instrumental in organizing the search that found and saved Garatt. And arrested his tormentor."


“She-- the search?” Oh, he caught that all right. He looked at Cuylar sharply, eyes narrowing a minute. “Saved him from what?”


"From the rogue assistant who was tormenting him," said Cuylar. He realized he had opened the wrong door, but there was no going back there. He would have learned these things if he had spoken to his son. 


"He didn't come to us when this happened. We found him."


Attlin gave him a long hard look and this time there was little of the vulnerability, more of the very capable Holder who was able to run his hold and order men who had been there since before he was born without turning a hair. “I think,” he said flatly, “you’d better tell me the whole story. Hadn’t you.”


Cuylar sighed.


"I meant to leave some of this for Garatt to tell you himself. I know he's not an adult yet, but I felt a boy his age deserves some measure of… private dignity. But if you insist. You are the boy's father. You deserve to know."


"As I said, I already had my suspicions about the rogue assistant. I treated Garatt for welts on his hand and documented this in a report, which I submitted through the proper channels. But because of the attack and the subsequent Hatching, these channels were slowed."


"I missed an appointment with Garatt, to whom I had prescribed a sleep study. You see, the Candidatemasters sent him to me for trouble sleeping in the first place, and this was when I had occasion to see he was favoring his hand. He was struggling to keep this a secret. He did not want anyone to know what happened."


"I suspected his troubles were due to his proximity to the rogue assistant and was correct that he had no trouble sleeping in the Infirmary. I missed the appointment because of the… the Hatching. More than one Candidate was severely injured by overeager hatchlings, and I was required to help late into the night."


"When I was not there, a substitute observed him in my stead. He slept very poorly without me. He… did not feel as safe without me. And the next night, he attempted to flee the Weyr rather than be sent back to the Barracks – his tormentor convinced him that would be his fate if he stayed. I presume he cajoled him into running to dispose of the evidence of what he had done."


"And that is the rest of the story."


The control required for Attlin to listen quietly without interrupting, protesting or asking questions must have been immense. He stood perfectly still, his face like stone, only the faint whistle of breath indrawn in something that wasn’t quite a gasp to show a reaction. At his sides his hands curled slightly as though into fists and then consciously relaxed. 


“Thank you for telling me.” And that reply was very much on his dignity, retreating back into formal politeness as though..as though he needed it for a moment or two, as though the formal mask provided safe cover for locking emotions back into place. “I believe.. I believe I should wait to make an appointment with the Weyrleaders.” 


"If you need to yell at someone… I have a place where you can do it, where no one else will hear," Cuylar offered softly.


The boy had been scared, scared enough to run, scared enough not to sleep, and no-one had noticed.. Or those who had noticed had been unable to help. “How long?” Attlin’s question was quiet. “How long was this man.. hurting him before he ran away?” He’d gone very still, but the shutters had come down now, emotions locked firmly back. He needed to be able to discuss this calmly, to find the correct information.


"Physically, it was twice," said Cuylar. At least, the beatings. As far as he knew. Shells. "But the man was bullying him in class for… sometime before the field trip up until he ran. Are you sure you wouldn't rather yell at me?" he asked just as quietly. He had never meant to withhold information. Just to let Garatt be the one to give it. Patient privacy… something…


“I don't see how it would help.” Attlin seemed genuinely confused by the offer, kindly meant though it clearly was. If he was going to be angry, surely it should be used to achieve something.


"I've spent a lot of time lately trying to figure out what I could have done to fix this sooner and blaming myself for not having thought of it, whatever it was," said Cuylar. He shrugged and then turned his gaze downward. "I guess I feel like I deserve to be yelled at. For failing him."


“If I thought shouting at you would keep him or anyone else the slightest bit safer, I’d be raising my voice,” Attlin said plainly. “But I don’t. Shouting for the sake of shouting is just..unpleasant.” He shrugged, a man who might frown because it was the shape his face fell into naturally but apparently viewed a yell as something to be held in reserve. “If anything, I shouldn’t have let him come to the Weyr. But shouting won’t fix that either.”


"This isn't your fault, either," said Cuylar. "I…" He sighed. "I want to help. But I just don't know how. I want to make everything better. And I'll do my best. For now, should I head to get your sister-in-law?"


“Please,” Attlin agreed. Much as he didn’t always get along with Sherill.. This needed her. This needed someone who could do the things he couldn’t.



--

Blackadder: I mean, what about the people that do all the work?
Baldrick: The servants.
Blackadder: No, me; *I'm* the people who do all the work.


Taking a break (attn Zy'fen/I'des)

Amy Frazey
 

Zy'fen sat down hard on the bench just outside his weyr, and put the crutches beside him. The past few months of physical therapy was paying off, but it was hard work. He was worn out from that day's round of physical activity, and wished for something cool to drink, since it was afternoon and the sun was beating down. Unfortunately, the pitcher in the weyr was empty.

Zy'fen wiped his hand across his sweaty forehead and looked around to see if there was someone nearby whose attention he could catch, to ask them for a favor.


DragonHealer Checking In (Larsin/Ardeth)

Laura Walker
 

Because Arolos wasn’t Fort when a rider, even a rider like M’ayen, couldn’t take care of his dragon someone took care of it. So, as he got arrested a note had gone from the Weyrleader’s office to the Healers asking whether they could add Ardeth to the dragons taken care of for injured patients -- though R’tal had thought it prudent to add that it should not be by unsupervised children.


And Healers noticed things, even while they were just cleaning and oiling. Notes started to go back quietly to the DragonHealer’s. Ardeth was, understandably, upset. Forgetful. Not eating. Could one of them just take a look?


Because of the man M’ayen used to be; because of the high profile of this patient, Larsin took it upon himself to go and check the former Fortian’s bronze. Because no one was around to tell Ardeth to go see him--and Larsin didn’t want it to be an order, he went to M’ayen’s weyr, where Ardeth should be sunning himself at this time of day.


When he got there, he saw what the reports were telling him. This was another type of depression--Talith was depressed because he couldn’t see, Ardeth was depressed because his rider was locked up. He wondered if it would help Talith to know that just because he couldn’t see didn’t mean he still had no life. Ardeth’s...might be over.


It didn’t matter though. He wanted to talk to the bronze himself.


“So, Ardeth,” he said, putting on the jovial air he wore when he was extremely worried, “how are you doing today? Have you eaten anything? I see they just got a shipment of plump bovines, just for the dragons.”


((I ate earlier. I think?)) It was confusing. Ardeth had been used to leaning on his rider’s memory for the every day minutiae of life. Now M’ayen wasn’t there watching what happened when and things got out of order. He could remember eating at some point, but not exactly when. ((...Yesterday,)) he decided after a long slow moment’s thought. Though that was mostly because he felt as though it hadn’t been today. 


This wasn’t good. He drew out his notebook and jotted something down. 


“Well, are you hungry?” he asked. Full-sized dragons normally ate once a week, give or take a day or two. And M’ayen had only been imprisoned for a few days. So not time to worry yet. 


 ((I don’t feel like hunting.)) Ardeth rested his head on the ground, watching Larsin through whirling eyes. ((If I wait, do you think they’ll let him hunt with me?)) he said wistfully though he surely had to know that the answer to that was going to be ‘no’.


“No, not yet,” Larsin said. “He and the Weyrleaders have a difference of opinion, and they’re working it out. He may be allowed to watch you hunt from a distance one day, but until then you need to keep your strength up.” He scribbled something else on his pad. “Are there any dragons you may be friends with?”


((Not really.)) Ardeth admitted. ((Usually I sleep.)) Even before M’ayen had been arrested. He was old, the sun was warm and he’d snoozed through most of the drama, waking only when things were already very bad.


Larsin frowned. Ardeth was a bit over sixty Turns old. There were dragonpairs out there where the dragon was even older. So why was Ardeth so apathetic? He wondered if the short(er) lifespan of people from Old Fort were shorter for more reason than their cutthroat ways. The Fort Protectorate had never been known to be all that rich. Maybe the lack of decent food had something to do with that. Or, maybe there was something bad in the water. Or soil. Mercury. Or lead. He jotted that down in his notebook.


“Ardeth, I want you to eat something. So, you can go hunt and I’ll go with you. Or, I can have a dragon bring you something. Either way, you need to eat at least one herdbeast. We’ll get this thing between the Weyrleaders and your rider straightened out so you can be happier, but it’s not going to happen overnight.”


Maybe, with his forgetfulness, Ardeth would forget what Larsin said. Though he was going to have to write up a report for the Weyrleaders.


((You’ll ask them to let him go?)) For the first time Ardeth sounded slightly more alert, head raising from the ground, headknobs pricking up. Suddenly he sounded awake, rather than a dragon who could barely gather energy to be bothered with the conversation.


“I’ll ask them.” Little hope there was of that, but it gave the dragon hope. “I can’t promise anything, but I will ask them. And even if they agree, it won’t be for a while. And it will only be for a little bit.” He was already making scheduling recommendations in his head.


((He didn’t mean to do anything bad.)) Given that hope, even the barest grain of hope, Ardeth was ready to talk if only to try to convince Larsin. ((They told him he had to find out information about who helped a bad boy, and then they got angry because he tried. It’s not his fault.))


“I know. But I think what happened was, he didn’t use good judgement.” Larsin thought for a moment. There wasn’t an easy way for a human to explain self-control…


“Okay. You’ve seen a lot of Hatchings. And, you see a lot of hungry Hatchlings. And the only thing they want is to be fed. And even when they’ve had enough, because they are young and ignorant, if their lifemates didn’t stop them, they’d continue eating until they got sick.


“Well, for people, there are people out there who find they like something, and find out they like it so much they can’t stop. And I think that’s what happened to Yours--they told him to find out information, and when he tried, he enjoyed his methods too much. And he went too far. Like a Hatchling eating too much. And now, instead of getting sick, he’s being punished because he’s not a Hatchling, he’s an adult and should have known when to stop.” 


It made more sense than most of the explanations that had been offered, which had mostly focused on M’ayen being bad (and M’ayen could not be bad, Ardeth loved him too much for that to be true). For a minute or two, he was quiet. ((He only used the methods from home,)) he offered. ((He says it is because they do not understand how getting information works. Or-- or they know, but they don’t like it, they just wanted the information to happen.))


“Right. But he misunderstood them--they didn’t want him to use those methods, but he did. And he took it a little too far, and the one boy ran away. If this had been back home, the boy would have known to expect it. But, it’s like when you first came to live here--you didn’t know there could be so much sun, and so much heat. So it was all new to you.


“They weren’t expecting Yours to bring Home here. And that’s all he knew. So that’s why they’re mad at him. And they’re trying to figure out what to do, to keep him from doing things the old way, and they’re doing it the only way they know how.”


((He was a bad boy,)) Ardeth said thoughtfully, having picked that much from his rider’s mind. ((Lazy. He needed to be told what to do. Mine was teaching him to be better.)) He sighed, a deep dragon-sized sigh. ((If I told him to say sorry, would they let him go then?))


Larsin sighed. “You could, but I think that even if he told them sorry, he needs to mean it. He’s like you--he doesn’t understand what he did wrong, but he’s different from you because you now understand. But, if he says he’s sorry, and he means it, they might be nicer to him in a while.”


Kassia wasn’t so heartless that she’d allow a dragon to just waste away. Was she?


((He’s angry with them. He thinks they wanted this and won’t admit it. And that their ways don’t work.)) Ardeth gave another of those enormous sighs. ((But I will talk to him.))


Larsin nodded. “Also, people have things called moods. I’ve never seen a dragon other than…” Another brilliant analogy! 


“You know how Foreth gets with her eggs? Well, the Weyrwoman is pregnant and it’s the same thing, in a way. So she’s always, well, crabby.


“And M’ayen, he’s getting older, like you. And some people, when they get older, get in really bad moods because they don’t like what’s happening to them.


“Now, the two of them are in a Foreth mood right now. So one of them needs to, well, stop being in that mood. And the Weyrwoman is going to keep her mood for another three months.” Larsin looked at Ardeth expectantly. He had a feeling Ardeth would understand this.


Ardeth contemplated this new fact a long time. ((The bad boy made him feel all kinds of different things,)) he volunteered unexpectedly. ((Sometimes when he had a mood that made him stop.))


What? “What do you mean, a mood that made him stop?” What kind of mood would make someone want to stop?


((When he was in class and--)) Ardeth hesitated, but Larsin was helping. ((You aren’t meant to know that he can’t see them,)) he confessed very quietly, a draconic whisper. ((But he can’t, not without the glasses. Only the ones at the front. And it used to give him one of those moods because they would misbehave and he couldn’t see which ones.))


Larsin’s eyes widened. So, M’ayen couldn’t see. That explained a lot. Anyone who was in a position of trust would be upset, and by all accounts, M’ayen was a control freak. And a control freak who couldn’t see was only a freak. He smiled at that.


“So the people he disciplined may not have been the ones doing something? Or he punished the whole class?”


((He puts some of the ones who cause trouble in the front row. Like the bad boy,)) Ardeth explained helpfully. ((Then if he punishes them, the class knows he can see who they are and don’t know he can’t see the other ones. And then they’re sorry and he feels better and his mood goes away.))


So the boy who’d run away had been singled out. But, that was probably how they did it at Fort, too.


“Well, it looks like Yours really went overboard with the way Fort did things.” There had to be some poison in the air, to make people act like that. There had to be!


“I’ll make sure the Weyrleaders know it was a mood thing.” Hmm. He wondered about giving M’ayen some type of medication that would make him...nicer. Maybe the New Fort people had something.


“You need to convince him that he misunderstood the Weyrwoman. And that what he did was not right under the rules here. And he needs to apologize, and it needs to be sincere.”


((He was a bad boy who needed punishing though.)) And if this was leaking from M’ayen as it seemed to be, the chances of sincere repentance seemed low. ((He fell asleep. And helped the other boy when he wasn’t meant to Impress. And.. and.. )) Ardeth searched for other crimes that justified his utter certainty that punishment given was punishment deserved. ((..made him feel wrong.))


“He didn’t help anyone Impress. The people who helped A’shran Impress have all admitted their guilt. A’shran went out of his way to make sure the boy didn’t know,” Larsin said. He had ears. And he had an ‘in’ in the Weyrling barracks.


“What do you mean, made him feel wrong? Because at least on that, he was wrong.”


((...Wrong,)) Ardeth said after a moment. ((Like he wanted to do things he shouldn’t. That was why he had to send him away.))


“Oh.” Larsin still didn’t understand, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. “Send him away where?”


((Away,)) Ardeth emphasised. ((He wanted to keep him, but he told him he had to go out of the Weyr instead so he couldn’t. Because the boy was bad and kept making him want to do things that would be wrong.)) He sighed, this time as though Larsin was being particularly slow. ((He kept making me chase. I don’t mind chasing but catching is hard work. Greens are too fast now.))


He had to send the boy away, then ask Ardeth to...oh. Oh, Faranth. What was wrong with that man?


“You...probably shouldn’t chase greens who are so much younger,” Larsin said. “You shouldn’t over-exert yourself. It could be bad for you.” 


((They won’t let me now anyway.)) Ardeth was uncertain as to why, and probably wouldn’t have cared so much if it weren’t for the fact that the forbidding implied disgrace for him as well as his rider. ((I don’t know why. They said I was helpful.))


Helpful? Whatever. “I think it’s a good thing anyway,” Larsin said. “You’re not so strong anymore, and you could hurt yourself badly. I would probably have asked for you to be forbidden, just so you could live longer. So, it’s a good thing.”


((I’m strong!)) A flash of buried bronze pride at that, slightly insulted by the implications. ((We can still fight a full Fall!)) Even if he did otherwise tend to nap through a great deal of the day.


“Oh, fighting a fall would be easy for you. You are still strong.” Larsin chuckled at Ardeth’s pride. “But I’ve known young dragons who have been hurt, hurt badly, by a greenflight. And look at what happened to Foreth during her mating flight! It’s not often you see a queen dragon break her leg. And she’s still young. Ish. Her leg mended. Yours would not heal so well.” He stepped forward and patted Ardeth on the jowl. “No, after a certain age I tend to ask that male dragons not be allowed to chase. I’d rather they be hale for Threadfall than hurting from a bad flight. It’s not just you.” He then listed off a few other dragons--blue, brown and bronze--who he’d asked to have restricted from greenflights.


((I could catch a gold if I wanted to,)) Ardeth boasted, and actually sat up for that brag, wings opening slightly, far more lively than he’d been thus far in the conversation. Male pride would apparently do what no amount of persuasion might achieve. ((..If mine would let me. He doesn’t like the golds here. But I could.))


“I have no doubt you could. How many golds have you caught back home?”


((..Some.)) Ardeth’s memory was fuzzy on that point. Golds he remembered. Eggs he remembered. Numbers.. Well, that was a subject he was fuzzier on. ((The Weyrwoman’s gold, last.)) he remembered proudly. ((We were good Weyrleaders.)) In his mind at least. Even if M’ayen had had to swallow his pride and ask a friend to help with Fall after so long teaching the Candidates. 


He shook his wings now, suddenly enlivened at the memory. ((I could catch Foreth here,)) he boasted. ((And then we would fix everything and mine would not be in trouble any more.))


“I’ll bet you could,” Larsin said. What he wanted to say was something like, ‘let me know how that works out for you,’ or ‘a weed’s chance in Threadfall’ but Ardeth was looking pretty good now. Still grey, still skinny…


“Y’know, if you could catch Foreth, why can’t you catch a herdbeast?” he asked off-handedly.


((I could.)) Ardeth considered that now he was feeling more awake, giving himself a good scratch while he thought about it. Alyx had given him a good oiling but it was still easy for an out of condition dragon to develop dry patches and his side itched suddenly. ((I might.))


“Mmm,” Larsin said skeptically. Would the dragon take the ‘dare’ and go hunt? Or would he see 

right through the DragonHealer. “Yeah, usually when I say I might, it means that I won’t, because I can’t. But, I’m sure that’s not true in your case.”


((I can catch a herdbeast!)) That was an indignant yelp as Ardeth spread his wings, testing them. It had been a good few days lying around doing very little; he didn’t particularly want to stumble through take off and embarrass himself. ((Whichever herdbeast you want.))


Larsin kept himself from smiling. “There’s a nice, plump black and white one over in the corner. She’s been eating the best grass, so I think the others need the chance to get some of the good stuff.” He’d already picked one out for Ardeth--not too small, not too big, but meatier than some of the others. The beefiness would also make the herdbeast a tad slower.


((I’ll catch her. You’ll see.)) And he was off, up and away, powerful wings beating for only for a few seconds before he settled into a glide over to the hunting fields. Pride successfully prickled, it seemed.


Larsin nodded, and noted a few more things in his notebook. Appeal to the dragon’s pride. He hoped that this method worked again, if they had any more problems. Meanwhile, though, he needed to write up a report to the Weyrleaders. He didn’t know if what he discovered would help or not, but he would try.


Not for the man. Never for the man. But for the dragon.







--

Blackadder: I mean, what about the people that do all the work?
Baldrick: The servants.
Blackadder: No, me; *I'm* the people who do all the work.


Re: Trying to be Subtle atten: Tamalack/Kalain

Laurie
 

Tamalak laughed. "She's had a crush on you since almost the first time she met you," he said. "Though I'm sure she's had other boyfriends since Eglanth started to rise. But, I think you're her first crush."


On Tue, Oct 13, 2020 at 5:59 AM sailyn2 <empressoftheworld@...> wrote:
"Why?" Kalain asked, truly oblivious. He never had picked up on her desire for him.

Sleek curled up with Kato, ready for sleep now that Kalain was settled and maybe could sleep.


Re: You look like a match! (Tyne's flits/Sontal)

Nutmeg
 

This one certainly seemed a good match. He was the right size and shape. The correlations made the urgency about the fire lizards increase all the more. They poked and they prodded the lad, chattering excitedly between themselves. An overly enthusiastic blue seemed to be getting into quite the vehement argument with a less opinionated brown. The brown of course, having the better mental capacity wasn't quite as convinced as the others and was querying the differences between the image he had and the Sontal-warped version that the others were sharing between themselves with more and more certainty.

A pair of greens hopped forwards to scrutinise Sontal. Whilst the others were arguing, they were more curious and they shared the image they had that was almost Sontal but had clearly adjusted slightly to try and make him fit. The curiosity wrapped around it was quite obvious, as was its meaning and intent as they stared quizzically at him.

On Thu, Oct 1, 2020 at 12:57 AM Aaron <cobalt.knight@...> wrote:
In seconds, the group had surrounded Sontal, landing on the table he was at, flapping their wings as they chattered and squawked at him. The image of the boy was being sent furiously back and forth between them as they peered at him. One brown, clearly the more confident of the group grabbed a hold of his sleeve, pulling insistently at it as though trying to urge him to follow them somewhere.

Sontal nearly fell backward out of his seat at the table where he sat doing his book learning when the firelizards appeared. What did they want? It seemed they were after him to do something, but he could not possibly imagine what.

"What do you need?" he asked the brown. "I don't have anything to eat." His voice had strange quality to it. He had not heard much of his own voice in a couple of Turns, and his muscle memory of speech only got him so far.






--
Nutmeg on the Wizzy.
Recluso#6042 on Discord

I'm sometimes slow and have the memory of a sieve at times, so don't hesitate to poke me if you think you've been forgotten!


Re: Matchmaker! Matchmaker! Att: Nykantiath/Kasheth

sailyn2
 

Kasheth looked up from where he'd been curled in the sun, surprised at the gold's words. He was used to Foreth who either demanded what she wanted or eshewed other dragons altogether. That the gold was requesting his attention was both flattering and suspicious.

((I don't mind,)) he said politely. ((I have a nice patch of sun and would share it with a beautiful gold.))