Hot Springs, High Reaches Area
Even further north than the Weyr itself, a short flight between crags and over crevasses that even a wing-scarred veteran of Fall might undertake, a cluster of clearings lies low in the shelter of hardy trees and ancient stone. The outer two clearings might have been lost to more stubbly trees Turns ago, if it weren't for the centre-most: a natural pool of warm, softly bubbling water several dragonlengths across, with enough space for perhaps a half-dozen people and their lifemates. Though the air is cold all Turn round, and snowdrifts frequently whiten the ground, the geothermal activity heats the mineral-scented water to such a consistently comfortable heat that it becomes a refuge for those who don't wish to travel further afield to wash their dragons.
Of the clearings that abut the spring, the nearest is only a few steps away, though it's small enough that only a few dragons can lounge at once. A steep trail descends to its substantially larger neighbor, a gravel-strewn crescent with enough space to spread out and enjoy the crisp air and the mountain range's admittedly spectacular views.
H'kon and Arekoth have not been making a habit of going too far from the Weyr, for whatever reasons they have, and whatever names by which they may be called. The hot springs, apparently, don't count as too far, at least not on mornings when Avalanche is not drilling, and the brown pair are profiting from an empty-but-for-them pool. From the basket near folded clothes on the pool's edge, H'kon has got hold of a heavy brush. It's this brush that is making Arekoth crane his neck so his rider can get just there. Yeah. Right there. Half-lidded happy eyes ensue.
The solitude of this pool is no doubt one of the many features that make it so attractive. So when the small, still-pretty-foreign blue appears overhead, it's probably not the most thrilling occurrence. And neither is the sight of the brown and his rider below. Oswinth himself doesn't care, dropping down on the shore in a rather awkward landing, but after she climbs down from his shoulder, Vienne's expression is a little shy when she glances toward H'kon and Arekoth, guilty for interrupting their private time. She does wave though, visible through the mist the pool lets off, and then a push of her hands sends her lifemate toward the water while she lingers at the edge, a bag over her shoulder.
Arekoth, eyes still partway lidded, is well aware of that new-blue's approach. As Oswinth lands, the brown's craned neck changes position, moving until one eye is pointed at the newly arrived pair. It's only when H'kon pauses his scrubbing that this eye opens all the way. The dragon takes his sweet time in letting his head loll over until he's looking at Oswinth right-on, both eyes open. H'kon is more grudging, taking a bracing breath before he pushes from Arekoth's side, peers through the steam, and gives a nod. "Vienne," is only after a moment used to dig through his memory.
Oswinth emits a polite rumble when Arekoth's attention is so fully turned to him, but in doing as his rider asks and sinking out into the water, the swirling heat steals a good deal of his concern from interrupting the semi-Weyrleader pair. He lets out a thick, dragony sigh and eases himself down, limbs and wings working beneath the surface to stir up bubbling currents. And given all the steam and the winter chill in the air, a glance around informs Vienne that just about everything here is disappointingly slick, either damp or icy. But H'kon's greeting, curt and simple though it may be, has her smiling a little, privately amused. "H'kon," she returns, wiping that expression from her face. "Or should I call you 'Sir' now?" After some consideration, she chooses a rock to sit on, letting her bag drop to rest on the ground beside it.
The brown is mostly undisturbed by Oswinth's agitations of the water; Arekoth, after a time, simply extends his his wing, just so, in pointed invitation for H'kon to resume his scrubbing. The compact man is less eager to return to things, any bit of momentum that might have had him going back to normal halted by that would-be formal address. It makes him wince, an expression that resolves itself soon enough into a set brow. "Please do not."
"Sorry," she replies evenly, letting her attention turn from the man to her blue, watching as he wallows around, smiling to herself for the continuation of relieved grunts and melting rumbles. It's a short-lived smile, though, and eventually Vienne turns thoughtful as she sits there on her rock in the relative warm of the spring's vicinity. A skeptical eyes slides back toward H'kon. "Because you don't like titles or because you're uncomfortable wearing that one? Sir." She's not calling him by it, just testing it out.
It's not a continuation he was anticipating, and H'kon stays frozen, stays with brow furrowed, and blinks, once, at the bluerider. After ample time for thought, the slightest turn of his mouth warns of a resumption of animation. "Titles are important," is nearly a concession. "When rightly applied." Arekoth's wing stretches a bit farther out. Still waiting. It's probably a mental cue that warrants a quick sidelong glance from his rider.
Vienne is hardly surprised, skepticism proven correct when H'kon makes his admission. "So are you just a human barrier, then? A cork?" She doesn't exactly smile, but a corner of her mouth hitches upward; maybe whatever H'kon has is contagious. He might not be particularly close, and there might be all that moisture in the air, but she studies the brownrider. And in turn, Oswinth rotates around to come back toward shore, laying down in the shallows with his head on the spring's lip, his eyes fixed on Vienne.
If there's a similarity in Vienne's not smile, it's not noted. H'kon's reclaimed frown is for the topic at hand. "Something must stand between-" A following word is cut off when his tongue presses the back of his teeth, before any of the initial sound can be made. "There must be a balance until the Weyr is under proper leadership. Perhaps, you" and now he's willing to move his head, looking the mostly-foreign bluerider over in turn, "might think that should warrant a title. But any title I would take is certain to want to be shared." Arekoth's snort saves H'kon the trouble of making one himself. It's also an easy out, a reason to look back to his lifemate and away from Vienne. A reason to raise up that brush and start at the brown's shoulder.
If only he didn't cut himself off. Not that Vienne perks up for his change in direction, she just listens, letting her glance pass to her waiting dragon and back again. While Arekoth might insist on some attention, Oswinth seems satisfied to lounge and wait, his lids falling half-shut. And as for what Vienne thinks about titles, the bluerider shakes her head. "Can you fault me for not knowing the protocol?" she asks, quips perhaps, with that almost-smile taking better hold. "I was just trying to be polite." She lets a few moment of silence pass before she wonders, "Stand between what?" Maybe all she was really asking was whether or not she should call him sir, but now...
Arekoth goes so far as to turn the tip of his hooked snout in his rider's general direction as H'kon sets to scrubbing. Green eyes stay intently focused on the task at hand. Maybe that makes answering Vienne - even with some semblance of apology, or at least something more sympathetic, considering an entry into his tones - easier. "I don't believe there is a protocol to know in this matter." At one point in his scrubbing, he grabs for one of Arekoth's ridges, to give himself a better angle. If he's more hidden from Vienne, so be it. If, "There must be balance," is muffled when it does come out, so be that, too. "Until the Weyr is under a firm and proper leadership."
With H'kon retreating behind his dragon, retreating into his repetition, Vienne has no further questions to ask. Instead, she just goes about her own business, pulling off a mitten to run her fingers through a bit of hair, murmuring something to Oswinth about just soaking for a while. It hardly matters, really, since it's unlikely H'kon or Arekoth have much attention to pay her. Meanwhile, the vapor in the air stirs a cough that catches her off guard. But sometime after she recovers, it becomes clear that the thoughts have continued to roll around in her head, since she asks, "What kind of firm and proper leadership are you expecting?"
H'kon has hauled himself still farther up Arekoth, bared chest now meeting the winter air, hot water steaming off of him. It's not a comfortable position. It's not one he keeps long, sparing only a quick glance over his dragon's shoulder and to Vienne, before he drops back down into the water. There might even be a relieved sigh before he starts making his way around to the brown's other side. "What sort of leadership has ever been expected in a Weyr?" is almost didactic. "One gold will have to rise decisively. I believe whatever is in the dragons' blood will see to that." Pause. "Ichor." Headshake. "A proper flight, a proper catch. Decisive." Arekoth takes over the staring-at-Vienne role when H'kon focuses on scrubbing the dragon's leg, beneath the water.
"Do you think that the balance will hold out that long?" Vienne wonders, not quite dubious, not quite concerned. Her words are even as her gaze slips out across the steamy springs without seeing much of anything. "Until ichor can take the decision out of everyone's hands?" And if Arekoth is watching, perhaps he'll notice her lips pursing momentarily, though it's hardly the sort of thing dragons usually concern themselves with. "Is it just that you don't want to be Sir," she starts to formulate, that unseeing stare narrowing at nothing. "Or is there some other reason you don't want the scales to tip in that direction?" She might not really ask with any expectation of an answer, at least not one that needs to be spoken to her. It's perhaps just something to think about.
It's the sort of question that will even have H'kon stopping in his dragon bathing motions. He keeps his gaze firmly on Arekoth, even when he shakes his head. "Not easily," is much to fatalistic in tone to suit words that are trying so very hard not to be a straight-out negation. Arekoth's gaze on Vienne stays quite sharp, for all that he doesn't much react to her. It might be more the act of staring, than what he actually sees, that's important to the brown. "That is not the direction with which I am concerned." There's a final few scrubs to Arekoth's leg, and H'kon half-paddles back from Arekoth, to inspect his handiwork. And then, finally, turns back to Vienne. "Address me as you see fit. But know my position is only a stewardship." It sounds of dismissal.
With the weight of that dragon stare on her, Vienne turns her eyes to meet it, looking back at Arekoth. And something in it seems to stir her own lifemate, his comfortable repose shifting slightly, head tipped to keep tabs on the brown from the corner of his eye. "If the balance is so precarious, why not tip it in the direction you're more comfortable with rather than risk it going the other way?" Vienne considers. Though that thought ends in a mirthless laugh. "Aside from the possibility of all-out bald-faced conflict." She makes a face for that prospect, enough so that it's likely clear her question should not be mistaken for anything other than it is, a thought rather than a suggestion. But leaving her bag by the rock, she gets to her feet again, gesturing for Oswinth to follow her in the water as she moves away, giving the quasi-Weyrleader space while he completes his dragon scrubbing.
H'kon presses his lips firmly together. When he does finally get back to looking after Vienne, it's with a perfectly dour expression on his face. "It is not a question of which brownrider ought to try muscle into the weyrleader's place. Provisional leadership should not go about trying to make drastic changes." Satisfied, and with Vienne moving, H'kon makes his way to the pool's edge, where his clothes are waiting. "My duty to my Weyr is to prevent those," is the last spoken in any physical comfort. The worst part of any visit to the hot springs in winter is, after all, getting back out again before going on one's way.
"Good thing you haven't been involved in any drastic change, then," Vienne returns, spinning on her heel as she walks, to send those words back at H'kon with a teasing bit of smile. "You're the one worried about the balance." So he can stop implying she wants to see any muscling at all. After all, that would suggest she has a preference on the matter. But she lifts her hand again, a wave to H'kon as he prepares to head back to the Weyr, then her attention turns to Oswinth, asking how the water feels.
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