Logs:Calm After
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| RL Date: 18 October, 2014 |
| Who: H'kon, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Exhausted by work and deaths, H'kon and Madilla try to make some sense of things. Sleep wins out in the end. |
| Where: H'kon and Madilla's Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 1, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Light rain at High Reaches, while the storm continues at Tillek. |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Dilan/Mentions, Dr'val/Mentions, Haeron/Mentions, Raija/Mentions |
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| There are only a few coals left that give off any warmth in the brazier that a very helpful Dilan set up for Arekoth, to soothe that old injury made fresh by the night's exertion. The boy himself, and his adoptive sister, have long since fallen asleep. Carrying Raija to her bed seems to have been H'kon's final effort for the evening. A few pillows and one blanket keep him company now, no nearer Arekoth's couch - not now, anyway - than that piece of furniture going by the same name. He's been dozing, but only lightly. He hears the sounds of Madilla's arrival, rouses, sitting up, blinking against exhaustion in an attempt to get his eyes to focus, while arms stay more or less in his lap, half-dead. The rain has started to fall at High Reaches by the time Madilla gets home, but it's not heavy-- not like that storm out there at sea, the one that's still raging away by all reports. Damp-haired, the healer pauses by the couch, glancing down to where her son has curled up not far from the brown; she hesitates, and then continues on into the weyr. Her cheeks are pale, her hands shaking; she's silent as she crosses to that couch, to collapse onto it alongside her weyrmate; she's silent even then, as though the words just won't come. For her, H'kon can force his arms into motion. His legs are more willing, though, and he slides nearer first, then brings his hand to Madilla's back. The motion is stiff; the hand is warm. H'kon seems unbothered enough by any rain still clinging. He nods, faintly, then turns to look at her, an unhurried inspection, his face serious as ever, but more deeply lined by the fatigue and emotion of the night. Madilla clearly takes comfort in the sensation of touch; she lets out a sighing exhale, her eyes fluttering closed for several long seconds. When she manages to open them again, it's to turn her head to meet H'kon's gaze. "How are you?" she asks, searching for clues beyond fatigue, beyond sheer emotion. "How's Arekoth?" There's little for clues to be had; if anything, the shake of his head, occurring well after she's asked after him and his dragon, seems at a loss. "I have asked Dr'val to look for my father's ship at the docks. When things have calmed." His voice is wearied, steady, flat. "I will ask again in the morning." Tick, one response checked off his list. He turns his head, again stiffly, to look to his dragon, asleep. "She was his mate at one time... he was happy in that, then. How much he remembers, I'm not certain. It can be... difficult to separate." His eyes track to the boy, now, "He'd wanted to wait for you." And then, he's looking to his weyrmate once more. "You." It's almost a question. Madilla's swallow is a dry one; perhaps it's because all the moisture has gone to her eyes, even if the tears aren't leaking further than that. "I'm sorry," she says-- a murmur, really, scratchy-voiced. "He's grown up so much." Dilan, presumably, though she's not glanced back at him. "There was... so much death. And... I see a lot of it, and you get used to it, to a degree, except... I know that for every person brought in, there were more who weren't. And even these ones... it's hard. It never gets easier to watch people die and be able to do nothing." Maybe there should be emphasis on 'nothing,' but there's not; she can't bring herself to emphasise it. H'kon brings that arm up higher, up around the healer's shoulders. It would seem it has energy enough to press. He nods, once. And then leans forward, to press his mouth and chin to her cheek, where they hold. In answer, Madilla leans in, her eyes closed. It's possible some of her tears will drop from her to him, but it's not intentional. "You're safe," she whispers, which is probably related. H'kon stays there, without any conscious movement, though he's not so sturdy as he might normally be. There's give, in tired muscles and frame. Eventually, that hand slips down, more to Madilla's waist. "We had to come home," he tries to explain, at last. But it's more fact than explanation. "I know," says Madilla, more or less immediately. She leans back, resting upon the back of the couch as if she simply can't hold herself up anymore. "It was..." She breaks off, shaking her head feebly. "I can't believe they're gone." "No- well, yes..." H'kon lets that arm stay anchored, and eases back into the couch in time with the healer. "Strange," mused, idle energy now no longer used to keep them upright behind those words, "to lose them. Saving so many ships, in winter seas..." The furrow finds its home in his brow. Madilla's head turns to keep an eye on that furrow, and on her weyrmate in general. "Mm," she says. "Strange all 'round." It's not an assessment of the now-gone pair; there's something distant and distracted about the way she says it, as though she's still not quite processing any of it. "Heroes," she murmured. "All of you." It's the final title that seems to focus the brownrider, eyes back on her, and attentive again. He sits up again, just long enough for a light kiss. "We must always come home," has a bit more behind it, this time. The kiss, at least, makes Madilla smile. It's a weak sort of smile, but it's something. "Always," she agrees, very firm, despite her obvious exhaustion. "We should go to bed," follows soon after. "It's late." "Hm," is agreement, exhausted and more than ready for sleep. H'kon manages to avoid groaning when he stands, though there is a notable exhalation. Still, a hand is held for Madilla. He pauses only to consider his dragon - and perhaps also the boy sleeping nearby - before turning, at long last, toward proper rest. Madilla accepts that hand, though she counterbalances herself just enough to not require too much help in getting up. She, too, considers Dilan-- but evidently letting him rest is important. He won't freeze next to Arekoth, after all, right? So: to bed. Perhaps weary brains will be better at processing, come morning. |
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