Logs:Condolences and Advice
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| RL Date: 13 February, 2015 |
| Who: Devaki, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Hold, High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Madilla visits High Reaches Hold for the first time since Issedi's death. |
| Where: High Reaches Hold |
| When: Day 27, Month 13, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Alani/Mentions, B'tal/Mentions, Daroda/Mentions, Dilan/Mentions, Esiara/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Kiatan/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions, Raum/Mentions, Sealene/Mentions, Vinien/Mentions, Wulfan/Mentions |
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| The mood is unsettled at the Hold, which is not surprising given the events of the last few weeks. While everyone is busy preparing for Turnover, and decorations brighten the Hold, the somber mood is kept in place by the daily reminder of guards, both Hold and Weyr, that move about, not to mention the dragons -- in addition to Haibroth -- that are ever present these past couple of sevens. Kiatan, the steward, waits in the lee of a door in the courtyard for Madilla's arrival. Solemn-faced, and heavily rugged up against the cold, Madilla makes hasty progress across the courtyard to the door, having left behind her dragonrider escort. Perhaps it's not surprising that there are more than a few Weyr-eyes on her as she does so; for her part, she seems to be deliberately ignoring them, focused instead upon crossing to Kiatan. "How is he?" she wants to know, bypassing standard etiquette to ask the question. Well-trained, the steward's practiced, "He's holding up well, given the circumstances," is likely the rote answer given to everyone, regardless of the woman's relationship with his Lord. Kiatan gestures, and paces the Master while he guides them deeper into the Hold. As they pass, guards alternately stare, or give a nod of recognition for the steward. They climb, and on the second floor, he leads them down a short corridor. Madilla's never been in this room before, but it is homey rather than opulent, a sitting room with comfortable couches, kids toys piled in one corner, and doors leading off. Devaki's stubbled features are drawn as he moves around the room, collecting discarded, tiny shoes and toys alike. Madilla's frustration with that answer shows only for a moment in an expression that otherwise, after that, trends towards quiet resignation. She nods - polite - to each of the guards as she passes, but remains otherwise uncommunicative until-- there. "Dev," she says, managing to avoid a quaver in her voice as she steps through the door and into the room, all eyes on the Lord and not at all upon their surrounds. "I--" She what? She nothing. "Maddy," Devaki greets in turn. There's an exhaustion, a flatness to the way he looks at her, but it's clear from the warmth in his voice he's happy to see her, at least. "Some drinks, perhaps, Kiatan?" he says to the steward who, bowing, disappears after closing the door. Setting the stuffed toy down with the rest of them, the islander strides over towards the healer, pausing two steps away to regard her, with a tight expression. "How is Dee? I--" he hesitates. "Vinny wants to see him, but I thought we should talk, first." Not content to simply look at the Lord, Madilla crosses those last two steps between them in order to reach up and wrap her arms around him, holding tight. "He's upset," she answers, as she does so. "For all of you. Perhaps after turn's end... Oh, Dev, I'm sorry." There words are muffled, but sure, right up until that last; that's the point where her voice breaks, just a little. There's definitely a tenseness in the way that Devaki returns the hug, at first -- surprised, perhaps -- but his arms wrap around her, and after a breath, there's a subtle kind of release of tension. "I'm glad you weren't there," he murmurs into her hair. He straightens, enough that he can see her face -- his own is tight, still, like he's covering his reaction beneath a stretched mask. "I-- I need your help. Need to ask your opinion on something. Will you -- sit?" The hesitancy in the normally confident Lord is notable, as is the pauses to collect his thoughts, and to swallow, suddenly, at that shift in her voice. Madilla's nod allows, perhaps, that she's equally glad she wasn't there; but her attention's already been caught by what comes after that. Drawing back, those green eyes of hers consider - no: study - Devaki for a few long moments before she can nod and agree, "Of course. Anything." At least this manages not to sound as though she's about to break down or cry, as though she's forcibly recovered her poise. She sits, hands pressed into her lap, her eyes wide. "What is it?" He chooses, after a moment, the chair across from hers, a low table between them. The Lord barely looks up as Kiatan returns, sets a pitcher and two glasses down, pouring a splash of the dark liquid into each, before retreating. That Devaki waits to speak until after the door closes is no coincidence: "I am told that it is... usual -- expected -- in these circumstances, to have the..." he breaks off, an angry and unsettled expression flowing across his face, "...the one responsible put to death." He gestures, as if inviting her to take a glass -- certainly he doesn't hesitates to reach for the dark liquid, warming and bracing as it is, the aftertaste almost bitterly sharp. Madilla reaches for one of the glasses, though she holds it between her fingers rather than sip it, her eyes widely and intently focused upon Devaki, and what he has to say. Her mouth opens, more hesitant than surprised, though the solemnity in her gaze holds some suggestion of that. "In some cases," she allows, her brow furrowing. "That is... I'kris was, of course, and there have been others. I don't know that it is required, though, if you don't want to?" She sounds unsure, head shaking just slightly. Devaki rubs at his chin absently as she answers, like his almost-a-beard stubble is itching but he's not wholly aware of it. "If he... if he thinks that we, the exiles, are something... vile enough to deserve murder, murdering him in return will..." his fingers on the glass clench a moment, going white, "Make me feel better, for days, hours, minutes, maybe. But," with a long, low exhale, "It won't fix what's happening. People fear what they don't understand. I've heard that said of dragonriders." The word 'vile' has Madilla flinching, involuntarily, but that's her only obvious reaction to Devaki's thoughts; she continues to watch him, eventually drawing her glass up towards her lips and sipping, though it's the kind of sip that may not actually result in any liquid getting further than her lips. "It's often said of dragonriders," she agrees, finally. "And I can see how it could be said for your people, too. Do you have an alternative? Some other way to... deal with him?" And now, Devaki leans forward, the glass cupped between his hands, but his entire focus is on Madilla. "What would people think, if I sentenced him to the island? To work for the people there, live like we did? Will they think it kind, benevolent? Or will they think me weak, uncaring about my wife's murderer?" He gives a snort, self-directed, voice dark: "Isn't that the kicker? Unable to do what I want even as a Lord. Powerless. Bound by opinion." The suggestion surprises Madilla, whose brow furrows all over again, but though her teeth rest upon her lip, her expression is clearly thoughtful and not disapproving. In the end, one corner of her mouth turns upwards - not a smile, perhaps, but perhaps a smile's distant step-cousin. "I've found," she says, "The higher the rank, the less the freedom. I know." She sets down her glass, spreading one hand flat upon the table's edge. "There would be those who called you weak. But I think there would also be-- it would be a gesture of mercy. And healing; understanding. Benevolent. Not more bloodshed." Intent blue eyes rest firmly on the master healer, Devaki keenly interested in her reaction as much as her words. He exhales, after she speaks, a ripple of a grimace passing across his features at her talk of freedom; he lifts his glass to his lips, but unlike her it is not merely a token gesture. "Benevolent," he echoes, with a hollow laugh, expression twisting. "The last thing we need is more bloodshed -- more drama. Executing a criminal brought more drama for the Weyr--" and the islander, if nothing else, studies the Weyr's history even if he scorns it. He's silent for a beat, two, then he switches topics, abruptly -- or perhaps not so abruptly, given the topic: "When your... when Lily's father died, how did you... what did you say to her?" "Execution leaves you open to more--" Just more. Madilla doesn't finish that sentence; clearly, she's aware that she doesn't really need to. Those words are almost automatic, released to the world while she tries to get her head around that topic change, though her wince - and the apology in her expression - surely indicate that she's focused upon it. "That her daddy loved her very much, but he'd had to go away and we wouldn't get to see him again. She didn't understand, but... it helped, I think, that she didn't see him every day when he was alive, so it didn't really change routine." Her apology is written into the words; if only she could be more helpful. "She forgot, in time. I'm not sure if that's better or worse. How are they doing?" Devaki's face twists into a mixture of anger and guilt and frustration, as she talks, like he's trying hard to keep a control of his reaction, and failing. Instead, he drops his head, exhaling, staring into his half-finished glass as if that'll provide some answers. "Alani keeps asking for mommy. Vinien and Sealene -- they heard, somehow. One of the cleaning staff, maybe. I'm not sure how to explain hatred to a child, and I don't think they... understood, why it matters that I, that they are islanders. Esi is... Esi." A beat of silence. "Maybe it would be better for them, too, if they forgot." This time, when Madilla reaches for her glass, it's to take an actual sip-- now, now she needs it. "Oh," she says on an exhale. "Oh, Devaki." In a way, it seems to define her life: sitting outside a something that defines people, and empathising, but never quite being part, be it dragonriding or being an islander. "It's more difficult for us," is what she says, in the end. "I hated the thought of Lily forgetting her father. But yes, it was easier for her. It will get easier for them, Dev. And there are... healers, with experience in dealing with grief. I could look into someone for you, if you thought it would help them." His head doesn't lift, but, after a few moments, he says: "Someone you trust?" "Yes," promises Madilla, without hesitation. "There's a former classmate of mine... she's worked with children before." "I would... thank you," Devaki murmurs, finally lifting his gaze to her, grateful. His eyes linger, a moment, taking another gulp from that glass, before he says, "Turnover will, I think, be good. A new leaf, something to focus on. Maybe after that... Dee could come visit? I'll put Raum's best man on him, while he's here." Madilla does not smile, exactly, but her expression is encouraging; she meets Devaki's gaze squarely, giving a half nod of confirmation. "Turnover is always a good opportunity to... start fresh, yes, exactly. I'm sure it will help, even just a little. Dee's eager to visit; we'll make that happen," she promises. Although, "I think H'kon will want to be his personal escort. But we'll make something work. I know... it'll be good for all of them." Devaki's jaw tightens for a moment, and there's something hard in his voice as he half-growls, "How coincidental, that the first time H'kon graces my family with his presence just happens to occur after the murder of my wife. I'm sure they'll appreciate that association." He's pushing to his feet, walking around the back of the chair, exhaling as he does so. Madilla can't hide her flinch in answer to that, eyes closing. "That's--" she begins, but then she stops; perhaps there's nothing, in the end, that she can say. "I'm sorry. That was..." but he doesn't turn back, instead tossing the rest of the liquid down. "It's not your fault. It seems I can't look after my family, nor my Hold without the Weyr's interference." "I'm sorry," says Madilla, her eyes opening again, her glass set down and pushed away. "That it's like this. That... that you don't have time and space to grieve without it all. That-- just for all of it." She watches Devaki, not managing to keep the tears from her corners of her eyes. "Will you ask the Weyr to withdraw their riders?" The Lord is silent for a moment, turned away as he is, trying to find an equilibrium before he ventures an answer, "You mean you didn't hear they already threatened to do so, in order to get an audience with me?" Devaki's tone is dry, and if there a laugh accompanying it, it's silent. His, "Soon," sounds harsh, and probably about exactly as harsh as he means it to be. Madilla starts, visibly - and audibly, too; a gasp she can't quite hold back. Clearly, she hadn't heard, and it shocks her. "Oh," she breathes, afterwards. And again, uselessly, helplessly, "I'm sorry. I'm just..." She stands, uncertainly. "I'll do anything I can to help. I know... that's not much. But anything." Devaki doesn't linger on it, and the tight expression on his face when he walks back over suggests that perhaps he didn't mean to let that slip. Setting his glass down, deliberately lightly, on the table, he says, "Bringing Dee will help. Even Sealene's asked for him." He exhales, a long, low breath. "Will you stay for dinner? The Lady Daroda is insisting that I be seen in public, but if you're there, it would... help." Help distracted her, them, the watchers. "After turnover," promises Madilla, firmly. "I know he's eager. He's been buying and making gifts." Her tone's fond as she says that, even if there's still a note of discomfort and distraction. "Of course I'll stay. As long as you don't mind that some people will accuse you of taking comfort in your mistress." Plainly, she's long since stopped caring about that particular piece of gossip. Even if he doesn't voice it aloud, the gratitude in Devaki's face at her agreement is plain. "That's about the least of the rumors I've been hearing," he says sharply, taking a slow breath. "I know I shouldn't listen, but I have to know what people are saying. That's how this... whole thing started, with rumors and gossip and assumptions." He glances, distractedly, at the doors for a moment. "I'll check -- check on the girls first, if that's ok?" "It's hard not to," agrees Madilla, with understanding. "I know." Her gaze flicks after his towards the doors and she nods, quickly. "Go. Look after them. I'll wait here, shall I? I'm not sure I'd know how to get back on my own in any case, from here." "I won't be long, I just want to--" Devaki grimaces, but there's no apology -- expecting that she, of all people, will understand the need. And he moves away, towards those doors, spending a few minutes in each room, before he finally emerges. He doesn't change for dinner, and it's a fairly simple affair, given how close Turnover is -- but that doesn't mean their eating in the hall doesn't earn plenty of looks and gossip to boot. The Lady Daroda, in particular, is chatty and questioning of the Master Healer, her Lord Wulfan somewhat less so -- he and Devaki occasionally exchanging low words. At the end, Devaki makes a toast, "To... remembering those we have lost... a good Turnover, and good people." And, with a murmured thanks to Madilla he departs. Kiatan, however, is there, to escort the healer out, to wait with her in the cold until her ride arrives, albeit silently. Madilla manages to keep a warm, if politically neutral, demeanour throughout dinner; Daroda's chattiness no doubt helps matters. She reaches to take and squeeze Devaki's hand for a moment before he leaves, but otherwise answers his thanks with only a simple nod; after that, she takes her leave, murmuring her own thanks to Kiatan before Arekoth is there to take her home again. The next time she visits? It'll be with Dilan... and it'll be Turn 37. |
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