Logs:K'del's Return
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| RL Date: 11 November, 2012 |
| Who: K'del, Azaylia |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del is returned, Cadejoth is reclaimed. It may be slow, but it's progress. |
| Where: Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 3, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Iolene/Mentions, B'sil/Mentions, Ali/Mentions |
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| Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs which circle the hearth and the blue rug in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia. Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr despite the newest resident's attempts at tidying what she can when it comes to the piles of hidework on her desk. Behind the workspace, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows, comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries. Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. One of the walls has a full sized quilt pulled taut and secure to reveal the work that went into it. It has a decorative border and a pieced-together design in the middle: the spires of High Reaches, with a tawny gold dragon high above, flying through the blue sky. Embroidered into the lower corner is an 'M' to signify the maker. The hearth is also brand new, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced. These are not the only oddities to be found within their home... Animal remains litter the otherwise comforting space, the majority made up of the heads of various Pernese creatures. Clean and bleached, the largest of the leg bones and skulls are typically featured around Hraedhyth's wallow, some splintered and broken where the urge to gnaw became too great. The smaller, more intricate trophies can be found throughout the weyr. Several are on the mantel, along with a set of carved and painted animal figurines: a runner, bovine, llama, porcine, ovine, horned caprine, pointed-eared canine and lastly, a tiny wherry chick. A ram's head has been painted black and blue and acts as a lovely centerpiece atop the low table, fresh flowers sticking out of it's eye sockets. Why, there are even one or two being used as weights for some of Azaylia's hidework. It probably wasn't K'del who gave the visualisation for home in the wake of Isyath's flight; it's a good thing that, for once, Cadejoth is able to concentrate. It's the first time he's appeared in the skies above High Reaches in weeks, and though he's not the greyed out figure he was last time, there's a list to his flight, and the purple-tinted frustration of thwarted lust in his thoughts. No doubt it won't take long for this security-conscious Weyr to notice his return. (Cadejoth to Hraedhyth) The bronze is familiar. His frustration, however, is not. Hraedhyth still doesn't hesitate to to calm the weyr as their skies are disrupted by his appearance. As she does, an order is thumped his way, « Your name. Who you carry. » She knows. Her rider does, too, which is probably why the junior comes running out onto the ledge to join Hraedhyth in gazing upwards. While the queen might be unnerved by what he feels, there will be a quiet chanting in the ranks of her mind: Welcome Home. (Hraedhyth to Cadejoth) To Hraedhyth, Cadejoth has not been here to know the new regime, and is visibly taken aback - the chains of his thoughts recoiling - as Hraedhyth's order sinks in. And yet there's that chanting, and that helps: he will do as she asks. « Cadejoth, » he says, hovering high above the Weyr and not descending in to it. Where will he go? Which ledge is his, now, after all? « I carry K'del. Only him. » There's such sadness, such concern, attached to the name of his rider: happy-go-lucky Cadejoth is at a loss, now, as to what to do with his sobbing, inconsolable rider. To Cadejoth, Hraedhyth will not favor him in this, prepared to hold the bronze to the sky until he complies. When he does, the gates are open, allowing her to flood him with the same fiery warmth she has shown the rest of their weyr. Enveloping him, there is little celebration to go along with it- only confusion. It mingles with his own uncertainty, « You are welcome here. » Below, Azaylia is already darting back into her weyr. The queen attempts smooths over his frustration, trying to ease it while also taking a closer look. In that fiery warmth, Cadejoth basks, and if it's soothing to the rumpled feelings and scattered, over-emotive nerve-endings he's displaying, well, that's all to the better. He has no real shields: she'll be able to see the source of his frustration, the lost-queen... and amidst it all, his shattered hopes that this would be enough to fix his rider. It clearly is not. Wordless gratitude follows, as the bronze finally wings lower, avoiding even as much as a glance at the ledge that was once his in favour of dropping to rest upon Hraedhyth's own. K'del is shaking as he more or less slides down his bronze's side, white-faced and flooded in tears. (Cadejoth to Hraedhyth) To Cadejoth, Hraedhyth is not so vicious as to snatch her comfort away. Not now. But there's a thrum of displeasure bordering on anger, drums struck that much harder. K'del is spared a glance. Even as her wide muzzle moves to huff warm air at his back, herding him towards the weyr, the queen's gaze remains on Cadejoth. Slowly... slowly, her head will swing back towards the bronze. « You have her stink on you. » Rich voice is lost in a savage snarl, « Wash it off. » In the freezing lake? Likely. Afterward, she might be more hospitable. Cadejoth is quietly stunned by Hraedhyth's reaction, as though it hasn't even occurred to him that this might be a concern-- men! So clueless. With K'del's care now out of his hands, however, there's nothing stopping him from doing as he's told, and so the bronze shoves himself back into the air, a pale streak against the daylight as he heads for the lake. She'll hear the sulk in his voice, however, and the puppy-did-bad-and-is-now-sad retreat, when he says, « I'm sorry, Hraedhyth. » Her warm breath does a lot to get action out of K'del: he's sodden and shivering, and not-all-there as he crosses the boundary between ledge and weyr, wordless and wide-eyed. Hraedhyth is quiet, or would be if not for the furious stomp of soldiers following the beat of her war drums. She isn't saying anything at least, crimson-flecked gaze watching Cadejoth's journey through the sky and to the lake. Amongst her nightmarish ranks are uncertain whispers: is there a traitor in their midst? Inside, Azaylia is a fountain of apologies and comforting, albeit hurried words. It's not difficult to convince the few lingering souls to leave, save for one playfully stubborn mongrel. The guards are asked to remain outside in the same breath she asks a kind soul to send up a platter of food and drinks. Some warm, some alcoholic. Her actions are frantic with worry, and when she goes rushing back towards the ledge, the young woman almost collides with K'del. "Oh! Oh. Oh oh oh." She can't find the words, strong hands grasping his arms and pulling him towards the couch. What to do, what to do? Cadejoth is a good boy, see? The ice is already beginning to break up in the lake, and that makes it all the easier for him to dunk himself in it, the buckles on his straps clanking against each other in the process. He'll wash away Isyath; he'll throw away her stars. He's so eager to please. Please don't be mad, Hraedhyth. He'll be good. He'll be better. K'del half staggers into Azaylia as she grabs for him, and is easily led towards the couch; it's hard to tell how much of anything he's seeing, and if the shaking of his shoulders is because of his sobs, or the cold. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry." Hraedhyth sees. There is the twang of sunshine, the brilliantly calm ocean, and a savage warrior's flame; but there are no stars at High Reaches Weyr. And she will keep it that way. The gold's mind looms over his own, jaws bared over his exposed belly. Her displeasure remains smokey and thick even as she throws him a bone, willing to share her ledge and weyr with him. For now. As Azaylia is able to successfully drag the man to the couch, she'll push on his shoulders some. Sit. "Shhh." She's gone for a moment, long enough to grab the thick quilt from her bed, wrapping it around his shoulders when she returns. "K'del. It's..." It's not alright. Nothing has been. She sits nearby, hands rubbing at his arms through the cover, trying to help warm the bronzerider. Finally, "It's okay to cry." Yay! Hraedhyth is merciful and forgiving; she's wonderful and perfect and all good things. This is not the Cadejoth who grew into his role as leader of this pack; commanding Cadejoth is not here. Starless, now, and welcomed home, eager puppy Cadejoth rises from his icy bath, and sweeps back across the weyr to Hraedhyth. « I'm sorry, » he says, unconsciously echoing his rider. « I meant it to help. » Making Hraedhyth angry was not part of the plan. "Thought I'd finished," says K'del, who is trying so hard to stop crying. "Thought I could--" Words are hard, though, and just lifting his head so that he can meet her eyes is better. He swallows. "I abandoned you all." Hraedhyth may be all these things, but she is also not easily flattered. He is still in Big Trouble, but the queen will always be reluctant to turn on one of her own. The gold is already lumbering back into her weyr by the time he's landed, leading him in from the cold. « You are lucky you did not catch. » Or rather, both weyrs are. Azaylia's eyes are wide, trying to lead someone who seems even more lost than she is right now. She doesn't rush to correct him, can't stop from flinching at how true his words ring. "But you're here now." The junior tucks her legs up onto the couch, arm circling him to tug K'del closer. She doesn't have the mind to stop the guard who delivers the food and drinks, too busy trying to soothe the sobbing man. The junior will at least wave the rider away with a stern look that is usually reserved for old aunties: not one word. « She called me, » says Cadejoth, who recognises that his flattery will not help him - and reverts to simple truth. « She wanted me to catch her, but he-- » the other bronze, « got in the way. I-- you may be right. » In this, he accepts her wisdom, and recognises his own folly. His tail droops as he follows her; his head lowers. « I won't do it again. » The stars have been - for now - quite banished. K'del's too lost in his own emotions to even properly register the guard-- he probably wouldn't be embarrassed, now, if he did. Nestling into Azaylia is easier, and it's helping: he's shivering less, and the sobs are quieter and less pronounced. "Don't know if I can stay," he admits, finally managing to get through a whole sentence without a sob. "I don't know what to do." For an instant, there's a stillness in her mind. Hraedhyth physically freezes. Low drawl turns into a growl that can be heard by the riders nearby. « Did she. » For the call. For the other gold's desire, « DID she. » Rather than lay down, she stands and stares at him with clear intentions: get in the damn wallow. Azaylia's reluctant to leave him, even if it is to get something warm in his hands. She'll wait, using some of her long sleeve to tussel and dry his hair, being gentle as she does. "You have to." Words are barely a whisper, "You can't leave again, K'del." She rests her head against his, choking on the words that need to be said. "If you do... I don't know if you can come back." Cadejoth, who seems increasingly unsure as to what is going on with Hraedhyth (females are mysterious, sometimes), gets in the wallow. Now is not the time for argument, oh no. « I'm sorry, » he repeats, miserably. K'del flinches at the sound of the growl, but manages to exhale a moment later; deep breaths follow, calming ones, as he lets Azaylia dry his hair, and lean her head against his. Her last words clearly make him uncomfortable, because he's seeking her face out again, watching her with a question that he's not willing to ask. After a careful swallow, he says, very quietly, "I'll try." Hraedhyth continues to watch the bronze with rapidly whirling eyes, fiery sparks of red and yellow invading her faceted gaze. « I know. » She waits until he's settled before moving to curl around him, surrounding his wet hide with her own warmth. It could be seen as a comforting gesture as well as a possessive one, protective, tense muscles pressing in tightly. "She'll calm down." Azaylia murmurs after her own flinch at the sudden, angry sound from her dragon. She avoids his gaze after those harsh words, waiting until she can find something to say. "That's all I can ask." Is that he try. Her brow rolls against his to peek over at the two huddled dragons, once again not looking at K'del despite being so close. "Do... you want to transfer?" As if Hraedhyth is going to keep her rider in the dark about what has happened. K'del's, "No," is immediate and intense, even desperate. "High Reaches is my home. I don't... just don't know where I fit, now. How to fit. What to do. Where else would I go? No. No, no, no." She may not be looking at him, but he is very definitely looking at her, and there's a silent plea in his expression, amidst the tears that still run down his face. At least he's not sobbing, now. Finally, Cadejoth droops into Hraedhyth's embrace, dropping his head to the ground. There's no expectation in his thoughts that he be forgiven immediately, but there is a quiet honesty: High Reaches is home. He belongs here. It's no longer his Weyr, but he's part of it, all the same. Azaylia's eyes dart back to K'del at the desperation in his voice, pulling her head back to brush hair out of her own face. Has she even had the time to brush it today? "No... K'del, no. It's okay. I'm sorry." She's not trying to upset him, struggling to do just the opposite in fact. "I... I'll see about getting you a new weyr." She doesn't say it outright, though she manages to hold her gaze steady on his face. Her long sleeve is utilized once more, pinched fabric brushing at his cheeks, wiping his nose- it's due for a washing, anyway. "You can stay here, with me, until we can get you settled. I've, t-there are other people who stay the night, sometimes. Weyrfolk. Some riders." Hraedhyth's growls will quiet over time, and once she's sure Cadejoth settled the queen will rest her head atop his shoulders. It is still her Weyr, along with the other gold dragons, and yes, he is a part of it. It's that intimate (in a completely non-sexual away) act of wiping away his tears that seems to finally break things for K'del. The tears are still coming fast, blinding him, and his shoulders are shaking again, but there's a release in it; a letting go. He has to take in another breath and release that, too, before he can say, "Thank you. And-- a new wing. B'sil should have me reassigned. Doesn't matter which. Fresh start, right?" Tabula rasa. Once again, he exhales, and this time he adds, "I miss her. All the time. But she'd want things to go on, wouldn't she? She'd want--" Even Hraedhyth's growls seem to be soothing for Cadejoth, who seems utterly content beneath her bulk. Here - finally- he can rest. Azaylia just wiped those! There's no attempt to try and keep up with his fast-spilling tears, letting them fall. "A new wing." She repeats in a delicate voice, trying not to overwhelm the fragile man in her arms. "Oh, K'del..." There's a squeeze, offering what strength she can. "We all do." It's not the absolute truth, but she doesn't specify which 'we' she's talking about. The weyrwoman will stay tucked up against him for as long as he needs, but eventually she'll try to get him to drink. To eat. "You can use my bath tomorrow. Get cleaned up. Things always look better in the morning." A fresh start. Hraedhyth is far more restless, but with the bronze pair reclaimed by High Reaches Weyr, she'll manage to doze off. Right now, K'del doesn't need to think about the reality of those who don't miss the murdered Weyrwoman; right now, Azaylia's words and arms are exactly what he needs. Tonight will probably be the first really good night's sleep he's had since it happened - which means he's doing better than some - and tomorrow? Tomorrow is another day. For all of them. |
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