Logs:Pack(ing) Time
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| RL Date: 13 June, 2014 |
| Who: Dilan, H'kon |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Soon, Dilan will move to High Reaches Hold. But first: Arekoth and H'kon have wisdom to impart. |
| Where: Deliciously Shadowed Nooks and Crannies Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Month 13, Turn 34 |
| Mentions: Devaki/Mentions, Esiara/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions, Raija/Mentions, Sealene/Mentions, Vinien/Mentions |
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| Deliciously Shadowed Nooks and Crannies Weyr, High Reaches Weyr The entrance to the weyr is straight and narrow, a dragon couch taking up most of the space there. Once past the couch, the room opens up incredibly to reveal a truly odd bit of artistry. This part of the weyr is a nearly perfect circle and actually quite small. The cathedral ceiling is domed and appears twice as high as the ones found in most rooms at High Reaches. The unusual stonecutter that designed this weyr certainly had his own sense of style. A gigantic glow basket has been hung in the center of the doomed ceiling, though the light it spreads downward are like gloomy fingers grasping from above. A rope runs from the basket through a series of loops along the side of the wall, tied off where it can be easily reached to lower the glows for changing. The dim light of the weyr washes over the walls, revealing tiny glints and sparkles here and there. All over the wall of the cavern from about five feet off the ground to about twelve feet overhead, hewn nooks have been left. The lower ones contain odd bits, mostly hides filed away in accordance to some system known by the weyr's inhabitant, some pens, some small trinkets, a bottle or two of good whisky. The higher nooks are more eye-catching, each containing a glass bottle or dish of some sort which causes the eerie glittering. What little floor space there is is taken up by carefully placed furniture. A loft frame, once a bed, now serves as storage space for several trunks and few dishes, the mattress laid out on simple wooden risers below. Opposite the bed, a small, round table sits surrounded by three chairs - one small, two large, all without cushioning and armless. Kept to the side is a folding wooden stepladder, rungs smoothed and lightened by regular use. H'kon may think he's been terribly subtle about getting some time with the boy. He hasn't been. But then, that may have worked to his advantage, stealing Dilan away from his mother for an evening. A sense of farewell has prompted behaviour that might otherwise have been saved for a different, warmer day, and so it's after a stomach-flipping, inner-ear-deceiving flight (the sort that his mother would surely disapprove of) that Arekoth has come back to his ledge. H'kon has left Dilan with a small sack, in which to pack his riding gear (just in case). The brownrider, himself, is busily watching a pot boil, back turned almost courteously on his dragon and his dragon's boy. That they might have a moment, perhaps. At first, the whole thing was exciting: Dilan bragged to his friends, enthused about all the time he'd get to spend with his brother, his other sisters, his father-the-Lord. The weeks have been slipping by, though, and d-day gets closer and closer; today, despite having his usual enthusiasm for that fancy flying, Dilan's just a little quiet. "You're going to come and visit me, aren't you, Arekoth?" It's very quiet. "So I can show you off to Vinien and the girls?" The water has started to develop those tiny bubbles that cling to the bottom. H'kon carries on watching them refuse to lift. Arekoth tilts his head, that big whirling eye still on Dilan, as it had been, but his hook-beaked profile the more clearly set out. One wing stretches, and the dragon's throat gives a clicking sort of noise. This. This is an excellent pose for showing off to siblings. Also good is this one, where he shifts forward, back claws sliding against the stone of his couch, until his shoulders can shift, and he can stare at the boy straight on. That one. A forward crouch lowers his head, a bit nearer. Dilan manages to grin, drawing his shoulders back and lifting his chin, determined and approving. "They'll think you're amazing," he tells the brown. "Because you are. They don't have a dragon friend." One hand reaches up, aiming to scratch Arekoth's head, his mouth pulling together into something that's less of a grin, now, and more... wobbly, somehow. "I got lots of things they don't. And I'm going to be a brownrider, and Vinny is only going to be a dumb Lord." Obviously, he's amazing. Arekoth breathes hot air at the boy's blonde hair, and pushes his head that much more forward for the scritch. The title 'Lord' gets a snort out of the dragon. H'kon's pot, meanwhile, proves the adage wrong, a few bubbles starting to move about. It's enough, for what he has in mind. It's not often the brownrider has the makings of klah in the weyr, but today, for some planning, for something, he does. He sets to work, pouring water over bark, prepping cups. The milk, that has to be at least as rare as the klah... H'kon may as well not be here at all, for the attention Dilan pays him. Sorry, H'kon. Your dragon is so much cooler. The corners of Dilan's mouth twist into a smile that's very much like his mother's under that hot air. "Right?" he says, firmly. "Lords are dumb. I mean, being a Lord. Who'd want to be that, when you could be a brownrider? A brownrider and a dragonhealer." It's not easy to preen hair on someone so little, least of all when sort of lying down, but what Arekoth can accomplish is to tap his snout to the boy's head. Maybe he'll even get a chin-rub. Dilan's cup will be mostly milk. Warm, from the room and its proximity to the heat, but not directly warmed by anything more than that small amount of klah the rider allots him. H'kon's own cup is black. They're both brought over, the rider's re-introduction to their vicinity heralded in Arekoth's shifting of his wings. The much whiter drink is held out to the boy. For a moment, Dilan closes his eyes, just enjoying the physical proximity with Arekoth, as his fingers scritch and rub. The sound of footsteps has those blue eyes opening again, though, and his head turning so that he can consider the brownrider, and accept that mug. It rather looks, now, as though he's trying very hard to keep his expression even; he's brave. Arekoth thinks nothing of staying right near the boy, though when Dilan's hands become otherwise occupied, the dragon is content to blink once, and slowly lower his head to the stone. H'kon is comfortable with the shared affection of dragon and boy to the point of not even acknowledging his lifemate's positioning, or repositioning. He does consider Dilan a moment, his own expression thoughtful, but lacking the deeper frowns that mood can carry with it. Then, he turns, and backs up until he can sit with his back against Arekoth's hide, ample room left for the boy to join him. Dilan, mini-me that he so often tries to be, immediately follows H'kon, positioning himself just beside the rider, his head tipped back just a little so that it, in particular, can connect with Arekoth. "You're going to look after Mama, aren't you?" he ventures, after several seconds of silence, trying (and failing) to sound authoritative. "And Raija. When Lilabet and me can't anymore." Arekoth's frame pushes against both rider and boy, when he takes in a deep breath; it eases back when he sighs it out. "Always," H'kon promises, serious as always he is, one nod going along with the word. It seems to be comforting, for Dilan: that living, breathing backrest. "Always," repeats the boy, with just the hint of a sigh. He has to bury his face into his mug after that, and for longer than it takes to sip, surely. "And I'll be back," he says, finally. It's probably reassurance for himself, as much as anything. "In a turn. I'll be nearly nine, then." For a given definition of 'nearly,' of course. It's a comfort for H'kon as well, though he'd not even think, after so many turns, to put it into words himself. He raises his own cup, takes a sip that doesn't last so long as the boy's, though the steam rising from his mug is enough to keep him occupied and contemplative until the boy speaks again. "I imagine you'll have grown a great deal, then. In many ways." He hesitates, long enough to look over to the boy beside him, long enough for the corner of his mouth to pull sideways. "There is something in leaving your home, your comfort, the first time. Even," and H'kon tilts his head toward the brown hide behind them, "to be with family." Dilan is little enough, still, that he's not all that good at controlling his emotions, though he does try. There may be tears in the corners of his eyes, now, though they don't actually fall. He gives a little, uncertain nod, swallowing hard before he's able to say, "Was it difficult for you? You missed home a lot." "Once Arekoth and I had settled. I'd not seen both sunrise and sunset between coming here and impression." He's still watching Dilan, though there's no evidence on his face of seeing or acknowledging those unshed tears. "Then, yes. My family was not at the hatching. It was some time before I could see them again, after that. And things were not what I knew, from Hold to Weyr." Now, H'kon turns away, lifting his mug again, a slow drink. Again, Dilan swallows, nodding as he does so. "Things are different at High Reaches Hold, too," he confides. "And sometimes they're strange, and I don't understand. I guess I'll learn how to understand them." He pulls his mouth together, frowning, and then lowers his head to take another sip. "I'm certain you will," is a vote of confidence from H'kon, really, one that comes with a sidelong glance. "You'll have the benefit of the Lord Holder paying you a good deal of attention, I should think. Take advantage, ask your father all you can think to. When Hold and Weyr need work together, especially in Interval when their old contract means less, in the moment, it would be good to know what both are hoping to achieve." Dilan is a perceptive enough child that he pauses to consider what H'kon has said, his face scrunching in deep thought for some seconds. "I'll be an emi-- emiss-- I'll be someone from the Weyr for them to get to know. So I should make a good impression. It'll be good, right, when Vinny is Lord and he has links to the Weyr?" Even if it doesn't seem to have made much an improvement with Vinny's father. "An emissary," agrees H'kon - agrees, rather than corrects - with one of those curt brownrider nods at which he's so practiced. The next words come a bit slowly, if not stilted: "Tell your siblings about your home. Do not impose it upon them. That, along with trying to understand, should serve you well. And may be useful to them also, in future." He draws one leg up, shifting his mug, breathing in time with his dragon. "There will be times where it is difficult. To keep a view to those things. When... your heart may ache." "An emissary," repeats Dilan, testing the word out in its totality. He turns those blue eyes more directly upon H'kon, chin lifted so he can glance upwards. He's not usually a solemn boy, but today certainly calls for such. Carefully, "I will. I-- what should I do, when it's difficult?" H'kon probably had an answer ready, planned for just such a talk. His mouth opens, but he stops the sound from coming, considering a moment. "For me," is the new approach, after a moment of thought, perhaps even feeling, "it was not an option to return home." More humanly, still, "Koth was too little." He brings the mug in nearer. "I wrote to my family, my mother and sister especially, in weyrlinghood. Now, you will have the option of a visit, even of returning - and from time to time a visit may be best. But... there is also something to be said for knowing what you can bear. Finding strength." Dilan turns his head so that he can look at Arekoth, as if attempting to imagine the brown small; it's difficult, but not impossible. After a moment, he looks back at H'kon, and gives a tiny, experimental nod. "Finding strength," he repeats. "You mean, like not running to tell an adult because someone was mean to you." Arekoth looks back at Dilan, and carries on breathing in that same, steady rhythm. "Well," H'kon hesitates again, lips pushing together as he considers an explanation, "in a way. For this, more... standing on your own. Finding your way if lost. Homesickness will be worst just before it passes. If you can deal with that, you'll be stronger for it. And love your mother and sisters no less, even if you know how to be more on your own. That is a matter of your own heart." He lifts that klah, growing colder now, but doesn't sip yet. "If you are being mistreated in any way, if it continues, then there is no point in staying. That would be cowardice." Dilan inhales, no doubting focusing upon the smell of warm dragon and not rapidly cooling milky-klah. "So I have to learn to tell the difference," he says. "And maybe there won't be anyone who can help me, 'cause Vinny will just want me to stay, and--" And everyone, presumably, has an agenda of their own. But this, this only makes his shoulders straighten, and his chin set: he can do this. "I'm not a coward. Not gonna be a coward. Gonna make you and Arekoth and Mama proud of me. And Lily. And even Raija." H'kon watches the boy, intent. "You will," he nods, at length, to Dilan's promise, answer for both him and the dragon, whose head lifts. "And we are." The raised mug is remembered, but only to be lowered. "You know what is right. And then, you'll not be all on your own. There will be visits, throughout. You will be missed." He reaches, first, to set the mug down, away from them both. The second is to bring a hand to the boy's shoulder, deliberate, to keep it from uncertainty. That tight smile is there, also. "And even when not together, we are only a thought away." Some of Dilan's solemness drifts away, timed with H'kon's hand on his shoulder too perfectly for it to be anything but deliberate. He tilts his head up, instead, so that he can meet the brownrider's gaze and smile, more earnestly. "I know," he says, firmly, leaning in to that touch. "I want to go, and I'm glad I am, but... I still love you most." Presumably 'you' is in an inclusive kind of thing, though it's certainly as much for H'kon as for Arekoth. H'kon has no words to answer that, but his smile warms, and the hand on Dilan's shoulder moves more toward the boy's back. « Our boy, » is shared with both, Arekoth's tone pride-filled, if also a bit playful. They can sit together a time, enjoy the moment, contemplate the coming Turn... and inevitably, when the dragon rips a fart, all dissolve into laughter. All three. Dilan will be missed. |
Comments
K'zin said...
Warm fuzzies. <3
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