Logs:Regrets
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| RL Date: 28 December, 2014 |
| Who: Farideh, R'hin, Lilah, Wulfan, Daroda |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Fort Weyr, Igen Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: R'hin and Farideh go to Igen's gather, where they meet Lilah, and Wulfan abdicates publicly. |
| Where: Igen Hold |
| When: Day 25, Month 8, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Hot. Dry. |
| Mentions: Weylaughn/Mentions, Anatolia/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Joremy/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, Tevrane/Mentions, Edeline/Mentions, Issedi/Mentions, Braeden/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions |
| Storyteller: Rose/ST |
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>---< Igen Hold(#1276RJ) >---------------------------------------------------<
The road to Igen Hold The Hold's cliff rises high above the courtyard, its
impassive stone face studded with Threadfall shutters thrown wide,
surmounted by the fireheights where the Hold's banners snap in the wind.
Along the wide, well-traversed road to Igen Hold, a traders' encampment
lies near the banks of Igen River.
-----------------------------< Active Players >-----------------------------
Farideh F 18 5'5 Skinny, Brown hair, Hazel eyes 0s
----------------------------------< Exits >---------------------------------
Traders Igen Area
>-----------------------------------------< 25D 8M 36T I10, summer night >---< Earlier in the day, Farideh received a hand-written note passed on from one of the lower caverns girls: 'Meet me by the lake after lunch. Wear something nice. -W' It's a hot enough day that most people are either in the cool of the shade or in the lake itself: there's only one person standing beside the lake, even remotely dressed nicely -- R'hin's wearing a white shirt and dark gray pants, leaning casually against Leiventh as pale eyes note the comings and goings. Secret assassinations are not Weylaughn's usual method of choice, but given the chance of a clandestine romantic encounter - which the Weyr, in the majority, lacks - Farideh is all smiles while she chooses her nice outfit. It happens to be a powder blue creation, that's obviously been taken in and refashioned from an older gown, with short sleeves and a square bodice, of which she's managed to push her meager chest into nearly overflowing; its waist is tucked and beaded with skirts moderately full. Her hair has been combed, though let loose, and pinned back on one side with a fancy comb embellished with opals. That self-same smile stays while she navigates the caverns and steps into the warmth outside, but it wavers the closer she gets to the lakeshore, and the brunette young man in question is no where to be found; she even gives R'hin an speculative stare. R'hin's hands lift, clapping as Farideh looks in his direction. "Ahh, perfect," he says, turning to pull a flight jacket from Leiventh's saddle bags before walking towards her. "Here," he says, moving to hold it out for her. It's not like he's going to explain or anything. A disbelieving look settles in when R'hin starts clapping, and even more so when he takes out the jacket and offers it to her. "I'm waiting for someone, and," Farideh explains, slowly, for his benefit, her hands settling on the back end of her waist. "It's not cold." Her eyes travel down his tall form, but evidentially, she's not putting two-and-two together. "Yes, you were," R'hin agrees, with that familiar thread of amusement, clearly at her. He still holds up the jacket, though, as he responds, "But it will be." Should he glance, obviously, at Leiventh? Perhaps, but he does not, pale eyes still fixed on her as if waiting for her to come to the right conclusion at some point. Incredulity shifts sometime after the were, hazel eyes narrowing in on R'hin's face. "You sent the note?" not without an ample portion of disbelief coloring her voice. "You've got to be kidding." Farideh's hands lift and her arms cross over her chest, which might not be the best of ideas given what she's wearing, but who's looking? "You're a cad," she accuses, lips coming to purse as she stands her ground, all five feet and five inches of her. "Where do you intend to take me? The barrier range, and leave me for some wandering nomad to find?" This, a reminder of that one time he left her to the young harper. "Uh-huh," R'hin agrees, taking in her reaction easily, "But I'm a cad who is taking you to a gather, so I think that evens out. Don't you?" his brows lift, that knowing smile still touching his lips. Still holding out that jacket like it's only a matter of time until she caves. It's an inevitable thing. Resisting the allure of a good party has never been Farideh's strong suit. She rolls her eyes skywards and grabs the jacket out of R'hin's hand, only to sling it on with as little grace as anyone can. "I'm positive I shall be positively regretful come the night," she shoots at the last. R'hin, at least, seems to have the grace not to look overly smug, at any rate. "Perhaps," he acknowledges at her last, waiting until she's got her jacket settled (watching her while she's doing so), before he strides to Leiventh, and climbs up with the grace of turns of practice, before offering her a hand. "Lovely." Farideh does the predictable and pouts behind his back as she follows, but manages a syrupy smile for him when she accepts his hand up. R'hin takes his time in making sure Farideh's straps are done up correctly -- giving her an easy grin moments before Leiventh takes off. One, two, three wingbeats later, and the cold of between hits them. It's by no coincidence that they emerge over the Keroon Bay, rather than Igen Hold proper, flying low towards the land. Their path takes them past the Igen docks, and the slight veer of the angular bronze to give them clear sight of a familiar ship flying Igen's flag is deliberate. Leiventh doesn't stop, however, settling down just outside the makeshift group of tents and stalls that form Igen's gather. It's hotter than the Reaches, though it's late-afternoon here, and the heat is starting to wane. A sharp intake of breath - if R'hin can even hear it over the atmospheric sounds - from Farideh signals that she has seen the ship, and is likely simmering in untoward thoughts about the bronzerider. She is not, however, eager to get down when they settle on the outskirts of the gather; her complexion looks startling pale for her year-round tan. And she is decidedly, defiantly silent. Does R'hin notice? Well, likely he does, and yet he doesn't acknowledge it, helping Farideh with her straps, sliding halfway down to Leiventh's foreleg before offering a hand to the girl. "Drink first? Or dancing?" Her defiance keeps in the level stare she gives him as she accepts his help - not grudgingly, surprisingly - and secures herself on the ground. "If you wanted to know something, you needed only ask instead of bringing me here," Farideh fumes, "You don't even know what you've done." So, drinks, then? While she fumes, R'hin moves to ease her borrowed flight jacket off, and his own, securing both in Leiventh's bags, before he settles a hand in the small of her back to begin to steer her towards the gather. Moments after they're out of range, Leiventh spreads his wings, circling lazily before alighting on Igen's cliffs with the other dragons. "I've brought you to a gather," the Wingleader says in an easy tone. "Drinks, then," he concludes, too, before adding, "You can tell me all about it while we walk." The brunette is malleable in that way, or that she doesn't appear to notice she's being stripped and led while she's ranting on at an alarming pace. "You riders think you can do whatever you please, but there are consequences, and-" She slants him a sidelong glance. "What? Drinks? Oh, fine," as her fingers come to smooth down her hair in a self-conscious way. "I can tell you about it, while we're here? Here?!" Farideh laughs in a bitter, incredulous way and ducks her chin partially. "You couldn't ask me somewhere else? Ista? Benden? Southern?" R'hin stops, abruptly, his hand reaching for her arm to stop her, too. "You want to go to Southern? We can." Right now, he seems to mean. He stares at her, as if waiting for her to decide, while the beats of the distant harpers playing drifts over them. "Southern would have been a better choice from the start," Farideh hedges sulkily, but her eyes make a quick drop to his hand on her arm, then up again. "We're here now, and if they're going to see me, then I'm sure they already have. You make quite the appearance." She exhales a little breath and gestures to the tents, to the crowd milling around. "We're going to need drinks, anyhow." "And miss out on the music, the drinks, all the wonderful gossip and mingling of different minds that comes at a gather?" R'hin snorts, as if that choice was obvious. "They," he's laughing, tone light, "Would have trouble seeing you in this crowd." But he's leading them, dutifully, towards the drinks tent, a guiding hand settled against the curve of her back. Another sidelong look is passed his way, complete with a disapproving frown. "You shouldn't be so tall then," because obviously, tall people are easily spotted around these parts; never mind the many swarthy-skinned, tall Igenites wandering around gaily. "I'll need about ten--" drinks. "Ten it is, then," R'hin says with ease. Her accusation of him being tall earns a low-throated laugh, and an overly exaggerated ducking of his head to get through the tent's doorway as they pass into the cool of the tent. They've come at a good time; there's only a couple of people ahead of them in the queue before they get to the front. "Two bottles of that berry wine, and two glasses," he orders, without looking at Farideh to confirm. He glances at her afterward, though, brows rising inquisitively, "Do you want to find somewhere here," he gestures towards the tent -- half tables, half cushions serving as seats, "Or somewhere else?" They make a little stride, with Farideh smiling when he ducks his head. She doesn't complain about the wine or his lack of asking her prior, but scans the tent with attentive eyes. "Here is good enough," the brunette says, just before she ambles off to those colorful cushions and seats herself in the cross-legged persuasion; she waits for him to join her in a patient manner, smoothing out her skirts so they aren't all tucked up under her folded legs. R'hin exchanges coins with the bartender, before collecting bottles and glasses in hand, following in Farideh's wake. It seems he's not unused to some of the Igenite's preferences in regards to lounging; he settles on his side, one arm propping him up, from where he can see the door. The top of one of the bottles is dispatched with quickly, filling both glasses, reaching for his own before lifting it towards her in a toast, "To hiding from the past," with a little smile. Slim fingers close around the stem of her glass, which Farideh holds out towards him with mild amusement lifting up the corners of her mouth. "To hiding," is all she says, bringing the glass to her lips quickly thereafter; she takes a moment to savor it. "Tell me," as she sets it aside and favors R'hin with a thoughtful stare, "what's your purpose for bringing me here?" With a nod, R'hin seems to accept that amendment, taking a long, appreciative sip of his glass. Since he's lounging, she has height on him for once, and he glances up at her. "I want to know what makes the pretty holder girl afraid. It isn't the ship; there wasn't even anything interesting on it," which means he checked. Pale eyes are intent, interested, curious -- and fixed on her. "You went on it?" Farideh shouldn't be surprised by R'hin's brashness and yet-- and yet. "That's good that there was no one of note there, otherwise you would know. Were they carrying trade or had they dispatched it already? Or didn't you look that closely?" She leans back on her palms, still higher than him, but lounging, sort of. Her eyes, likewise curious, are at rest on the bronzerider still; they're not hostile for once. The Savannah rider pauses to take another long, savoring sip of the wine. It has a coolness that makes a good contrast to the hot Igen heat. That he's making her wait a moment longer for the answer is probably deliberate, because, R'hin. "There was no trade items on board. They thought me a lost drunken sailor who wandered onto the wrong ship." Despite making her wait, his voice is serious, answering her with seeming honesty. "What were you... expecting?" Perhaps the substitution for afraid of is obvious, perhaps not. There's an exasperated twist to her lips, just now, while she waits for him to finish his wine and answer her question; it's a short lived expression. "Are you that adept at playing costume?" Farideh picks at the loose threads on the cushion nearest in a disinterested kind of way - likely so she doesn't have to look at R'hin. "I don't know. Familiar faces? Captivity?" Her eyes lift, brows raised. "You've never wanted to start fresh and pretend anything before-- wasn't?" A twitch of shoulders precedes the flippant response from the bronzerider, "Turns of practice," a tip of his glass, "Makes playing the drunkard fairly easy." R'hin's pale gaze remains fixed on the girl, her aversion of gaze perhaps missing all but the tail end of the frown that tugs his features for a moment. "Of course," he says with an ease that gives it a ring of sincerity. "What is it you fear? Marriage? Most holders would see that as a duty," the thread of derision is faint, almost indistinguishable from his dismissive tone. Farideh has a quirked brow for his drunken play, but no more words, seeing as his comments speak for themselves. "Marriage is a chore. One which you are supposed to tolerate and pretend you love with great relish, else," she lifts a finger in a mockingly chastising manner, "you bring shame upon yourself and your family." She takes her glass again and drinks plentifully; their talk of marriage has prompted her thirst. Upon lowering her glass, she frowns. "Power plays aren't just for Holds, but at least you riders are married to your dragons." That earns a genuine, throaty laugh from R'hin. "Married to our dragons," he echoes, amused, "Yes. But, one is rarely ever satisfied with their lot, be it holder, rider, or other. I envy those who are." He, too, takes a generous gulp from his glass. "So," he gestures with a hand, "Find some willing rider to take your virginity. Let it be known to your family. Your use as a pawn becomes diminished," he says, as if it's such an easy solution. "You aren't satisfied with what you have?" Inquisitive eyes are brought back to the Wingleader, thoughtful where earlier they were angry - and then, they flee to find other things to assess. "Who would speak of those things? To their parents. To anyone," with a pop of color in her cheeks. "I doubt my worth would decrease that significantly for such a silly thing as that. They would just find some other, lesser Holding to marry me off to. Even then, if what I lacked in morality, they could certainly find in wealth and alliance. It's their way." She waves a hand, dismissively, but her face is soured. It's like he doesn't even hear the first question. "It doesn't even need to be true. The right rumor placed in the right ear..." R'hin shrugs. "It could be made to happen. If you wanted." He looks at her, expectantly. "It doesn't need to be-" Farideh says the words back in a whisper, but looks increasingly uncomfortable. "I don't know. I don't-- want to embarrass them. I just want them to see me as more than a business arrangement." So simple and yet so hard. "I don't know if both can be accomplished." "You want to break free of your parents plans for you, in a way that doesn't embarrass them and yet lets you live your life? Easy," R'hin twitches his shoulders, chuckling. "Fake your death," he lifts a finger, "Run away and marry some other guy who doesn't have land or wealth or..." a second finger, "Impress a dragon -- though I don't recommend that," with a dry laugh, adding a third finger. "Mm. Get pregnant?" a fourth. "So many options. And that's with just," he glances at his glass, "One glass. We've got nine more to go," and saying so, he reaches for the bottle to refill both hers, then his. Are those answers meant to be funny? Because Farideh almost chokes on her wine and then laughs delightedly at his suggestions. "Death, marriage, pregnancy, and Impression are the options you're giving me? If hiding doesn't work, I'm not sure how faking my death will, and the whole point is to avoid marriage. Pregnancy is ridiculous, and Impression is-- well, you said it, you wouldn't suggest it." She holds out her glass for him to refill and shakes her head, barely containing a smile. "You never answered my question. If you're satisfied with what you have?" "Hiding is not really a solution so much as an attempt to delay the inevitable. Unless you plan to never speak to your family ever again?" R'hin's brows rise, as if that, too, is an option, his expression markedly blank. After a beat (and a second sip of his newly refreshed glass), he says, "I've lived with regret," by way of, presumably, answer. "Which makes me try, even harder, not to die with it. Crafting," he continues, like the break in discussing her problem was only momentary. "Hiding is only temporary. I'll have to go back at some point in the future. There's no solution that could see to both. I've thought about it for months. For turns, really." Farideh drinks amply, again, and allows the glass to drop only slightly from her mouth as she goes on. "I can't think of a better alternative, but I'm enjoying my time at the Weyr in the meantime." She smiles a faint smile, that's more curve than teeth, but considers him silently until he's finished speaking. "I'm too old to craft. I would have to be good at something other than seating arrangements and decorating." Perhaps she's choosing to just gloss over his own reply -- about regrets and trying. "Find a boy you like to marry. Not like they can do much once that happens -- your value changes in their eyes." R'hin seems to think that the obvious solution. "You liked that boy who claimed to be Aughan's bastard, no?" his gaze flickers up and down her form, significantly, taking in her dress, "Judging by your choice of dress, anyway," he adds with an all-too-knowing grin. One eye squints at him, her face screwing up into something unpleasant. "I like him just fine. All the better that he's not," Aughan's bastard, "but that doesn't mean I want to marry him. I don't want to marry anyone. You asked me to dress nice--" In case he forgot. She wrinkles her nose and goes back to trying to finish off what remains of her berry wine-filled glass. "And you did," R'hin says, amusedly, as he reaches for the bottle, seeking to fill her glass adroitly. "You know, you could say the same things you just said to me, to your parents. Maybe they'd understand. But," with a lift of fingers, "Maybe it'd go down better if you decided what you wanted to do instead, first." "You," with unfettered, slightly-inebriated glee as he refills her glass, "haven't met my mother." Farideh has a sunny smile for him before she takes a dainty sip of her newest replenishment. "I've tried plenty of excuses and reasoning and begging and arguments, but, she's determined to make me a Lady of some great Hold somewhere." "And you don't want to be?" R'hin asks, with a tip of his head. "Many girls would dream of such things, after all." "What good would that do me? Being locked up in a dusty old Hold? Do this', do that's, come here's? A uncomfortable semi-weekly attempt at making an heir? I can't imagine how any of them do it." Farideh sighs softly and lets her gaze roam the tent, to the other occupants, but she's not really seeing any of them. "Fine things, expensive things, great things are lovely. They come at a price, an unfair one, I would say." "Dusty?" R'hin laughs. "What sort of Holds have you been in? No Lady would stand for such a thing. You ought to visit Edeline, or Tevrane, or Issedi. See the sort of lifestyle they live in. I'm sure you'd adjust just fine." He refills his own glass, now, too. After a beat, "Some want children, no matter the price, too. Sometimes -- the ends do justify the means, Farideh," and he says it with some, an odd amount of weight. Igen's gather is resplendent in the late afternoon - with a myriad of tents and wares, and Igenites is colorful garb strutting proudly around their gather. It's in the beverage tent that R'hin and Farideh are ensconced, lounging on gaudy cushions and drinking wine in amiable fashion. "Dusty was too strong a word then?" Farideh graces the bronzerider with a sardonic look. "I'm certain all of those fine Ladies have magnificent Holds, and throw fabulous parties." Her lips tighten around the edges, her gaze continuing to rove in a sulky way. "To what end? Can't they just marry for love, or not at all? And what of ladies, like Lady Tevrane? A man's circumstance holds more weight than it should. We would not be used for pawns if not for that. To no means but misery." The bronzerider is stretched out on one side, an elbow propped up under his head, a glass of wine in hand as he studies the girl next to him intently. Blandly, R'hin replies, "Does Edeline seem like a pawn, to you?" he shakes his head, "She's a women to be admired, looked up to, not a woman who worries about how she was hard done by. Tevrane, too, is not so different. And," with a twitch of lips, "Who is to say which of them love? Word has it Issedi and Devaki wrote to each other for turns before they became engaged. I doubt Braeden would've broken off such an advantageous marriage with Crom if there weren't other circumstances at play." The rumors out of Igen Hold are enough to garner attention and draw more people to their gather than would otherwise normally attend. Perhaps this is why the Fortian junior finds herself among the crowd, sans knot and clad in only a simple white tunic and grey pants, with dark, leather boots that remain from her riding gear. She seems to be doing her best to avoid drawing attention, even as she slips inside the tent for a drink. Yet, it seems her gaze can't help but catch and hold on the pair there when she notices them, staring for long enough that it likely isn't subtle, even as she pays for a whiskey. Farideh scoffs unpleasantly, her mercurial eyes finding R'hin. "We don't know anything for sure with any of them. Nothing is ever as it seems with Holders. I don't believe any of it-- that any of them are happy or that--" She pulls a face and takes a lingering drink from her glass. "Lord Braeden has never been worthy in any estimation," the brunette says in a sloppy way - all that wine is clearly taking its toll, even in the heaviness of eyelids and the little sway when she reaches to set her glass down. "But what do you know? You're just a-- a--" She frowns. Who is he, again? R'hin's brows rise, and he's laughing at her again. "No? Have you ever talked to any of them?" He asks, blandly. "Perhaps you should try that, before casting your own opinions on others," he suggests, pale eyes following as she sets her glass down, before flicking back up towards her. A gesture of his fingers seems to indicate she should hurry up and come up with a suitable insult; he'll wait, and scan the tent while he's doing so. It'd be hard not to notice the familiar figure, even if she weren't staring. "I think someone's jealous of your lovely blue dress," he undertones to Farideh, chuckling, while pale eyes linger on the redhead. "R'hin," she greets the bronzerider with, approaching the pair with drink in hand only after he notices her, shameless in her staring. There is a little curve of one eyebrow that is clearly more meant for R'hin than the teenager he is with, though she offers to Farideh even without waiting for introduction, "We haven't met, have we? Lilah, gold Eliyaveith's." "Have you?" is the best comeback Farideh can come up with while being on the sauce. "I don't think they'd welcome your--" She can't think of a suitable thing to say again, so she lapses into pouty silence until he brings her attention the redheaded woman. "Do you think so?" Those heavy eyes drop down to the dress in question, her hands tracing down the embroidery on the front. "She can have it if she wants it," she suggests guilelessly, her eyes finding the knotless goldrider with curiosity. "Maybe after I'm finished wearing it--" but then Lilah's upon them and she has to tip her chin up to meet the other woman's eyes. "Hi. Gold--" that's a mouthful, so, "nice to meet you. Farideh." "I have. Not all of them, but those willing. I'm very interested in people," R'hin murmurs, his gaze drawn back towards Farideh. The bronzerider doesn't stir from his lounging position as the Fortian approaches, probably because he's comfortable, but maybe also because he's impolite. He lifts his glass briefly in her direction by way of greeting, chuckling under his breath at Farideh's offer, silent while the pair exchange greetings. For his part, R'hin refills that glass Farideh abandoned. Lilah's gaze slides briefly to R'hin, before returning to Farideh to assess, "Perhaps she does not need another." She pauses, at least, before questioning more out of politeness than real concern, "I hope I'm not interrupting?" "You're not interrupting," the laundress says cheerfully, but her eyes drop from the goldrider to the glass that's being refilled. "I want ten. This is the third, or-- is it the fourth?" Farideh's eyes flick to R'hin, questioningly. "I don't know!" And she sounds pleased by that. "We're just talking about regrets and women--" which doesn't sound sketchy at all, right? "She's," with a pause to look at his companion, confirming, "Three drinks through a ten drink promise. As long as you don't derail that..." R'hin's explaination appears to also serve for invitation, such that it is. The clink of his fingernail against the abandoned glass serves to remind Farideh of that, too. He chuckles at Farideh's explaination of their recent discussion, pale eyes shifting back to Lilah, "Yes, do join in. Tell us about your regrets, Lilah," he invites, in an amused tone that suggests he expects her not to. "It must be a short conversation. R'hin has assured me that he's never had regrets about women," Lilah offers in turn to Farideh with dry humor, though not without a look cast in the bronzerider's direction. "I'm not sure where I would begin with my regrets." Which is to say, certainly she lives up to R'hin's expectations, even as she moves to take a seat carefully on one of those cushions, legs folded under herself rather than lounging. How could Farideh forget about the wine? She grabs the glass and starts drinking while the two dragonriders do their back-and-forth thing, to which her eyes go back-and-forth with them, from one to the other. "I doubt he has, he doesn't have to marry one," Farideh adds in, and wraps both hands around in glass; it's a bit of a greedy gesture. "That many?" to Lilah, with unashamed interest. R'hin's gaze does go ceiling-wards. "Regrets about women, mm, can't think of any off the top of my head," he says, musingly, but it doesn't last -- he's laughing, only subsiding when he takes a gulp from his glass. There's another amused snort for Farideh's mention of marrying, or maybe it's just her reaction to remembering about her glass. "At least give us one," he adds on the heels of Farideh's words, attentive eyes on Lilah. "Maybe it will help Farideh decide what to do." Except that's doubtful that's why he's asking. "About men or women, in particular?" the goldrider questions instead, though it is certainly not a no. "What do you need to decide?" The last question is directed to Farideh, taking a moment to study the young woman as she asks it. "Any regrets," Farideh supplies for Lilah, happily enough. "Men, women, children, events, memories, opportunities-" and yes, she could keeping chirping on in her drunken sing-song voice, but she doesn't. "Decide? No, there's no decision. It's already been decided. I'll go, and I'm sure they'll marry me to someone as unfortunate as Lord Xanemin, yes," with a well-placed shudder and an eyeroll. "But he," R'hin, "thinks I have a choice. What do you think?" at the end, where her eyes come to rest on the goldrider - even if Lilah isn't privy to their earlier discussion. Although the question is deflected to the holder, R'hin's gaze remains on Lilah, expectantly, chuckling as Farideh recounts their conversation, at least in part. "You always have a choice," he says agreeably, taking another gulp from his glass. "It may not be as ideal, but then if marrying a Lord is your worst nightmare," his shoulders lift and fall in a brief shrug as if to say, it's obvious. Lilah agrees with a tip of her chin towards the bronzerider, "You have a choice. There are plenty of ways to make your own place in the world without marrying a Holder. I imagine if you did, however, your family would disapprove?" She watches Farideh for a moment, finally taking a slow sip of her own whiskey before she adds quietly, "That is something that I regret, that I could never make my family understand. But, it doesn't mean I'd take back the rest." Riders. One exaggerated eye roll encompasses them both. "You make it sound easy. You stray away from tradition and lineage," gesturing with her one hand, "and you can have your freedom, your choice, but you can't have both at the same time." Farideh shakes her head and brings her glass, still with both hands wrapped around it, up to her lips. Her eyes take in Lilah while the goldrider speaks; when she's done, she has a simple nod for the older woman. "What's your family like?" "The ends justify the means," R'hin murmurs, significantly, to Farideh, after Lilah finishes speaking. "It's not easy," he counters, quickly. "The decision is easy, the doing less so. And living with it, if you have doubt," he gives a quick shrug of shoulders. "It depends whether you feel that the weight of that tradition matters more to you than anything else." He's probably curious about the answer to Farideh's question, but he reaches for the bottle to refill his glass. "Traditional," replies Lilah wryly, her lips curving in a subtle smile, brief and gone in another second. "They've been raising herdbeasts on the same piece of land since before Keroon was ever founded, to hear them tell it." She tips a nod over there, westwardly, and presumably to where Keroon lies so nearby but not. She offers lightly, "Lineage only matters in runnerbeasts." "You keep saying that," Farideh accuses of the bronzerider, dissatisfied with his defense for choice, apparently. She keeps her discontented expression up to the end, and then, it appears as though something has gone through her inebriated mind, that she's starting to understand - no, that's just the alcohol settling and a hiccup. Her attention is stolen by Lilah, weighted gaze focused on the redhead. "Keroon," she says in acknowledgement. They were getting along so well, that is until the goldrider says that line about lineage. Eyes wide, brow puckered, the brunette stares at the other woman intensely; Lilah might have just called her fat for all the ferocity in that look. "Because it's true, and I like being right," the Savannah Wingleader asides to Farideh with a laugh. It's the goldrider's words about lineage that earns a shake of head, "And for Blood. And for dragons. It matters a lot," R'hin counters, easily, perhaps aware of Farideh's reaction, even if he's only watching her sidelong. After a beat, "Azaylia is Keroonian, too. You two ought to drink and bond over herdbeasts and... pie." Apparently that's what he associates Keroon with. He's taking the opportunity of Farideh's distraction to refill her glass, too. "It doesn't seem to matter much in dragons, especially when you consider that there's been no obvious harm in Cadejoth's mating with his own daughters," Lilah replies bluntly in turn, seemingly unbothered by the Farideh's reaction to her assessment. On the subject of Blood-- Well, the goldrider holds her tongue, for once, taking a sip of her own drink instead. "Herdbeasts are rather boring things to bond over. Smelly, large, dumb." A substantial sigh follows R'hin's refilling of her glass - more rooted in the fact that while he's doing that, she can't drink. "Lineage matters for everything. That way you don't marry your cousin-" wait, "so you don't marry your brother." There, that's better, and Farideh's got a luminous smile to signify her pleasure with her own response. She drinks her wine in the midst of the dragonriders talking about Reaches' Weyrwoman, a topic that she doesn't have much to add to. Keroon, and herdbeasts, and pie. "No obvious harm," R'hin counters. "And yet there's been difficulties in Benden's recent clutch, and even Fort's. Not a thing to completely discount," the bronzerider says. "For a long time, Istan's line was full of a streak of violence that, thankfully, appears to have fallen by the wayside." His thoughtful gaze settles on Farideh for a moment, taking in her increasingly inebriated state, before he suggests, with a guileless smile, "You could marry one of those exiles. They're Blooded, but they don't have land, so you wouldn't feel the pressure. Find one you love. You can live on a rocky island all of your own." He's probably being facetious, given the glittering of pale eyes. Lilah's lips press together, tipping a nod silently to R'hin in acknowledgement of his point even if Fort's likely hits close to home. She replies to Farideh instead with a light, "I do not really need to worry about marrying anyone. It isn't something that a weyrwoman could ever do." A long, slow blink almost sees the laundress closing her eyes completely, but it's the suggestion that she could marry an exile that has her pulling another unhappy face. "Why would I do that? Everyone knows Lord Devaki is the only good thing that came out of there, and he's married," Farideh says with a significant amount of annoyance for the mere opinion. She is so disgusted, she drains what's left of this - fifth? sixth? seventh? - glass and holds it out for R'hin to refill before he can get the chance to do it unprompted. "No, but you don't want to have a brother you didn't know about mating with your dragon," she says, without much thinking through that statement before it leaves her mouth. A snort is R'hin's answer to Lilah's words. "Using that as an excuse, hm? Plenty of riders weyrmate," he says, dismissively, dutifully refilling Farideh's glass. "And yet he has plenty of relatives. It's a perfect solution, if you feel the obligation of lineage, you can still marry Blood, have children, and they would be of both Igen and High Reaches descent. You could... I don't know," he waves his hand, vaguely, "Wander Pern with your exile lover-slash-husband." Yes, he's being fanciful, deliberately so, it would seem. "No, I certainly wouldn't want any brother of mine mating with Eliyaveith. Though, for the record, I doubt she would mind mating with any of her own brothers," Lilah counters, finding humor in Farideh's mispoken statement. "She could Impress and weyrmate as well. There are plenty of Blooded dragonriders to weyrmate, if it needs to be Blood." "You think I can just walk up to Lord Devaki and ask for an introduction to a single relative, that we can marry and travel Pern together?" R'hin bears the brunt of Farideh's stare, disbelieving yet again; her inebriated state blurs the edges, makes it harder for her to read sarcasm, and that's surely the reason she's taking his words for weight. "You're mad. Not to mention if we did have children, what that would mean. It doesn't end," she concludes with a flippant hand gesture and a suitable drink from her glass of wine. To Lilah, she frowns: "That defeats the point, doesn't it? That I would be with Blood in the end." Shrug. "We already... decided that was not an option," R'hin says, fairly blandly, to Lilah's suggestion, with a tip of head towards Farideh as if waiting for her to confirm, in between sips from his glass. "Stranger things have happened," he replies, laughingly, to Farideh. "You could always ask Madilla for an introduction. I hear they're close. And besides, isn't that basically what your parents are doing, anyway?" A clump of people move hurriedly past the tent and up the road towards the Hold, their conversation fast-paced and excited, but nothing completely out of the ordinary for a gather. "It doesn't have to be Blood. Or anyone," replies Lilah, so flexible with her own suggestions. It is R'hin's answer that has her brow curving upwards, casting a questioning glance towards Farideh. "It isn't? Not interested in being a dragonrider, then?" More slow blinks come, brought on by that incessant wine drinking. "Madilla-- the Weyrhealer? Why would I ask her? If I wanted an introduction, I'd go through the proper channels, but that's just--" Farideh frowns at R'hin. "No. Not to exiles, not to anyone at the Reaches." Though why, she doesn't elaborate, because they're skipping through topics and it's hard enough to focus on that. Back to Lilah her eyes fly. "What? Impressing? There's not even a-- a clutch, on the sands, how could I? Besides, if I'm going to go back home, I can't bring a dragon with me." Drunken sense. "Being a rider isn't for everyone," is all R'hin says. "And," somewhat dryly, "Becoming a rider tends to ruin the benefit of being a Blood. You can't marry them off, or be sure of the parentage of any children -- not to mention being raised by a Weyr. I'm sure that would please her parents less than not marrying at all." Pale eyes flicker briefly towards the entrance, perhaps noting the clump of people in passing and dismissing it just as quickly. His attention is soon enough drawn by Farideh, earning a twitch of brows. "Not Reaches, hm? And yes, Madilla, because sometimes the personal touch works so much better than the formal." "No, it isn't," Lilah agrees in a murmur, not pressing that topic and instead sipping at her whiskey. Where they talk Madilla and potential introductions, her attention lingers on that clump of people for a moment. There are more groups of people making their way up the road, the sporadic words audible above the din words that might evoke interest: Wulfan. Dead. Balcony. True? What? Or some mixture thereof. It's certainly enough for the wine attendant to look up suddenly, brows furrowed, as if trying to either make sense of what's been said or whether he's had just a touch too much to drink. "No, better a spinster than a rider, in that sense," the girl admits, agreeing for the first time in a while with R'hin. "At least you can't taint the bloodline that way." Farideh sips at her wine, her eyes sliding sidelong to look at Lilah, naively, though her words are for the bronzerider. "I would if I wanted to aspire to an exile's wife," sourly, as her eyes lazily lift from the goldrider to the tent opening; her face doesn't register any other emotion aside from her normal animation, so it's likely she hasn't caught wind of any of the murmurs flying by. The faint snatches of words, too, have attracted more than the interest of the attendant; R'hin's frowning in concentration. Abruptly, he stands, scooping up glass and bottle, before he stretches out a hand towards Farideh, "Shall we go for a walk? Sober you up a bit before," a now-familiar chuckle, "I ply you with that seventh and eighth drink? Lilah can play chaperone, so no one can claim I've taken advantage," he says, grinning at the goldrider. He doesn't offer her a hand; maybe he's learned his lesson. Or he just doesn't have a spare one to offer. An attache of guards is making their way through the gather from where the crowds originated, with a man dressed in the haphazard attire of a herald. His hat is a little askew and he looks flustered: "Lord Igen requests the presence of Gather attendees to the courtyard for an announcement." Given neither Wulfan nor his wife have walked the gather at all this summer, perhaps this is a welcome. With guards. "I'm afraid people will just have to trust that you haven't, R'hin," Lilah says dryly, apparently not finding as much humor in that. She is distracted before that announcement, only offering a quiet, "If you'll excuse me," and a nod to Farideh before she disappears to join the rest of the crowd, blending in as just another attendee without her knot. A pout surfaces when the bottle is collected, but Farideh is mollified by the hand he offers instead, with which she pulls herself up to standing. "That might be best, but, I still have this glass to finish?" She holds up the offending object for their scrutiny; see, it's still at least half full. "I'll have to drink it," she warns, "or you can." But far more interesting is the herald and-- Lilah's farewell gains another frown, and her eyes flick to R'hin. "You upset her," closely followed by her own wobbly wandering towards the exit. R'hin's gaze follows Lilah briefly, but he's soon enough distracted by the guard, and the herald -- though his gaze lingers on the guards throughout that whole announcement. "Come on, take it with you," he says, with a sudden tension in his voice that Farideh's probably unused to hearing. "Yeah," a grin, of her comment on the goldrider, "I seem to do that a lot." He shifts his hand to settle under Farideh's arm, lending her some stability as they move to join the crowd heading towards the courtyard. The crowds follow in the wake, and there's far more people clustered in the courtyard. Igen's people clamor to see their Lord, or well, hear what he has to say of their summer of uncertainty. But it's only after the herald scurries back into the Hold, and the guards line themselves along the inner walls of the Hold, that the balcony that overlooks the courtyard opens. Not /everyone/ joins. There are those stall owners and gather goers who don't see the need; they revel, or stay far away from whatever drama might result. Drama, trouble. It's all the same thing, right? It's not the guiding hand on her arm, but the tone of his voice that earns him a dubious sideways glance from Farideh. She doesn't comment on this new occurrence, just moves through the crush of the crowd towards the courtyard of the Hold, all the while staying close to R'hin's side; that earlier worry still lingers. "What do you think is happening?" she says aloud, troubled eyes lifting to the bronzerider in question. R'hin seems content to linger towards the back of the crowd, keeping a close watch on Farideh as he does so, slowing as they reach the courtyard proper. Habit, perhaps, makes him pay more attention to those guards and where they station themselves. Almost unnoticed in the excitement, a brief shadow passes overhead, the familiar, angular lines of Leiventh taking him from Igen's cliffs to the road just outside. "Trouble," he mutters, towards Farideh. "Nothing to do with you," he adds, turning his gaze towards her with a certainty in his voice. "None of the guards have even looked our way." It's perfunctory, the appearance of Wulfan with Daroda at his side. He is slimmer, though nowhere near gaunt, and there's an air of exhaustion about his eyes, what can be seen, at any rate, from the ground. "I am abdicating as Lord Holder of Igen. Joremy," a long beat and a short glance backward that results in tightened knuckles on the railing, "Is my designated heir. My wife and I will be retiring to Katz Field though we will aid my younger brother in whatever transition he may need." It's not gracious. But it is, at the very least, not burning very obvious bridges. He maintains his passivity even as his wife flinches at the Igen crowd's sudden cheers. Wulfan's hand rises to quiet the crowds, but that no longer works. Even so, he attempts to speak above them and fails, and passiveness gives way to disgust and the middle-aged man turns on his heel to re-enter his brother's hold. Daroda looks down at the crowds, the tears in her eyes visible, though there's a brief pause in her glance over on the captain of the guards standing at the Hold's door. The wine in its fancy glass is forgotten, at least for now. Farideh is trying to look everywhere at once, eyes scanning whatever faces are closest, but the snippets of gossip and hysteria being passed around only serve to draw a deep frown from the girl. "No, but I--" Her face reflects the graveness of R'hin's words, a sentiment that turns to surprise when Wulfan appears on the balcony. She keeps her silence throughout, despite the cheers from the crowds and the obvious joyous mood of the Igenites over this latest development. "Joremy," she whispers at the end, her expression strained, and buries the fingers of her free hand in the sleeve of R'hin's nearest sleeve, like it could be an anchor. "Poor Daroda." Sympathies lie with familiarity. Shortly after that look, Daroda disappears and the guards animate. "Go about your business now. Lord Joremy will not be addressing you lot today," says the captain, his voice stern and ringing loud. Even if the back might not hear him, the words make their way through, though many don't disperse as asked. And now the Wingleader's gaze is flickering back over the crowd, over the people nearest to them, towards the guards, and finally -- lastly -- to the balcony. R'hin takes in Wulfan's speech, his appearance, and his gaze flickers past the -- now former -- Lord Holder to his wife, with a frown. It's the cheering of the crowds that stiffens his posture, and after a moment, oddly, he joins in, even if it's lacking the enthusiasm of some of their neighbors. Her mention of the new, or at least soon-to-be-confirmed Lord Igen earns the steady, pale gaze of the bronzerider, curious. At least until the words of the captain become audible. His hand slides around Farideh's waist, pulling her closer, as he seeks to steer them back out towards the road, "We should go. Leiventh's outside." His tone is intent, none of that earlier, amused light-heartedness to it. The entire crowd doesn't cheer, at least; the Fortian junior in the midst of them does not, watching Daroda with an intent study from the courtyard below. She does disperse, not as subtly as she came, with a spin on her heel and striding away through the gather to meet a waiting dragon. This is the stuff that won't be talked of. The rising number of guards that stand outside the inner hold walls. The number of guards that patrol the gather. The worried look of the harpers on duty at the gather, whose brows pinch together. And then, ultimately, a few hours later, there are the drums that sound their message across Pern, echoed, repeated, then echoed again. No resistance comes from Farideh when R'hin makes to lead her away, not in any tangible way save for a single look back over her shoulder. She is more alert than back in the tent, and seems more stable on her feet in the wake of Wulfan's announcement. But her expression remains troubled, complexion a bit paler than before. "Lord Wulfan looked--" and yet, she can't bring herself to say the words. R'hin shakes his head, not answering, nor finishing Farideh's unfinished thought. Instead, he picks up his pace, making a beeline for Leiventh, and bundling his companion up with all haste. By the time the drums pound, the pair from High Reaches are long gone, though not before the frowning gaze of one of its Wingleaders takes in the number of guards, Leiventh's circling path taking them once, twice, thrice over the gather grounds before they vanish between. It's not to the ground that the bronze heads, but to the his ledge, settling there with ease. Wordlessly, he leads the way into one door of the two-doored weyr, setting the bottle on the table before the hearth. While he may have taken the bottle, he didn't take the glasses, and he grabs fresh ones from the side board, thunking them down on table. There are three more drinks to be hand, and R'hin plies Farideh with them, while he asks her what she knows about Joremy, about Daroda, and about Wulfan. All of the previous spunk has gone out of Farideh, and she's left to half-heartedly drink what wine that R'hin offers her in the safety of his weyr. Her words are drawn out in a tired sort of way, but she does her best to supply him with what she knows about the great house of Igen. There's the basics that most people know, and then personal tidbits she's garner from her own interaction of Blood on Blood, of her family's significant interest with their Lord and family. It's at the end, when her story has wound down, that she lifts her thin shoulders in an uncertain shrug, that she says, "I didn't know that Joremy was going to-- I knew Lord Wulfan had made people mad, but I didn't--" But she's said too much already, as it is. R'hin's attentive through all of it, asking her more questions to draw her out, showing great interest in the personal tidbits, and the relationships between the various people. "You didn't think he'd usurp a sitting Lord," the bronzerider concludes. "It's not as if it hasn't happened recently, with High Reaches Hold. Thankfully, it doesn't directly effect us, though given how -- unstable things will be there, I suggest you don't go near Igen at all, for some time," he says, leaning forward as if to impress on her how serious he is on that score. "If you want to get a message to your family, I can help." "No. Joremy is kind and a gentleman," Farideh says, looking down at her hands in her lap. Unspoken are the words: gentlemen don't unseat Lords; Lords who happen to be their older brothers. She glances up grudgingly, listening with that same dire mien. "What would I say that they won't know soon? I can't be sure that they didn't know. What confidences my uncle and father keep, I'm not privy to. They might be standing at Joremy's side even now." She sighs quietly. "Thank you, anyway." "Ambition is a strong motivator, even for a gentleman," R'hin counters, with a twist of lips, as if he finds the notion distasteful. He nods at her latter words, then pushes to his feet while she thanks him, tilting his head down to regard her a moment with thoughtful, pale eyes. "You can stay here tonight, if you want. I've some things to do." No more words about Joremy, but Farideh looks up at R'hin warily. "You're not coming back?" which is surprising that she would even consider the offer; she does live with a bunch of other girls, and they may have questions. After a pause; "No," and then R'hin's heading for the door. The short answer is good enough for the laundress, who sits in the same chair, silent, staring blankly for a while longer, before she gets up to poke around her new lodgings for the night. It's even shorter, after that, that she avails herself of the bed and curls up for a night of much needed slumber. |
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