Logs:The Best
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| RL Date: 28 September, 2010 |
| Who: K'del, Nehvien |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: K'del tells Nehvien the truth about the eggs, and then they talk about Crom. |
| Where: Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 11, Turn 23 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aughan/Mentions, Teris/Mentions |
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| Hatching Galleries, High Reaches Weyr Ringing the southwestern side of the hatching sands are ample tiers of carved stone benches, the lowest of which is some six feet off the ground -- just high enough to separate wayward hatchlings from unwary viewers, and vice versa. A metal railing on the outside helps prevent anyone from falling off; it also extends up the stairs that lead the way higher into the galleries. While most of the area is open seating, ropes section off some of the closer tiers when dignitaries are expected; those areas even feature cushions in the Weyr's blue and black. The higher one climbs, the more apparent the immense scale of the entire cavern becomes. The dragon-sized entrance on the ground is dwarfed by the expansive golden sands that glitter in the light. Everything on them is easily visible from the galleries, whether that's a clutch of eggs and a broody queen, or simply its emptiness and the handful of darker tunnels that lead to more private areas than the bowl. Wherever one sits or looks, however, one thing is constant: the overwhelming, suffocating heat. Over on one of the far tiers of stone benches, a figure is sprawled, head tipped back and mouth open. Nehvien's easily noticeable - if only for the loud snoring that's coming from the scrawny candidate's direction. The lad's covered in patches of dust - or maybe it's just soot - smeared across his clothing and through his hair. It's pleasant enough out-of-doors (for late autumn in the High Reaches, at least) that there aren't all that many people enjoying the warmth of the Galleries, though perhaps Nehvien's snoring, too, has something to do with it. Ascending the stairs, K'del can only remain unaware of Nehvien for a moment, though he seems more amused than put-out-- certainly, he aims his path towards those far tiers, taking no pains to keep silence. Indeed, his footsteps might even be considered outright /loud/. Nehvien's snoring pattern alters slightly as K'del steps loudly closer, culminating in a loud snort in which he seems to wake himself up. "--I'm up, Vivi, stop banging that thing," he exclaims as eyes peek open. Only then does he seem to realise where he is - and after a moment's flickered glance towards K'del and the knot on his shoulder - just who is approaching. Coughing, he straightens hastily. "Um. Hi. Er, sir," he hastily adds, running a hand through his hair, streaking more soot through it. Clomp. Clomp. Clo-- K'del stops mid-step, as Nehvien wakes, and the reaction he gets draws only a smile. Altering course, he settles himself upon one of the nearby benches, drawing one knee up towards himself, the other long leg stretched out in front of him. "Got to be pretty exhausted if you're falling asleep out here," he remarks, then, tipping his head back in Nehvien's direction, nodding a greeting. "Er - not that's it a problem. Just." "No, not, um exhausted. Vivi says I can sleep through the entire recital of a weekly drum report." Nehvien gives a weak sort of smile, shoulders shifting in the faintest of shrugs. "But I think she's just jealous, though. I didn't--" a thought occurs to him and he's off on another train of thought, standing and staring at the sands. There's no movement down there, and he exhales a little sigh. He casts a sidelong glance at K'del, and gamely, asks, "Can I ask you a question, sir? And you won't get upset with me?" The explanation draws both enlightenment - in the form of an amused smile - and further questions - in the form of raised eyebrows - though K'del doesn't ask whatever it is he's wondering about. Leaning back, clearly attempting to settle himself as comfortably as he can, he follows Nehvien's gaze towards the sands, and then back again, meeting it squarely. Mouth drawing in, he says, after a moment, "Ask away. Suppose I can't promise not to get upset, but..." His expression seems to suggest it's unlikely. Nehvien clears his throat, as if a little uncomfortable, picking a little at his shirt as he drops back onto the bench. "Okay, well. I've been sitting here for a while and um, I've heard people talking. Well, they've been saying stuff - about the eggs. That they're not right?" His brow furrows a little. "I mean, they look fine to me, but then I guess I've, um, never seen a dragon's eggs before. What do you think mean by that? I uh, asked, but they looked at me and wouldn't answer." He finally looks back at K'del, kind of hesitantly, like he's unsure of the Weyrleader's reaction. K'del sucks in a breath, then lets it go, sitting quite still for several long seconds before he answers. "It's-- ah, shells." His gaze seeks out the eggs again, considering them in silence for several /more/ seconds. "Iskiveth ate firestone when she was still young. Far as anyone's ever known, firestone's why greens don't have clutches, and golds do. No one figured she'd ever have eggs, therefore, and now that there are... it could be they won't hatch. But," he turns his whole body to face Nehvien as he says this, "They /look/ perfectly fine. Normal. It's just got people worried, is all." He sounds a little as though he's forcing reassurance into his tone. Nehvien's eyes widen as soon as K'del mentions firestone in conjunction with Iskiveth's name. "Oh." He blinks a little, chewing his lower lip in thought, as he peeks off towards the eggs again. "So-- they might not hatch at all?" he ventures, uncertainly. "Or be kind of-- wrong, maybe?" K'del's slow nod confirms the potential for not hatching, but the word 'wrong' makes him outright flinch. He seems unsure, for a moment, how to respond to that, but finally, slowly, and very quietly, he admits, "It's possible. Or-- it seems like it could be. No one knows. But /Iskiveth/ thinks they're fine, and obviously, if there's a problem, well, we'll deal with it." Unspoken: you needn't worry about it. "It'd be too late now anyway, if something's wrong. I mean, you wouldn't be able to well, do anything. If they Impress--" Nehvien muses, thinking aloud - then seems to realise what he's said and snaps his mouth shut. "I guess, um, if anyone knows it'd be the dam, right? Even if everyone else says otherwise." He ventures a half-hearted sort of smile, completely unconvincing. K'del shoots Nehvien a wary glance, as though he's half regretting saying anything. Hastily, he says, "Most of the time, if there's something wrong with an egg, it simply doesn't hatch. Happens-- well, not /all/ the time, but it does happen. Figure that's more likely. It's going to be /fine/. Iskiveth-- right. She should know." That last bit is definitely unconvincing, even if the rest is more firm. "It's all going to be /fine/." "Right. Um, fine." The tone with which Nehvien echoes K'del might well make it seem he's not nearly as certain. "So--" he struggles a moment with a suitable topic of diversion, and seems to flail a little, squirming around a moment. "I'm kind of surprised that any of your riders venture near Crom these days. You uh, should hear some of the things they say--" he stops abruptly, darts a quick look at K'del, and says hastily, "But you probably don't want to hear about that." He seems to have picked the only topic slightly more awkward than the previous one. K'del's expression is pained as Nehvien brings up Crom-- and then he begins to laugh. "You haven't heard some of the things they say /here/," he retorts, running his fingers through curls that probably need a trim. "Crom's still part of our coverage area. The hold, at least, anyway. And your Lord swears--" But a glance at the Candidate, and he breaks off from that. "Well. We're trying to repair relations. What do /you/ think of us, that you were still willing to come?" "Well--" Nehvien hesitates, darting a nervous, sidelong glance at K'del. "I was uh, ten when Thread started falling again. We were grateful that the 'Reaches flew fall, but the Lord-- not Lord Aughan, the one before-- had all these plans. My pa used to work out at one of the mines out in the mountains. He said the Lord used to call the Reaches Weyrleader-- not you, the old, old one-- an upstart young ass." Nehvien's voice has a tone as he says that, as if he's quoting directly from something he'd overheard. "Um, well," he runs a hand uncomfortably against the back of his neck. "Our parents went missing during those Turns, when Thread was falling." He pauses, then kind of scuffs his boot against the ground as he speaks, "I figure that it's always been tradition that the Weyrs rule when Thread falls, just everyone got greedy. Not just Crom, but the Weyrs as well." He darts a glance at K'del, then looks a little embarrassed, "Sorry, sir." K'del listens in silence, his expression giving nothing away about his feelings on the topic and hand, but certainly reinforcing the fact that he's listening - and doing so intently. Slowly, towards the end of that speech, he nods, just once. "Don't need to be sorry for that. Reckon-- it's complicated. Most things usually are. For what it's worth, I very much appreciate that you were willing. Especially with such losses." He's silent a moment, and then, "Reckon you and I are of an age. Just old enough to be aware of everything, when the comet pass started." Nehvien scratches at his chin for a bit, nodding slowly at K'del. "Well, the thing is-- I don't much care about politics. I'm interested in -things-, in working out how things -work-. It's the one thing I'm good at-- kind of," he adds, with a nervous little laugh. "I'd always been fascinated by the harper tales about dragons. I mean, it's so-- mystical, I guess. There has to be a basis there, a reason. Why do dragons pick who they do? There had to be a pattern, a uh, common reason. When you break things down far enough, there's always a commonality. That's how everything works, you know?" He kind of looks at K'del like he's expecting a blank look. A moment of silence, then, "Yeah. Just old enough. I didn't," he seems surprised, "Didn't think you were that young. Not that you -look- old, but you know..." "How things work?" K'del wants to know, tipping Nehvien a curious glance. "Like what?" He doesn't have an entirely blank look for the rest of it, though he admits, looking a little rueful, "Haven't thought about it all that much, I guess. It's-- dragons choose the person who's right for them. It's impossible for us to figure out, because we're not-- them, I guess. Don't see what they do, or whatever. And some riders are like their dragons, and some aren't, so it's not that simple, really, either." More rueful again is his last comment, made as he stretches out again. "But I'm young to be a Weyrleader. Right. Well. Been Weyrleader since I was seventeen. One of those dumb weyr things, though Lord Fort's all of like fifteen or something, so I feel less-- you know. Young." Or something; the whole speech seems to have made him awkward. "Just-- things. Everything." Nehvien pauses, clarifies: "I used to be a smithcrafter, worked with chemicals. They all have like a-- base property, I guess. They always behave the same way, predictably, and they always behave the same way when you mix them with the same amount of another substance. You just have to find out by trying -how- they work." He's sounding enthused, talking at a fairly rapid rate. "That was the best part, um, experimenting, you know? Figuring stuff out. I was good at it too, until I-- well, um, that didn't really work out," the candidate is mildly uncomfortable, if the nervous shifting of shoulders is any indicator. He grins a little at K'del, seemingly pleased all of a sudden: "Seems to have been that way for a while, for the Reaches, hasn't it? Young Weyrleaders, I mean. There's a pattern right there." 'Smithcrafter' is apparently enlightening, K'del's expression clearing, his head nodding. His obvious curiosity about the 'not working out', however, is mostly restrained - just a questioning glance, a set of raised eyebrows, but no pushing. Instead, he turns to the other topic of conversation, returning the grin. "Hadn't noticed, to be honest. How old people were. All older than me, anyway: no other seventeen-turn-olds, or even close. N'thei half terrified me, when I was a candidate. And Satiet. But they were both older by then." Beat. "You haven't told me your name, you know." He offers a hand, loosely, still with that grin. "Oh-- sorry," Nehvien seems embarrassed, hastily offering his own hand in an admittedly awkward handshake. "I'm Nehvien, sir." He seems happy to gloss over the end of that other story, instead with a glance at K'del's knot, "I know who you are, of course. If it means anything, I uh, haven't heard Lord Aughan call you an upstart. Or an ass. At least, um, not where I could hear." He grins, tentatively, as if not sure how the Weyrleader might take that. "Nice to meet you, Nehvien," grins K'del, apparently unconcerned by needing the prompt the introduction. His handshake is firm, though he doesn't linger over it. "Trouble with this knot-- no one ever needs an introduction. Still. K'del." The candidate's more tentative grin is more than matched by the Weyrleader's: he seems amused again. "Reckon he does /that/ in private. Or maybe it's just 'easy mark'." Beat. "Shouldn't say that, probably. Imply things about your Lord. Apologies." Nehvien's brow furrows. "Never thought about it like that. I suppose that's uh, difficult. You ever think of, you know, taking the knot off and walking around? I guess everyone'd still know who you are, though," he concedes. The latter comment earns a sly sort of grin, and a faint cough. "Might be right. He probably says the same thing about you, sir." He only now seems to note the soot on his clothes, and begins a hopeless attempt to dust it off. "Anyway, if it means anything-- he's a good Lord, from our perspective. He puts a roof over our heads, he looks after us-- he does his duties as a Lord." K'del gives his knot a rueful glance, quick to report, "Absolutely. Go to gathers and the like all the time, in the summer, no knot. Easy to be a random bronzerider - or a random nobody, if Cadejoth stays out of the way - on the other side of the continent. It's refreshing." With a slow nod, he adds, "I've no doubt he is. A good Lord, I mean. Reckon he's after the best for his people-- just as I'm after the best for mine." He says it in a measured kind of way, admitting this, but not necessarily implying that he condones /all/ of Aughan's actions. With a slow nod, Nehvien looks up from his clothes-dusting, seeming to agree. "Probably why things don't always go so well," he says with a wry twitch of lips. "I, um, should go. Get some sleep, I think they've got me hauling stuff tomorrow. I don't do so well with hauling," he confesses as he scrambles to his feet. "Need all the help I can get. Thank you for, um, being honest, sir," he adds, with a not-so-subtle glance towards the eggs. "Probably," agrees K'del, with a low chuckle. His nose wrinkles sympathetically at mention of the hauling, and he nods hastily: "Of course. Good-- luck with that?" He seems uncertain, but smiles, anyway. "You're welcome. Figures it-- Well. Doesn't do anyone much good if I pretend, right? Mostly. Guess I'll probably see you around, Nehvien. Good night." "Well, they're very good with the rousting-- out of bed, I mean, for chores," Nehvien explains with a grin. "So I think I might need the luck." He pauses a moment, kind of slouched there. "I uh, guess not. I'm no good at pretending anymore than hauling, myself. And uh, I'm sure you will see me around. Not going anywhere soon." With a pretty lame salute - he's seen the riders doing it, and his emulation leaves much to be desired - be traipses off across the galleries, heading for the bowl. |
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