Arekoth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
Narrow at first and then widening, this ledge unfurls like a tongue from the mouth of the weyr. Medium to large, it could likely hold one bronze or perhaps two smaller dragons. Unremarkable, the pockmarked surface is smooth in places and ruggedly chipped away in others. Within the holes and crevasses, mold is beginning to grow, safe there from things that scrape over the surface of the rock and showing the rather shadowed nature of this low-set ledge.
Arekoth's ledge isn't really sharp enough that legs can properly be dangled off of it, but all its lack of right angles at least doesn't keep H'kon from at least pushing his feet out off the edge - once, of course, he's set down two mugs of tea, steaming into the growing-chill air of the evening, between the spot he now takes, and Madilla's. His legs aren't quite straight out, but the brownrider still sees it fitting to brace himself with arms pushed behind him. There's a huff from the man when Arekoth makes some sort of (surely snarky) coughing noise from the place he occupies, half into the weyr, half out.
Madilla's legs are crossed, and covered by her skirts, and her hands rest idly on her knees, arms loosely bent. She's been staring out over the weyr below, and, more particularly, a trio of weyrling dragons practicing formations only a few dragonlengths down, but as the tea gets set between them, her head turns. She smiles, but doesn't immediately reach for one of the mugs - and anyway, she's pretty quickly distracted by Arekoth's noise, which has her turning to regard him for a moment. "Is he making fun of you?"
H'kon turns to look first to Madilla, then twists to peer back to the dragon. "He is," is said in Arekoth's general direction, before he's settling back, eyes once again upon Madilla. H'kon even gives his feet a little twitch, not so much a kick as a flexing of ankles. "Less so than if I'd been sitting in a tall chair," is a bit wry, and there's a grimacing smile to go with it. "But he must be given some leeway, sometimes." He does reach for his mug.
"I suppose he's allowed," agrees Madilla, turning her attention back towards H'kon - and yes, still smiling, though with much less of a grimace to go with it (which is to say: none). "I suppose. At least a little bit. Not that... Well. He can do whatever he likes, really, can't he." She doesn't actually phrase it as a question, and instead reaches for the other mug, wrapping both hands around it and holding it close to her mouth, clearly enjoying the warmth for all that she doesn't look cold.
"He can say whatever he likes," H'kon specifies, and though this time he isn't looking toward the brown, there is still something directional, something pointed, to that. He balances awkwardly for a moment, one arm bracing, the other gripping his mug, before he gives in, and draws one foot in toward him, a compromise. Or a balance. The rising steam soon takes his eyes from Madilla. After a moment's meditation on its lack of perfect pattern, he blows some air to disrupt even its rhythm through his nose. And then, "I would go to the sea with you. It's the timing." And sip.
"That," allows Madilla, whose own gaze remains on the rider rather than on the dragon, though she's certainly unlikely to have missed the pointedness of his remark. It's his later remark, however, that draws the most of her attention, and has her worrying at the skin on her lip with her front teeth for several seconds. "The timing," she repeats, finally - a prompt, without being a question. Those weyrling dragons are climbing, now, but they've lost their observer-- and yet, there's nothing overly intense in the way she considers H'kon.
"Timing," is confirmed only after H'kon has swallowed that bit of tea, and breathed warmer air out into the night. "It is important we stay here. If there's to be meaning in our actions." He tilts his head to the side, allows a bit of a more gruff, "Or lack." The second leg tucks in, and soon his are crossed as well, and he can lean forward, sip again, and then hold the mug in both hands. If it's mimicry, it's unconscious.
It takes Madilla a moment of visible thought before, abruptly, she understands: that shows on her face, too, and in her careful nod. She turns her gaze away, finally, so that she can go back to surveying the Weyr: ledge upon ledge, and the bowl floor below. "You stand by the Weyr," she summarises, quietly. "Even when you do not stand by its leaders. That's fair." A moment later, lighter, "Symbolism is important. All of this--" Her nod is towards the Weyr. "Is much more important. We'll go another time."
H'kon lifts his eyebrows overtop his mug as affirmation, and sips a little more. It's an awkward wriggle and scooch to get nearer the edge of the ledge, all so he can peer down over the goings-on below as well. He watches a while, the weyrlings, the old aunties, everyone in between, watches in silence. "Given leave," is mused at length, "I think I'd have gone. Best perhaps we did not."
"Perhaps," agrees Madilla, mulling this over as her teeth drop towards her lips once more. She has to move them again in order to sip, though, and that seems to take priority-- one sip, then a second, all as she considers the Weyr, and probably a lot more besides. "It doesn't matter. I mean - the reasons matter, and they're good reasons. What does your Wingleader think?" Of everything, presumably.
"Avalanche was one of those not represented over Tillek," H'kon gives, sideways through the corner of his mouth, as well as in nature. The mug is lifted again, a longer drink taken, now that the liquid inside has cooled more noticeably. "I am not certain otherwise that Sisha was pleased with so little notice given. On my own." The rest is drained, and the mug is set down - this time, behind him.
Madilla's nod is small, really little more than a minute inclination, though she's turned her head now to look back at H'kon. "I hadn't expected the wings to do... that," she says. "And tomorrow, Crom. It's encouraging, I think. That the wings didn't show. I think? I don't know. I hesitate to comment - dragonrider matters. But I'm glad to see people stand up for what they believe. For what's right."
"Nor had I," H'kon admits, a whispered confidence. "It is doing something, for all it isn't. For all it's counter-intuitive." He pushes out a sigh, and turns his attention from the bowl, first twisting to see the brown, then easing up to look to the woman alongside him. Eyes narrow a bit, not suspicious so much as inspecting. "And do you?" is in a similarly quiet voice. "Think this 'right'?"
The corner of Madilla's mouth twists up, a smile-that-isn't-quite lurking there, as if it means to replace the seriousness that has come over her during this conversation - means to, but doesn't quite manage it. Opening her mouth to answer his question is an automatic reaction, perhaps even instinctual, but despite that, she doesn't immediately have words to release. Her gaze lowers towards her tea, and to the sip of it that she takes. "It's difficult," she says, finally, setting down the mug and folding her hands into her lap. "Knowing what is right, and what is not. Especially in this, when it's not something that impacts me, not directly. I believe in order, structure. Hierarchy. I think it's important. But," she's suddenly more sure, "I have a problem with leadership without consultation. By fiat, and by force. And for that reason, yes, I think this protest is right. Peaceful, non-destructive protest."
"Protest," H'kon repeats, as if the word is some strange language, with connotations he can't quite grasp. It brings a frown of concentration to his face for a moment. (Not that anyone is looking, but it perks Arekoth up some, too.) "I'd not thought to give any of this such a name." He lifts a hand to rub over his chin and jaw, next through his hair, before it drops to the stone floor of the ledge. He tests the strength of that with a press of his fingers. "I suppose it is."
That makes Madilla laugh, though the sound is rich with fond affection: of course he hasn't thought of it like that. "It is," she confirms. "How does it feel, applying such an idea to yourself? It seems like it ought to be entirely foreign, as a concept. But in this case..." She smiles.
H'kon mulls that over for a while, eyes falling away from Madilla to focus on a point of nothing instead. And when he does shake his head, he's left only with, "I believe you had it at 'foreign'." It's not said without a crook of a smile tugging at his mouth. "I too see the need for order," comes more serious, "or hierarchy. This goes well against what I know." Still, he gives the start of what might be a laugh, and kicks his legs out, and props his hands behind him once again. "Perhaps best, indeed, that we did not go to Tillek." Said like 'home'.
"I would say that it's good for a person, to get out of their comfort zones," begins Madilla, only she sounds rueful again. "Only, I think perhaps there's been too much of that. I think we could all use some comfortable order and stability." She adjusts herself, a half-turn of her body that has more half-facing the brownrider, while still letting her stare off over the bowl out of the corner of her gaze. "It will be bad, if Tillek takes their unhappiness further." She says it in a tone that implies she knows all too well that this is an understatement, and that it's an awkward subject.
H'kon gives something of an ominous nod, mouth twisting again, this time for a frown. "In many ways," comes as outward agreement as much as it does internal thought. He flexes his ankles again, pointing his toes and bringing them back up. It's less of a kick, now his legs are that much farther off the edge of the ledge. "It seems there is a great deal of unhappiness, just now. All around." Soon enough, he's watching her again.
Madilla has half an eye trained on what H'kon is doing with his legs, which isn't quite to say that she doesn't trust him not to fall off, only that it's a long way down and she's probably not that used to hanging out on people's ledges. Her answer starts with a, "Mmm," and continues, a few seconds later, her eyebrows lifting now that she's glancing at him again, and seeing his glance at her, "Too much. It's wearying." It's accompanied by a sigh, semi long-suffering. "I don't imagine it's as easily fixed as-- as one of the queens rising, and there being a real Weyrleader."
H'kon shakes his head, and for a moment looks nearly guilty. "No," is not a conclusion that takes him a great deal of time to come to. "Less so now," and the brownrider's head tilts slightly to one side, "with all that has happened. That is happening." That look on her hasn't been broken, through all this, and soon he's got a look nearly sympathetic. "I am not certain if I should envy your position, or be pleased not to be caught. Healers heal all, hm?"
"Sometimes," admits Madilla, with a sigh that isn't wholly upset, just, perhaps, a little tired, "it feels as though I'm supposed to mother the whole Weyr. I wonder if Delifa felt like this - I never thought to ask." At least she's still smiling, more or less. "Nothing is ever easily fixed, I suppose. That's just not how things work. I suppose we're in for a rough few turns." She's philosophical about that, at least. "But nothing lasts forever."
"I'm not so certain," H'kon murmurs. "Some things," comes with a glance back, toward his weyr, or his dragon. All at once, he pushes his weight back to his hands, supporting himself on his arms as he draws his feet up under him. The actual act of standing is slower, smoother, and comes with a hand held out for Madilla. "Better things," has a hint of he hortatory to it, sealed up with some sort of a smile, manifesting more at the corners of his eyes than anywhere else.
It breaks Madilla's solemnity, at least-- it has her laughing, even as she's taking H'kon's hand, using it to propel herself towards her feet, ever mindful of the abandoned mugs. "Better things," she agrees, smiling unrepentantly as she meets his gaze. "Much better things."
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