Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Line Has Been Drawn"

Azaylia and Hraedhyth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr

Accessed via a narrow staircase from the Weyrleader's Complex, or from the broad, sunny ledge beyond, this weyr was clearly designed to be for one of the weyr's junior queens. Spacious, but not extravagant, it boasts a well-sized outer room, narrowing in front the dragon couch and ledge beyond. Much of this main room has been turned over to a couch and several chairs which circle the hearth and the blue rug in front of it. There's a low table here, too, set in the middle of that rug. A tack-cupboard stands tidily behind the couch, keeping out of sight a rider's paraphernalia.

Three low steps lead up onto a peculiar little landing, just large enough for the brand new desk and set of shelves that have been placed there. Here, too, there are definite pointers to the lived-in state of the weyr despite the newest resident's attempts at tidying what she can when it comes to the piles of hidework on her desk.

Behind the workspace, a narrow passage leads in an inner set of chambers, made up of a sleeping cavern and a private bathing area. A decent-sized bed fills much of the space, the mattress piled high with overstuffed down pillows, comforter. There's a nightstand on either side, and against one of the other walls, a tall, heavy wardrobe made from a dark wood that matches the bed. The bathing area is part of the same cavern, a folding screen shielding the toilet and slightly raised, double-sized bathtub built into the stone, and a small shelf to hold toiletries.

Unusually, the walls, ceiling and floor of this weyr have all been whitewashed thickly, covering the natural stone. One of the walls has a full sized quilt pulled taut and secure to reveal the work that went into it. It has a decorative border and a pieced-together design in the middle: the spires of High Reaches, with a tawny gold dragon high above, flying through the blue sky. Embroidered into the lower corner is an 'M' to signify the maker. The hearth is also brand new, as are most of the built-in fittings, as though they have recently needed to be replaced. These are not the only oddities to be found within their home...

Animal remains litter the otherwise comforting space, the majority made up of the heads of various Pernese creatures. Clean and bleached, the largest of the leg bones and skulls are typically featured around Hraedhyth's wallow, some splintered and broken where the urge to gnaw became too great. The smaller, more intricate trophies can be found throughout the weyr. Several are on the mantel, along with a set of carved and painted animal figurines: a runner, bovine, llama, porcine, ovine, horned caprine, pointed-eared canine and lastly, a tiny wherry chick. A ram's head has been painted black and blue and acts as a lovely centerpiece atop the low table, fresh flowers sticking out of it's eye sockets. Why, there are even one or two being used as weights for some of Azaylia's hidework.

With Leiventh's visit earlier today, it has taken some time for peace to return to High Reaches Weyr. It isn't that the Monacoan is not welcome, but any strangers appearing in the skies tend to unsettle. Now that it's dark, and still bitterly cold, few people out and about in the wind and snow. It might make Azaylia's offer seem more inviting, her weyr warm and full of things to spoil someone's appetite. Hraedhyth is missing from her ledge, more than likely visiting with another dragon and finding her own way to keep warm. The junior is fidgeting now, adjusting a cup so it's sitting just right on the table, walking over to move this skull over here. She wears the same drab gray that she has been, but thankfully the dress looks to be laundered regularly. Every now and again she'll stop to glance towards the ledge, go back to readjusting something, stop, only to look towards the smaller entrance.

Iesaryth is likewise not on her ledge to brave the snow and cold, but she doesn't follow Hraedhyth's suit, preferring to keep herself warm inside her expansive weyr. (She might be sulking about sleeping through her sire's visit.) Brieli, however, is sitting in one of Azaylia's chairs, a mug in her hands, long legs crossed. While her friend fidgets, she seems less anxious, but then, it's not her place. In the middle of conversation that sounds normal enough, "... Really think that you should maybe wear something else. It's not flattering." The gray shift is given a baleful glance for all it's clean... but her attention drifts now and then in the same direction as Azaylia's, like a magnet drawing them both.

Even brownriders largely eschewing company and keeping themselves to their guilty, guilty selves can't realistically ignore invitations from goldriders-- no matter how uncomfortable the timing may seem, or how little they may wish to accept. False bravado sits ill upon his shoulders as he enters from the ground - as ill as his clothes, which probably fit stylishly a few months ago, and now hang loose over waning shoulders. "Weyrwoma--" he begins, as he reaches the entrance, but the word falls short of completion as dark gaze takes in not just Azaylia, but Brieli, too. "Weyrwomen?"

"It's not supposed to be flattering." Azayali argues in her gentle way, "It feels wrong to... wear anything nice." Bent over the spread she's laid out, she looks ready to pilfer a pastry by the time I'kris arrives. She straightens up, "I'kris!" Half surprised, half pleased, she moves to greet the brownrider by taking his hands. There might be a subtle tug inwards, "Come in from the cold. I've got klah, cookies, a few meatrolls but mostly sweets..." There's no tea, of course. "You look so skinny. You need to eat more." Never mind the several pounds and muscle definition she's lost over the past few sevens.

"But people watch what you do, you wear, it's--" Brieli probably means to tell Azaylia it's important, but then there's I'kris arriving. She offers a brief smile to the brownrider, though she doesn't get up. "I stopped by on the way to check in on dinner - and it didn't take much to convince me to stay." It sounds sincere, convincing enough, but who knows how it could be taken. Taking a cookie as if to be a good example to everyone who should be eating more, she's not lost weight - but there's not much to lose. "How's your day, so far?" A bite of cookie.

This is not the reception I'kris seems to have expected, which probably says a lot, but he's powerless to do anything but allow Azaylia to take his hands, and be drawn inwards. "The cold," he begins, attempting to make his voice even, though it isn't. "It makes me less inclined to want to eat, that's all. I know it will be better once I'm home." His gaze flicks from one to the other, then back again, and again - he can't seem to stop it, and focus in on any one thing in particular. Nor does he manage to answer Brieli.

Azaylia's weyr is oddly empty of weyrfolk, just the three of them tonight. "At least drink something?" And if he does that, he'll have to dunk a cookie and oops- he might actually eat something! An old auntie's oldest trick. She'll lead him to the couch and motion for him to sit, leaning over to pour two mugs of klah. "I don't like my friends wandering around in the cold." Meant to help Brieli's explination, but if the brownrider wants to consider himself her friend... "Until then," Until he can go home, "You have to eat something. Your Weyr will think we're starving you." The more she talks, the calmer she sounds until the junior is able to offer him a cup without trembling hands.

Iesaryth isn't in enough of a sulk that she won't send out the tide in Svissath's way, like she has on and off for some time, to soothe, to check in on her clutchmate. Her concern has not wavered for some time; she can do little, but she worries. So does Brieli, by her expression, the way fine brows draw together, though it's hard to tell what's worrying her. Maybe it's just the way I'kris seems, anxious and jumpy. Azaylia's the one who is good at soothing humans - Iesaryth's rider has none of her dragon's skill - so she occupies herself with her mug until, "Freezing you and starving you besides. We're actually hoping to let people travel freely soon. We've just a few more things to look into - trying to investigate anyone who's ever said anything bad about a Weyrwoman takes a lot longer than one would hope." Her glance to Azaylia is encouraging. It's going fine!

Dutifully, I'kris accepts the mug, and even sits down, though there's an uncomfortable stiffness to the way he does so; he doesn't take a sip, but at least he's warming his hands. "I reassured R'hin that you weren't," he says, resting his seeking gaze on Azaylia for a few moments, then moving on to Brieli. "Oh? Truly? It will be a relief to be allowed to go home. Not that you haven't been very-- welcoming. But I have no purpose here, now. I don't belong." Svissath's mental walls are built high, but not so high that he can't accept Iesaryth's tide. He's fine (he's not fine); everything's fine (it isn't). Her thoughts are appreciated, and-- home. Soon. That will help everything.

Hraedhyth is removed from Svissath, letting Iesaryth's waves sooth him. She is there to offer warmth should he seek it, but since he's so intent on keeping his distance, she won't chase after him. ...Even if she wants to. Azaylia makes it a point to take a careful sip of klah, not wanting to burn her tongue after all. "Svissath doesn't want to help out with the weyrlings? They are his babies, and all." As if showing no interest beyond the flight and eggs is odd for a draconic sire. She catches Brieli's glance, turning to pluck up a cookie and dip it in her mug, "I-it's one thing to disagree with some of what Iolene wanted... Even I did. But some of the things people say, even after she's gone..." She gives a little shake of her head and bites into the wet cookie.

"I'm sorry I missed him." Brieli likewise sounds sincere enough about that, looking down into her mug. "I hope that everyone at Monaco isn't too concerned; it's an unfortunate situation, and we don't want to hold anyone longer than we must." Her words are chosen carefully. I'kris and his 'belonging' has her wince a little, and she can admit, "I haven't always felt that way myself. There's nothing... anyone can do about that." Iesaryth has fuzzy images of Svissath's home, hers once; her ocean could be the one eternally rolling onto Monaco's beaches. She can hope things will be fine. (She also has appreciation for Hraedhyth, her hard-won patience.) Nodding Azaylia's way at her last, she notes, "Changes are always divisive. But, as someone told me today... disagreement doesn't mean we can change things by force."

"They are concerned," says I'kris, quickly. "They'd like us home. Please." He's unable - or perhaps unwilling - to keep that desperate plea out of his voice, or that look off his face. It has so much of his attention that it's hard to tell if he's even registered the rest of what the pair of them have to say. "Svissath's proud of his children, of course, but they don't need him, now. Rielsath doesn't need him. We're-- we just don't belong." Svissath builds another layer of caramel-sweetness into his defenses, refusing to allow either queen to bypass them (though, of course, they could certainly do so if they tried). Iesaryth's images of home are received with gratitude, as that desperate longing begins to seep free.

Azaylia closes her eyes at his second desperate plea, placing both cup and half-a-cookie back down on a plate. "We can't let anyone leave yet, I'kris." Whisper quiet yet firm, she turns her head to look at the other weyrwoman, giving a nod for what Brieli says. "I would never want to worry your family, or your Weyr, but it's only fair that... People," I'kris especially, "...understand that we're concerned too. More than that, people that count on Brieli, Lujayn and I are scared." She reaches out to place a hand on his arm, not planning on letting it linger should he look even more uncomfortable. "Why don't you feel lik you belong, I'kris?" Hraedhyth silence is begrudging, leaving caramel walls to her Sister if only because it has been stressed upon her by Azaylia to do so.

Iesaryth doesn't force anything, not yet. Maybe she senses the desperation of dragon and rider both and worries over Svissath's reaction, should she do so. But that doesn't mean she can hold back Hraedhyth should her ire be stoked - she can merely try to calm, lend calm to the other gold and the brown at the same time. Brieli's expression has shifted, so she too looks more and more concerned, clear in a dark glance Azaylia's way. She lets the other goldrider explain, hoping that he's listening, that the touch will calm him a little. After letting that first question sink in, she leans forward to say quietly, "I'kris... Honestly, we want to listen. We will listen. We just need to... ask a few things."

I'kris has that caged animal look about him, now - the small, fluffy thing caught in a spotlight and unable to go free. Panicked, "I don't feel like I belong because I don't. I'm not a High Reachian. I'm a visitor, and everyone stares at me like that makes me suspicious." But it's Brieli's question, really, that has him jumping up from his position on the couch, spilling klah over his knees and the floor in the process. "It's H'kon, isn't it? He's framing me. He's told you that I did it, and you believe him, because he's a local. I'm a foreigner, and that makes me suspicious. That's it, isn't it?" Svissath withdraws further, no longer calmed. He may not be one with his rider so much, these days, but could any dragon miss that sudden spike in tension? No. No.

Azaylia snatches her hand back as he leaps up, her first instinct being to bend and retrieve the overturned mug of klah. Once that's done, she stands up and wipes her hands on the front of her dress. "I'kris." It's meant to be soothing, despite the strained note in her voice. "You need to calm down, sweetie." How can he be seen as anything more than a child now? « Murderer. » Just a boy. She reaches for his shoulder, less to comfort and more to simply hold the frantic brownrider there. "I- we want to believe you, but you won't tell us anything. It has nothing to do with you not being from 'Reaches." She gives Brieli a glance that's made of mostly worry, and a touch of fear.

The panic takes Brieli aback, dark eyes widening. This totally wasn't what she was expecting, by her glance over to Azaylia - she's not scared for them, but scared for him. She too stands, though she'll leave her cup on the table, holding out her hands like - no, wait! "No -- like she said, we want to listen, you just won't... We know something is wrong." But the way she's looking at I'kris is different now, and she seems a bit pale. As if she'd heard Hraedhyth. "We spoke to the girl who prepared the tea. She said you delivered it. We just want to know what happened. If nothing happened, then..." Everything is fine. Though... she's not seeming all that hopeful now. The tide rushes around Svissath's walls, not breaking them... though Iesaryth's water could wear him down, it's still to calm, for not even they can always help their riders. This, she knows.

"She's lying to you," swears I'kris, attempting to back away further, though Azaylia's grip on his shoulder makes that more difficult. "It's H'kon". Search his weyr. You'll find her necklace there. Her pendant. He was bragging about it." But Svissath has had too much of this, now: his walls are crumbling away, and his fear and guilt and horror and agony begin to flood out. Will the whole Weyr feel it? Will his rider?

The hold on I'kris' shoulder tightens, fingers flat rather than digging in, steel grip even and strong. "...H'kon doesn't brag." Azaylia whimpers, though it's hard to tell if she believes that, or the panicking brownrider. "The girl... she didn't want to say your name. It was like she... she thought you..." Hraedhyth doesn't try to creep in through those cracks. The gold that seemed so distracted is finally right there, slamming against Svissath's walls. There's nothing cruel about it, no harm meant to reach the brown. Drums are hard, steady, keeping the rhythm of a queen's battering ram.

"She wasn't lying," Brieli says quietly. "But we can talk to H'kon. We have and we will. I know he was no fan of Iolene's." But she seems to agree with Azaylia's assessment, for all that she's being reasonable, though so calm. Too calm. "She thought she was protecting you by not speaking. You need to tell us what happened. Then tell us what H'kon said to you. But first, we need to know what happened with her tea." As Svissath begins to crumble, she will trickle in against the flood, still trying to comfort - horrified first by the intensity of the brown's emotions, then by what it might mean. « Hraedhyth. » She is worried about the brown, worried about how those blows of the battering ram will reverberate. « It is not his fault. »

I'kris' knees shake, as though he can barely hold himself up - as though all that's keeping him upright is Azaylia's steely grip. He's outright sobbing as he begins to talk again, voice desperate and pleeding. "H'kon knew I didn't like her, either, and he told me I could please my father and make him proud. He told me what to do. To bring her the tea. To put something into it. I only did it because of him. It was his idea. I didn't know. And now he's saying it was all my fault and it wasn't, it wasn't." It's a slightly different story from his earlier version, but in his desperation it's hard to tell whether he's lying or not. And Svissath? He has no walls left. He has no recollection of events; he knows only his rider's torment, and his own rising horror, salty sweet. How can they go on?

Hraedhyth doesn't snarl, but she does give a low rumble of warning to her sister. « He will not be harmed. » Smoke floods where her fires will not, can not, without scorching his mind blank. There's restraint in this, at least. Jaws will toss Svissath away once she peers beyond those walls, a hint of disgust within her disappointment. « He will be of no use to us. » Azaylia looks beyond horrified, her heavy hand beginning to tremble against I'kris' shoulder. Finally she pulls back, holding her hand against her chest and rubbing the palm clean with her opposite thumb. It's probably not the best time to say, but it's the only truth she can hold on to. "You can't leave." Not after an outburst like that.

« He has been harmed. Do you not see? » Iesaryth has her own warning, as the waters rise; she is disappointed in Hraedhyth now for her lack of mercy. The queen can't take Svissath's pain and horror any longer; the ocean is deep and dark and quiet as it rolls in over the brown, tries to take it away for now. « Sleep, Svissath. Please. » Though she asks, there's no mistaking the order. As for Brieli, who is pale and miserable, staring at Azaylia for a moment as if she's her lifemate, disbelievingly. Then, shaking her head, "We'll have to keep you longer, I'kris. The guards will take you for now. We'll confine you to a ground weyr. I'm..." She can't quite say she's sorry, not now. But it trails off just the same before she starts off to call the guards, keeping her eye on the sobbing brownrider, the other weyrwoman. How could she leave them alone now?

Were Iesaryth not a queen, it's likely she would have no chance at soothing Svissath's troubled mind; as it is, he's likely shaking physically, wherever he is, a greyed-out and terrified creature, caught in an increasingly desperate darkness. But for Iesaryth-- Iesaryth, who can protect him-- he will try. Let go, I'kris sinks to the floor, on his knees with his hands planted firmly in front of him, and sobs. It's hard to tell if he's heard what he's been told - he makes no response.

Iesaryth is welcome to be disappointed in Hraedhyth, if the older queen is allowed to be disgusted by her sister's coddling. She's done with him, anyway, and leaves the waters to sing baby to sleep. Snort. Azaylia has no voice to call the guards, grateful for the other junior once again. She almost follows I'kris to the floor, stopping halfway with her hand outstretched though not quite touching him. Eventually she is shooed by the guards, taking steps away from the brownrider, closer to Brieli. Words are whisper quiet, meant only for her friend, "You need to talk to Monaco."

Iesaryth, now out of Svissath's hearing, has only disgust for Hraedhyth in return. « You are not my sister. He is my brother. » Iesaryth thought the other queen might care for anyone in High Reaches, but she is icy cold to see where the line is drawn - so she draws her own, in dried salt before disconnecting; she has the Weyr to calm. Brieli waits until the guards have collected I'kris, not much to be done with him at this point - though she does not put him in the weyr Iolene was killed in. Even for her, it's a step too far. It's only after they've gone that she snaps at Azaylia, "Don't tell me what to do." There's a long pause. "I have to go. Monaco will contact me, no doubt. I'll let you know." Not we, not right now - at least Brieli's smart enough to clear off before the queens' issues become their own. Which she starts off to do. "I'll let people know they can come back in."

Hraedhyth stutters. Her words are a match that refuses to light. Fft. Ftt. Ftt. Until, « So be it. » Azaylia gives a start, jumping in place and staring at Brieli with wide eyes. "W-what? I was just... earlier, you said..." Her voice falters, and it's a moment longer until she understands. Tears spring to her eyes, "Yeah. Get out." It doesn't hold the same sting as the other junior's words, an instinctual, clumsy attempt to share the hurt. She doesn't have time to apologize, rushing towards the ledge where Hraedhyth will be landing. People are welcome to return to her weyr, though Azaylia's attentions will be focused on her dragon tonight.

And I'kris? He will cry until his eyes are dry. When lucidity returns, his mantra will turn sane once more: H'kon. They need to look at H'kon.

... Which is a given definition of sane.

Maybe Brieli pauses on her way out, when she can hear the tears in Azaylia's voice - but that waver in her step only lasts a moment before she decides getting out is indeed the best idea. And maybe no one in this situation is totally sane, but due to Monaco, they have to take it as if at least one is. And so, where others might leave soon, Arekoth and Svissath cannot. Not until the last of this mess is sorted out.