Difference between revisions of "Logs:Bonding"

Earlier, Leiventh's chill, wintry tones stretched out towards Cadejoth, a sense of distance in his tone. « Mine wishes to speak with yours, if he would come. We are-- » an image spills over his thoughts, the lighthouse deck poised above High Reaches Hold distinctive enough that it's immediately identifiable. Whether the answer is positive or negative, he waits with the sense of infinite patience for a response.

« I will... » Cadejoth's acknowledgement is immediate, though his words are more cautious than that; his pause is obvious, and so is the coiled carefulness of his mental chains. « see if he will. He is-- » But Leiventh can understand that, no doubt. Certainly, the younger bronze seems to assume as much. « I will try. » It's a few minutes later - with a silent indication of internal persuasion - that he confirms with another wordless touch: they'll come.

Leiventh takes in the caution with ease, unruffled by it as he waits. His acknowledgement is silent, though a hint of something pleased as the invitation is accepted, the bronze politely withdrawing. Settled on the fireheights, he's visible from afar, visibly seeming to keep the watchrider's dragon company. On the lighthouse deck, it's past time for children to be in bed, though it doesn't mean the place is empty -- indeed, there are groups here and there, one especially rowdy bunch near the windows. R'hin's secured a table further in, his back to the wall, a bottle of what appears to be Benden's finest slowly warming up to room temperature. The Monaco bronzerider has an arm slung casually over the chair next to him, flicking a coin between the knuckles of his left hand, watching the other occupants of the room avidly -- visibly far less patient than his dragon.

Despite Cadejoth's reply, it takes him more than a minute or two to get his rider to the Hold, though he is all apology - silent, wordless apology - when he finally does burst from Between above the northern hold. He circles low, depositing his rider not so far from the Lighthouse, and then launches himself once more. Rather than retreating to the fireheights, however, he takes to the skies with the enthusiasm and sheer joy of one who has had little chance for free-flight of late. K'del appears within the Lighthouse in short order, despite that earlier delay, and though he hesitates at the entrance for several moments, those blue eyes don't take long to seek R'hin out. He approaches, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, face pale, with dark circles beneath his eyes, but curious too. "R'hin."

While Leiventh settles down and watches Cadejoth's flight from the fireheights, though he doesn't seem tempted to participate, his presence is felt more keenly in this proximity, with that sense of someone watching just over the shoulder. R'hin's casual sprawl ceases as K'del arrives, taking in the other former Weyrleader with an intent look, rising to his feet even as that coin is secreted somewhere about himself. "K'del," he greets, a hand reaching for the other's shoulder, a squeeze of sympathy accompanied by what appears to be genuine regret, "I'm so sorry, about your Weyrwoman. I hope you believe me when I say I... understand." He pauses to tip his head, even as his hand drops back, to gesture towards the table in invitation. "Please."

Cadejoth does not seem to mind that Leiventh doesn't join him, and nor does he seem to mind that presence-- if he even notices, for he makes no remark on it. Instead, his mind is open to all: here is freedom, here is pleasure, here is the open sky, cold despite the fact that it is now, ostensibly, 'spring'. For a moment, after that greeting, K'del's expression falters, and his hands reach out to grab for the back of the chair nearest to him, as though he needs the support. But he swallows back those emotions and manages a nod, and a fragile almost-smile. "I believe you," he says, quietly, as he follows through on that invitation to sit. "Not sure if you shouldn't be talking to B'sil, though, if it's official business." Because there's nothing else it could be, surely.

"No," R'hin replies at the suggestion of talking to B'sil, gracious enough to wait for the other to be seated first before he follows suit, though it isn't immediately followed up with elucidation. "Would you like some wine?" without waiting for a response, he pours out two glasses -- it's a white, and if one has any kind of wine knowledge, not a cheap bottle, either. "A toast, perhaps? To... to the influential women in our lives. Past, and present." He lifts his own glass partway, then waits, gaze on K'del.

That 'no' shifts K'del's expression, and turns it more curious than ever, though he wastes no more words on querying further on what the other bronzerider might mean. He rests his forearms upon the table, at first, but reaches for the glass - having nodded, vaguely, his assent - a moment later. It gets lifted towards R'hin's and he agrees, in a carefully moderated tone, "To them all. Suppose I ought to consider it a good thing, that High Reaches' Weyrwomen count themselves disproportionately high amongst their number." But now: he needs to drink to that toast, savouring the wine for all that he's usually not much of a wine-drinker. He's Tillek bred: he knows his wine.

R'hin's laugh is low, though agreeable with K'del's assessment. "Blood tells, no matter what anyone else says." He, too, takes a sip with the air of someone who appreciates a good wine. Tugging a hand through his hair, his pale gaze flickers over the room, an old habit that he's hardly aware of. "I remember how hard it was for me to... adjust, after." His gaze is on the view, though it skips towards K'del as he continues to speak. "But in some ways, it was a relief. I never wanted to be a Weyrleader. Few do, I suppose, but me, more than most. But," he exhales a breath. "It was easy, knowing that Satiet was in charge." There's a note in his voice when he says the former Weyrwoman's name, something intent. "I know, I know, how you must be feeling, right now. But I also know, that though you might not want it, they need your support." His fingers flicker, vaguely, in the direction of the Weyr, as he leans forward just a smidge.

It's not terribly in-character for K'del to be able to keep his expression so inscrutable, but as R'hin talks now, that's nonetheless what happens. He's watching, though: a close eye on the bronzerider, and little attention paid to the wine, now, for all that he takes several more careful sips while he speaks. "B'sil has been a rider for longer than I've been alive," he points out, at the end of it all. "He's got plenty of experience. Taught me, when I was thrown into it. I'm not-- I can't be neutral, now. I'm trying to start over. Rebuild my life into... never really got to be just another rider, not for long. Trying to learn how to, now."

With a faint shake of head, R'hin's quick to respond: "B'sil is an oldtimer. I remember him, from back when I was a weyrling." Judging by his tone alone, there's not a great deal of respect in the other man's tone for the acting Weyrleader. "While he may be capable, he'll never be... great." Another sharp exhale, and he runs fingers over his half-grown beard. For all that he's normally the inscrutable one, K'del's close eye picks up that brief hint of uncertainty in his expression -- something that isn't common in his visage. "I imagine you may not believe this, but I want what's best for High Reaches, as well. It's my home." Not was, or used to be. But he pushes on, matter of fact, now: "You're a good man, K'del. Twenty turns ago, I was searching for a Weyrleader; I would've groomed you, had you and Cadejoth been around. You handled Tiriana; I imagine you'd have done so for Satiet, too." Amusement shines through at the thought, pausing to wet his lips with the good Benden wine.

It's this latest mention of Satiet that breaks K'del's expression, twisting his mouth into ruefulness. "Never knew her that well," he admits. "But I respected her. Reckon I was a bit scared of her, really. Lot of people were." He pauses in order to take another drink, then sets the glass carefully back down upon the table, never taking his gaze off of the other bronzerider. "B'sil's a caretaker. In a few months - within the turn, surely - Iesaryth or Hraedhyth will rise, and there'll be someone permanent. Until then... it'll be fine. I--" He breaks off, swallows. "I want what's best for High Reaches, too, R'hin. Right now, I'm not sure I am."

"Lots of people were," R'hin echoes his tone precisely, adding a smile of his own. He lifts his own glass to study the contents, to study K'del through the distortion of the glass-and-liquid. "So, if you're not best for High Reaches, what are you going to do? Wallow in your weyr? Write poetry? Or--" he leans forward again, "--are you going to do something?" A beat, his gaze flicking past the bronzerider, as he notes, "Cadejoth seems delighted to be flying. Listen to him, that freedom--" he lifts his hand, as if it's a physical thing that can be seen, rather than a sense felt.

Regret shows itself all too clearly in K'del's expression at that mention of his dragon - regret, and no small amount of guilt. "Haven't been a very good lifemate to him, of late," he admits. It's easier to say that than to answer that question, though the knit of his brows suggests he's thinking about it. "It's just--" Just what? He waves the thought away, however, and lowers his gaze at long last towards the drink in front of him. "Don't know," he allows, finally. "Once upon a time, I'd intended to write history, but that's - it's an old dream, and I'm not... I don't know what to do. New weyr," lowercase, "new wing, and-- we'll see. Never was much of a Wingleader."

R'hin's gaze takes in that spread of emotion with ease, a twitch of shoulders answering that statement about his lifemate -- agreement? Or just acknowledgement? -- before he reaches for the bottle to refill first K'del's, then his own glass. "Then write history. Maybe just not your own," something wry, briefly, in his voice, "Heard your family grows grapes. Maybe you could try your hand at that, on a small bit of land." Pale gaze flickers up from the glasses to study the other bronzerider. "Just think on it."

"Land." K'del's repetition of that has him lifting his gaze again, and giving R'hin a steady glance. It's followed, quietly, by a nod of his head. "I remember, now. That's one of those things that-- a similarity between us. We tried... Crom." It's old history, though, and abandoned almost as quickly as it is mentioned; he has a long, thoughtful look for the other bronzerider. "There are," he begins, and the twist of his mouth shows only a faint amount of pain, "an awful lot of islands, out there."

"Crom," R'hin echoes, with a disparaging and emphatic tone he doesn't even bother to try to hide. "The Lord Crom's always been an ass." But that moment lingers, and earns a sympathetic twist of lips. "At least you don't have to deal with him anymore." He leans back in his seat, now, one hand stretched out over the back of the empty chair at his side, lifting his glass to his lips. "Mmhmm," he agrees. "Plenty. Surely some are farmable. In fact, Leiventh and I flew over one a few sevens back--" and his bronze is sharing a clear image of a cluster of islands, only one large enough to be suitable, with Cadejoth from his stately position on the fireheights.

Hey look: a real smile. Trust Crom to bring that out in K'del. "He's a bastard," he agrees, following his words with another sip of his drink. "But not on good terms with anyone, these days. Lord Braeden wasn't all that keen on marrying Yuliye, though--" The smile falters, as if it reminds K'del of something; he abandons the topic altogether, focusing instead on the rest of what R'hin has had to say. "That looks - possible. There's potential. And if we don't need to--" Deal with Aughan, no doubt. "It'd be nice to have something to throw myself into," he admits instead. "Autonomously. How do you get used to taking orders from someone else? Not sure I really want to have to sit on my hands all the time."

The abrupt change of topic has R'hin's interest, more for the abruptness of it than anything else, but he doesn't seem given to press. An easy sip of his wine, and he says, "So long as you promise me a bottle out of your first batch, it's yours." The island, presumably. It's the latter that earns a grimace from the older bronzerider. That said, there's a dark mirth in the chuckle that soon follows as he leans forward to share, "I struck a deal with the Monaco Weyrleaders that, for the most part, meant I never really had to get used to it. But I wouldn't encourage you to follow my lead, K'del. The... concessions... aren't always worth it."

"A case of bottles," promises K'del, clearly glad to be sticking to this topic over certain others, "though I can't promise they'll be any good." R'hin's dark mirth and the explanations that follow have him heaving a low sigh, leaning back in his chair in a way that indicates not defeat, but a certain amount of resignation nonetheless. "They have you over a barrel," he assumes, with a nod. "It's not-- something that appeals, then. Seems like there could be space for something in the middle, though. I suppose," and he sighs again, but not wholly with distaste, "it all depends on which Weyrleaders I'm answering to. Imagine any incoming Weyrleader might prefer me out of the way. It can't be... easy."

"We have an understanding," R'hin clarifies, though it's not exactly disagreement with the assumption, his fingers pressing a little more heavier against his glass. That, too, is something he seems happier to push past. "I imagine it won't be. And depending who it is, I'd say you have a fair shot of things snapping back towards the far side of Tradition again. Particularly with B'sil's guidance." His gaze is on his fellow bronzerider, as if to take particular note of his response to that.

K'del takes a long drink before saying anything further, swishing the wine carefully around in his mouth before swallowing. "Tradition," he repeats, mouth twisting. "By most accounts, I'm supposedly pretty traditional. But not... not like that. Not really. Only superficially. B'sil, though - yes. You're right." He runs his fingers through his short-cropped curls, and shakes his head. "It's hard to think about. Someone taking my place. Just got to get used to it, right? And prove that I'm not going to be sitting around, ready to judge everything and make people miss me."

"Not like that," R'hin agrees with a sudden vehemence, leaning forward again. "You'll always judge, you can't help it; High Reaches is our mistress, and we want very much to see her safe." His personification of the Weyr is by no means a slip of the tongue, and he exhales slowly, forcing himself to lean back. "It's hard to watch, and not take action. If you ever need someone -- to take action, when you can't -- Leiventh will always hear Cadejoth." The last of the wine in his glass is drained, and he shifts his weight as if making ready to leave. "I hope you don't mind if I take the rest of the bottle -- if only to spare you drowning your sorrows," there's a mirthful smile at the mere suggestion.

There's something knowing in K'del's expression, now, and a definite acknowledgement of what R'hin has to say: he understands. "We'll never be free," he concludes, though he doesn't sound entirely unhappy about the idea: it just is. "I-- thank you. R'hin. I appreciate it. And if you need anything..." The same, presumably is true. Though he gives the bottle a rueful glance, his head shakes evenly: no, he doesn't mind. "Not sure there's anything good to come of doing that. No." He looks for a moment as though he'd like to say more, but he stops himself and instead gives the other bronzerider a slow nod - and this, too, shows quiet acknowledgement.

There's surprise, briefly, in the Monaco bronzerider's expression at that offering in turn, as if it's unexpected, and -- with a twist of lips -- R'hin nods in turn. Rising to his feet, he collects the bottle to the crook of his arm with all the care one might give a newborn. He's very likely aware of that pregnant pause of something not-quite-voiced, but instead of pressing, he chuckles, low. "Take care of that dragon of yours, K'del," he says by way of farewell, an easy slap of hand aimed for the other bronzerider's shoulder in passing as he heads for the stairs.

K'del stays where he is, thoughtful-- it'll be some time before he takes his own leave, but when he does? He and Cadejoth fly home straight.