Difference between revisions of "Logs:It Is Done"

Lighthouse Deck, High Reaches Hold

This is the beautiful Lighthouse Deck. It is located on the westernmost point of the Hold. From here, the sea can be seen as far as the eye can see in every direction. Boats are milling around far below, working their way around the rocks and crags which litter the bay path. This seems like a very good place to sit and relax with your friends. The air here is calm and refreshing, and smells lightly of saltwater. You can feel cool drafts from the water below. The deep greeny-blue coloured water below you sparkles warmly under the sun's glare.

The only safe way off the deck is back down the stairs to the Cove.

High Reaches Hold has been abuzz all day with the rumors of Issedi's labor, and a new little lord, or lady, soon to be joining the High Reaches Bloods. Dinner is a brief, rushed affair with both Braeden and Devaki present -- rumor having put /them/ in the Lord Holder's study, kept well out of the Lady's chambers. The weather's chill and almost wintry when Lord Devaki's everpresent bodyguard, the Other, finds Rilka in some dark corner of the Hold. "He requests your presence, in the lighthouse," is all the red head says, as abrupt as ever, fading back into the shadows. The deck is empty, the lights dimmed, but there's one occupant, an expectant father-to-be pacing up and down, a thick fur coat keeping off the chill that rides up off the nearby sea.

Not much has changed for Rilka, these Turns past: she ghosts through the Hold, wandering wherever she pleases (unless someone turns her around, sends her away; and even that doesn't seem to bother her). She's not wearing shoes or a coat when she makes it up to the lighthouse, but her feet are sure on the steps: she likes it up here, this place that is almost like the cliffs of home. So thin, so pale, but there's strength beneath the ephemeral of her presence. "The Sea wants you to have this one," she announces. "The Sea won't take her away."

Devaki's been getting soft, perhaps -- he's wearing thick boots tonight, and his gaze, when Rilka arrives, is both affectionate and protective -- stretching out a hand towards her to draw the exile woman closer. His expression is odd: a mixture of relieved and unhappy, both at her words. The one thing he doesn't do is question her. "Her? It's a girl, then." He exhales a sharp breath, not sounding overly happy.

"Or a boy." Rilka's gaze is inscrutable, except - is that a smile? A tease? She's so easily drawn, taking his hand in her smaller, colder one, as the other reaches to run down the softness of his coat. She won't wear one herself, but oh, she does like to touch. "There are so many, I can't tell. Which one comes next? Is it the girl with beseeching eyes, or the boy who doesn't belong? The Sea wants your children. Sons and daughters, generation after generation. She's chosen you."

A low throated-growl of warning from Devaki, but it has no seriousness behind it; he's too used to the blonde's inscrutable ways. Drawing a hand around her shoulders, he edges his posture just slightly to block her from the worst of the wind chill. He's silent -- taking in her words? Or listening to the distant, faint -- perhaps only-in-his-head sound of Issedi's distant screams of child-birth? Bright blue eyes quickly re-focus as she mentions the boy who doesn't belong, his expression gone tight. "She kept him from me. From his heritage."

Rilka leans in to Devaki, comfortable with him in a way that she's not with most people. She stares off into the distance, listening-- maybe the sound of those screams really is just in Devaki's head, but from her expression, a person could swear that she hears them too. "But your Blood will win," she says, placidly. "The Sea wants that for you. She has heard our anguish, and listens to our pleas. It is known."

The tension in Devaki's shoulders seems to ease, apparently taking Rilka's words at face value. His gaze flickers towards the sea, a roaring, distant sound -- comforting to them most of all, like home. "What would I do without you, Ril?" He leans to press his lips to the top of her head. "Soon. You'll help me pick my council." Statement, not question. "You, Shimana, Cason, of course. But of them..." His gaze drifts to the hold, frowning.

If nothing else is true, then this, certainly: Rilka believes what she says, believes it with every fibre of her being. Her, "We would be lost," is as sure as anything she says, though it's entirely possible that she's not even answering Devaki at all-- she's staring ahead, talking as if directly to the sea itself. "But we are found. It will happen. You'll make it happen. It is your task." Abruptly, she turns her head so that she can stare at Devaki, big eyes wider than ever as she sing-songs, "The Sea will take those who deny us. Take them away, and away, and far, far away."

"We would," Devaki agrees, without any hesitation. He goes still, looking at her in turn -- and there's a fierce belief in his expression. Belief in her, in her words, in the rightness of what he does. The words make him smile. "We should build ships. We need a Master Seacrafter. I'm sure Lady Edeline can suggest someone suitable."

His smile makes her smile, a brilliant one that lights up her whole face... even if it does make her look more manic than ever. "Ships," she agrees. "Ships are better than dragon's wings. But they can't have our island. Don't let them have our island. No one must go to our island. The sea will be angry - oh, so angry, so angry." She's not smiling, now.

"No one but our people will go to our island," Devaki repeats it, like a mantra, a heated promise, even as his hand brushes against her hair reassuringly. His gaze goes towards the ocean, the chill wind eliciting a determined expression. "I'll put ships here, ships there. They won't ever take what's ours again. I swear it on the sea." Is that the distant cry of an infant? Or just the wind whipping off the ocean? The exile Lord doesn't react, his gaze distant still.

It's enough - enough to ease Rilka's expression back into something more normal, more serious, neither smile nor frown. "Then the Sea will give you what you wish," she says. "It is done. A bargain borne of salt and sand. Your children will live, and prosper, and-- oh." It's a soft sigh, abruptly content. One she makes no attempt to explain. Except, repeated: "It is done."

In that moment, Devaki leans into her, the line of his body completely at ease, completely content and sure. He's silent, the roar of the water filling in for speech. Finally: "As soon as she sleeps, we introduce our child to the Sea. You'll wait for me?" Statement, not question, like he needs her, needs her to be there.

"Of course." Rilka expects nothing less: she only lifts her chin to nod, just once. "It must be done. As soon as possible. " There's no doubt in her mind that failure to do so would be a disaster beyond imagination. "You should be with them. I'll wait."

With another press of lips to her head, Devaki shrugs off his fur coat, tucking it in around Rilka's slender shoulders. "Think of a name. Something to represent her heritage. Something to... remind us of the Iolene-that-was." A last look at the sea, and then he pads on quick feet towards the Hold to greet the newest member of his family.

A coat from Devaki evidently doesn't earn the reprobation that a coat from anyone else does, though there's something uncomfortable in Rilka's stance on receipt of it, nonetheless. "I will," she promises, but she's already not looking at him-- she's leaning forward, thrusting her face into the onslaught of the sea-borne winds. She'll wait.

Word travels from High Reaches Hold around day 26 that Lord Devaki and Lady Issedi's second child has been safely born late on the previous evening. The girl, Sealene, is said to be healthy, and provides High Reaches with another heir. No doubt this will serve to put additional pressure on Lord Braeden, who has lately been rarely seen in public -- and Devaki, too, has been notably absent from the Hold of late, though seen in the company of High Reaches Weyr riders here and there.