Difference between revisions of "Logs:Controlling Lythronath"

Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr

The vast cavern has much the same odor of redwort and numbweed as the human infirmary, though here it's seasoned with coppery ichor rather than the iron of blood. It's also laid out similarly though on a much more massive scale, its walls lined with a number of places for patients, in this case large dragon couches recessed into the floor for ease of access; nearby cots provide space for riders. Tucked into the western curve is a huge circulating pool of warm water, by which are kept vats of oil.

The healers' duty station is a counter on the north side of the room, a checkpoint before the storage rooms behind it that are now shared with the human infirmary, hosting supplies that are as neatly labeled and carefully scrubbed as the rest of the infirmary. The senior dragonhealer has an office there as well, and human-sized double doors have recently been built as a direct route to the human infirmary, while opposite a wide winding tunnel leads to the east bowl.

Last night was long and largely sleepless for K'del, and today was spent mostly with the dragonhealers as they did what they could for Cadejoth's wing. Now, late into the evening, no doubt this New-old Weyrleader should be catching up on some of that missed sleep... but he's not. Instead, he sits at his dragon's side, the bronze fast asleep, reading (attempting to read?) the first in a large stack of reports. No rest for the wicked. The dragon infirmary is relatively quiet, the glows dimmed against the evening, leaving K'del in a pool of light, standing out from the shadows.

The dragon infirmary stays quiet; Lythronath is lounging on the ledge of one of those greens who likes him for some reason, A'rist left to his own devices on ground level. Those devices bring him near the couch claimed by Cadejoth, his mouth pursed and brow furrowed as he approaches. Steps slow until a decision is reached. He takes a deep breath. He raises his head. He clasps his hands - firmly - behind his back. And he approaches the new, "Weyrleader," with an appropriately submissive tone.

Footsteps on stone make a distinctive enough sound, especially in a quiet infirmary; K'del is, must be, aware of A'rist's presence - if not his identity - before the younger bronzerider actually approaches. His gaze lifts too quickly and too easily for it to be unexpected, in any case. "A'rist," he says. Is it a good sign, that he uses name and not title? A bad one?

A'rist's teeth come to rest lightly on his tongue, in lieu of offering up any words immediately after being acknowledged. Brown eyes play over the older rider first. Then, over his injured lifemate. The teen frowns, a look not unlike concern tugging at the edges of his eyes. "How's his wing?" Who in the Weyr hasn't heard exactly what happened?

"He'll be grounded for a while, while it heals," answers K'del, chin lifted so that he can look directly at A'rist - even meet his eyes, if he can. "Potentially for quite some time. He's in pain. Restless, too." Though he manages to keep his tone largely even, there's something flinty in his gaze; cool and hard.

A'rist can meet those eyes, but the gaze that was steely and cold the night before is lacking that same harshness now. Acknowledgement is there. No overt remorse, not plain for the seeing, but... "Did he hurt anything when he fell? They couldn't have flown long or well." That brings his lips to press together, a firm line, from which blood flees.

K'del's own lips press together, though after a moment he shakes his head. "They managed not to fall too hard," he says in answer. "Though certainly, it will likely impact the quality of the clutch." He sounds exhausted, but not - thankfully - bitter. Instead, he sighs, setting aside the hides he's been working on, and drawing himself to his feet instead. "You can't control him, can you?"

"I know," A'rist nods, lips only freed from his expression so long as required to give those words. Until K'del stands, until he delivers that question. That brings a flash of indignation to the teen's eyes. "It could've been a lot worse."

"It could've been," acknowledges K'del, after a moment, his chin lifted further; all the better to look down at A'rist. "But you can't tell me that you think it acceptable. That... this can go on." Can he?

A'rist doesn't look away from the newly-re-minted weyrleader. He does swallow, however, and his posture never moves toward anything challenging. Not now. It takes the boy a moment, to muster up an even enough, "There isn't anything acceptable about my dragon. Sir."

K'del breathes in through his nose, holding it carefully for one beat, two beats, and then - he exhales. "What can we do about it?" he wants to know. "Should I be moving you to a different wing?"

All that cool and collected that A'rist has been trying for up to this point? It sort of goes out the window when he brings his arms to wrap, tight, around his abdomen. "I don't know. I don't know if it will matter."

Deep down, K'del probably has sympathy for A'rist, though it's harder to feel it when-- well. This is personal. "Will anything?" he wants to know.

A'rist's head has been drooping faintly. Now, it's probably starting to be a stress on his eye muscles, to keep looking back at the older bronzerider. "I don't know," is quiet. "He doesn't change, not like he was supposed to. What he's good at - what we're good at - isn't really good."

K'del sucks a breath in through his teeth, clearly somewhat at a loss for how to proceed: concerns with his lifemate he's had, but not like this. "He is who he is," he says, with a sigh that suggests frustration and concern - but not anger, at least. "Not that it helps us. Talk to the Weyrwoman," he suggests, more thoughtfully. "Or the Weyrlingmaster. Both. You have to work at this, A'rist. If it'd been a foreign queen..." There are so many ways it could've been worse.

A'rist's dropping head snaps straight up, brown eyes hard on the weyrleader for that. All that. "If it had been a foreign queen, it wouldn't have been like all that. Lythronath's a terrible person, but he's not just some..." his mouth flaps, a moment, until he finds, "random idiot dragon." The displeasure stays in the teen's brow and the purse of his lips; he's stopped talking so fast, at least, when he gets to, "If he were, then I'd be able to just 'fix him', like everybody wants. Easy."

That displeasure results in a frown from K'del, his gaze sharpening; he's equally displeased. "Then what," he says, tone hard, "Makes the difference? Hraedhyth?"

"Of course Hraedhyth does. He's liked her since he was little." When he'd claw at her ankles for attention, and she'd ignore him. Adorable. "And it's his Weyr." It's when his hands release and he starts to put his weight forward that A'rist gives his head a shake, and turns, instead to pace. Even if it means breaking eye contact with the other bronzerider. "Everyone thinks I just can't control him." Surely, that's related.

K'del's silence suggests he's not immediately sure what to do with this information. He glances at his dragon - still safely sleeping - before turning his gaze back to the pacing younger bronzerider. "What else are we supposed to think?" he counters.

A'rist stops his pacing, eyes finding K'del once more, though he has to turn his head to do so. His body is left facing where it stopped, while he sends a frustrated sigh noisily through his lips. "I guess there's nothing else. Because no one else is going to know what he could be, what he would be doing." A'rist tucks his arms back into each other, over his chest this time, and looks forward, away from the weyrleader. "I can't just not let him do anything, when there's nothing for us. There'd be no point, for him." Said with finality.

"I'm not saying you can't let him do anything," says K'del, just short of snapping, now, his hands waving for emphasis. "But we can't have him hurting dragons like that. We can't. Do you even understand that?"

By the sideways pull of his mouth, the upward cast of his eyes, A'rist is just about ready with one of those responses that would best show him not-quite-seventeen. Prepared, but he changes his plans, and gives a flat, "Yes," certainly not lacking in some detachment.

Dealing with teenagers is not one of K'del's favourite things. Frustration blossoms in his expression, deeper and richer, now. But he takes in a deep breath, exhales, and then says, "You're going to be my transport, until Cadejoth is flight capable again. On call, in addition to your usual duties. Also want some suggestions on what you can do to keep Lythronath occupied, and what you might try to keep this kind of thing happening again. Some kind of... balance."

That makes A'rist's nose wrinkle, perplexed. He gets as far into a question as, "Do-" before he cuts himself off, then simply nodding. What is allowed out, and in full, is a serious, "I haven't stopped working with him. Ever."

"In fact," K'del continues, quite as if A'rist hasn't spoken, "You'll be running messages for me, too. Anything I need." His hands slide behind his back, now, one held within the other, his gaze firmly upon the younger bronzerider. "You'll work harder." Because obviously that's how this works.

A'rist lifts his chin that little bit more, refocuses on the weyrleader. "Good," is firmer. There's barely a space between that word, and, "We'll see to Cadejoth's beasts until he's ready." The bronze's name, said firmly. Also, "Hraedhyth's too, if it takes that long."

Something about K'del's expression suggests he's not entirely happy with how this has gone; it's possible he's regretting something, or perhaps just not sure whether he's managed to do much of anything. He hesitates, and then gives a careful nod. "Good," he says.

There's the slightest change at the edge of A'rist's eyes, an edge in itself, when he nods, as if sealing a deal. It plays at his mouth too, though not for long; soon, that's employed in, "Are you just going to call when you need, or do you want me here at certain times?" It almost edges into a smile, until he adds, "Sir."

"For now, we'll call you as we need you," answers K'del, after a moment's thought. Clearly, this is all off the cuff; he hasn't worked out the logistics just yet. "We'll see how we go from there. Ali's due to give birth soon, so it's possible there could be a late night emergency call-out. We'll just have to see."

A'rist nods to that, head easing into a more relaxed angle, even if he's still watching K'del. He cants his head to one side, more curious now, less... whatever that was before. "Your calls - are they going to override whatever we're doing at the time? Sweeps, drills, everything?"

This, too, K'del has to pause to consider. Behind his back, his fingers twine more tightly together. "No," he says, after a moment. "But it will depend. We'll ask, when we call, what you're engaged in. Usually, I'll try and work around your other duties. Most things won't be out of nowhere. More... planned."

A'rist now looks away; not away, not turning his head or focusing elsewhere, but unfocusing altogether. It's a Weyr; this is hardly a strange occurrence. "Okay."

For a moment or two, K'del keeps his gaze on A'rist. Then, he drops it, turning away as though he prefers not to watch that moment of unfocus; as if it's too personal. "Good," he says. "We won't need you today." It's a dismissal.

A'rist takes lets his arms drop from his chest, to clasp behind his back again, unconsciously mimicking the weyrleader, if perhaps with a slightly more relaxed posture. "I'm sorry. That Cadejoth's hurt." A beat. "And maybe if you do go with me and Lythronath for a while... you'll get it more." It's almost fatalistic. Also, guarded.

K'del's answer is non-committal: a nod that barely counts as such. "We'll be in touch," he says, as he turns away, back to his dragon, to his abandoned hidework, to the patch of light within the dim infirmary.

"We'll be expecting you," A'rist answers. K'del is offered a salute, and while he holds it, the younger rider turns his eyes to the sleeping bronze. Then, it's a quick turn on his heel, and a swift march out.