Greenhouse, High Reaches Weyr
A rustic and unadorned vestibule leads in from hewn spiral steps to a refitted ledge, enclosed by limestone pillars. Sturdy wooden framework captures elongated glass panes, tilted to absorb the most light during the day. The wash of heat from within, lush and humid, persists even into the dead of winter; the air is heady with the scent of fresh-turned soil and various flora.
Long, deep troughs of soil line the inner stone wall, planted with an assortment of broad, leafy tropicals - practical and decorative alike. Fruit and vegetable baskets hang from rafters, optimizing space, tempting in reach with a perpetually ripening harvest. A series of stone shelving is devoted to flourishing, aromatic herbs and new green shoots; even the softest touch releases a burst of savory scent from tender leaves. Amidst the greenery, a handful of wooden benches have been scattered, making this a temptingly warm and secluded spot to sit.
Shuttered vents serve to regulate humidity and heat given off from a small hot spring recessed into an alcove at the back; a secondary pool with cooler waters siphons off to provide a constant, fresh supply for irrigation. A small potting station nearby is cluttered with watering cans and gardening tools of various uses, with a wooden bin for composting materials tucked underneath.
Snow falls intermittently upon the glass roof of the Greenhouse, no doubt serving to make the humid interior all the more pleasant. There are gardeners on staff to do much of the heavy work, of course, but with so many of the plants here for healer use, it's unsurprising that the healers do take a personal interest - hence, of course, why Madilla is presently sitting in the midst of the greenery, having abandoned her outer clothing, including her shoes, in lieu of rolling up her sleeves and weeding the echinacea. She hums as she works, evidently quite at home.
It's such a plant that has brought H'kon here, toward the part of the greenhouse where the herbs are kept. He looks up to the roof when he draws nearer that section, green eyes tracing the lines where snow has clumped and broken away, where what light there is to be had, if that grey, wintry light that High Reaches is so accustomed to, can break through and in. He must know of Madilla's presence before he sees her - or at least, the presence of someone humming. He only knows it's Madilla once he looks, though. That is, probably, why his steps slow to a stop, his face osftening faintly from 'his face', if not going so far as to turn to some sort of smile. "Every plant needed at its best in this season."
Madilla's humming stops when H'kon speaks, but if she's surprised, it's not enough to result in any physical reaction-- except, of course, the sudden smile that blooms in her expression as she tilts her chin up to look at him. "Every one," she agrees. "It's been such a blessing, having this Greenhouse. I'm always glad to harvest things fresh. Are you well, H'kon? More headaches?" She pulls free another handful of weeds, adding them to the pile of uprooted greenery that sits on the path beside her.
"Well enough," is the usual answer, isn't it? But for the healer, H'kon is willing, after a glance to gauge the distance between himself and the oregano, to drop down into a crouch. Fingers brush an idle inspection over the weeds she's pulled thus far. "Nothing debilitating," is grudgingly honest, and a truth he tries to mask, or at least downplay, by using a more quiet voice. One, admittedly, more suited to him. "You, Madilla? Not too busy?"
'Well enough' earns a long glance from the healer, though she's unlikely to actually push for a better answer. Her hands still in her lap as she regards him - studies him, even, as though she can tell from the lines of his forehead how he's really feeling. "As long as they remain that way," she says, in a tone that speaks of warm concern, but nothing overbearing. Lighter is her added, "Oh, the usual. A handful of broken brains, sprains and bruises; unsurprising, given the season. The usual coughs and colds. Nothing terribly unusual."
H'kon's solemn nod has all the flavour of an oath; if they get worse, he will, again, seek her out. "Good that something carries on predictably, hmm?" is tinted with what might be a dark sort of humour. The furrows in his forehead multiply in time to his grasping and raising one of the weeds before his eyes with one hand. He leans forward, and the other hand goes to seeking out the weed's ilk among those plants determined to be 'good'.
Madilla evidently takes the necessary information from that nod, for she seems pleased and approving, and allows the subject to fall by the wayside in lieu of smiling wryly. "Throughout leadership changes, visits from Holders, meteors, and every other possible disaster," she agrees, probably not even entirely aware that she just labelled Devaki and Issedi's visit a disaster. "Are you... well, H'kon? I don't mean the headaches." She probably doesn't mean anything physical at all. H'kon's efforts with the weeds earn another smile; then, she resumes her own efforts, though this time without the humming.
H'kon may know of weeds, and know of echinacea, but his isn't a practiced knowledge. He certainly won't move so fast as Madilla does, though he is, at least, thorough. He swallows cautiously, that pained sort of smile this time working its way onto his face, a sign more of discomfort than anything. He pauses a moment, after he's uprooted the most recently spotted weed, and looks the woman over quickly. "You have children. Your chief concern, I should imagine, even above all this?" The weed is waved limply toward the echinacea, which surely stands in for 'healering in general'.
The question seems to surprise Madilla, enough so that her hands still and her eyes turn, considering H'kon levelly. "Yes," she confirms, a moment later. "I would do anything to protect my children. I love my work, but my family must come first. Which--" her smile is inclined towards the rueful. "is often easier said than done, I'm afraid." Having answered, she seems to be waiting, anticipatory, wearing an expression that suggests she's not yet been able to put the question, and her answer, into context.
H'kon was expecting such an answer, certainly, though, still, his eyes widen a little as she speaks. Still, at the end, Madilla is given a nod before he drops his eyes back down, and begins poking through the echinacea until he's found another weed, forehead still well lined. When one is found, and pulled: "I have no children - at least, none so far as I am aware. But I have a similar... prioritisation. Arekoth, and his Weyr." The next plant uprooted is done so with, let's say, zeal. "Often easier said than done, hmm?" comes with a fleeting glance her way, and he drops his handful onto the pile she'd started.
"Arekoth," repeats Madilla. "And his Weyr." Perhaps she's tasting the words, using that opportunity to get her head around the implications - implications that are certainly whirring behind those thoughtful green eyes. "I imagine it is only more complicated, in your case. The Weyr is rather larger than my career, and Arekoth is grown; my children know to listen to me." It's only now, belatedly, that she seems to remember her self-appointed task, and returns to it, though she can't seem to stop glancing in H'kon's direction, her expression quietly concerned.
His hands stay still once they've released their burden, and H'kon nods. "Those two things above anything else. That is what a rider accepts, no matter what he had or has or might someday acquire." It gives him pause, broken after a breath for another fleeting glance to the healer. "Arekoth at least is well," sounds almost as if it surprises H'kon himself - not so much the fact as the chance to remember that much, a happy revelation amidst a world of greyed despair. It even gets a chuff of a laugh from him, not amused, but at least a thing that seems to allow both hands to return to the task at hand.
Madilla's smile is unsurprisingly genuine as she says, "I'm glad to hear that. I think it's a good thing to be conscious of, even amidst... troubles. I know it's something I try to be mindful of, myself." Her exhale is a cautious one, as though she's using it as a stop-gap between words that are obvious, and words that are more difficult to pull together. In between, she reaches for a pair of clippers, clipping off one of the pink echinacea blossoms. "I don't envy you your duty. I don't envy anyone in this situation, their roles. I didn't want my new position," which is no longer so very new, "but it was my choice to take it. It doesn't seem as though you have much of a choice, though I grant that I can see only from the outside."
H'kon's lips purse slightly, one of the lines smoothing out on his forehead. He carries on the work pensively, giving only the faintest of nods when Madilla speaks - nods that almost evolve into a full-on swaying in time with his work. "No," is a stroke to the contrary, rather than an affirming repetition of her words, for all it comes softly, thoughtfully. "There was a choice, for me," His fingers are almost slothful as they take hold of what will be the final weed he pulls, "albeit some eleven turns back. I did have some idea of what it was, even then. Now, these are just... consequences. However unforeseen." And he piles those last few plants, and dusts his hands. "You fulfill your position well, Madilla," is entirely separate from the musing that came just before it. And even almost warm. For H'kon.
The sound of H'kon's 'no' sends Madilla's gaze in his direction again, searching his expression for the explanation that he provides verbally, even as she's watching. Her nod is almost imperceptible: just a shallow forward motion to indicate that she understands, or thinks she understands, what he's trying to say. Her cheeks turn pink at his compliment, though she doesn't lower her gaze in embarrassment; her smile is genuinely warm. "I do my best," she says. "As you do, I think, despite trying circumstances. You could not have foreseen this eventuality, eleven turns ago."
This time, the "No," is agreement with her. "But that changes nothing." For once, as he shakes his head, his smile doesn't look forced - but the relaxation that comes over his face can't hide the exhaustion that was even clearly hinted at before. H'kon looks old. "I think," and he slowly straightens to his full, if unimpressive, height, "that I'd best leave you to your task, and see to some of mine." He's part of the way through turning to go when he glances back for a quick, almost-stuttered, "I'm certain we will see one another again. If not," and he gestures toward his temple, "for this." That's the tight, stretchy smile again, as farewell.
"Get some rest," she says, which is in answer to most of what he's said, though less order as simple encouragement. "Please. I'd rather see you for more pleasant reasons than that," she indicates his temple with a forward tip of her head. "Although you know my door is always open, H'kon. If you need a listening ear, or some company." She twists the flower in her hand between her fingers, keeping her chin lifted up and towards H'kon. "Look after yourself."
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