Difference between revisions of "Logs:Hraedhyth Does Diplomacy"

Azaylia sighs. Not for the lesson, but the weather. She has on just enough warm clothing to fend off the persistent flakes, winter clearly in denial that it is time for spring to warm the lands. Standing next to Hraedhyth, she pays attention to the lecture on how to avoid injuring your dragon. Or, if worse comes to worse, how to handle the situation. It's interesting enough for her, but Hraedhyth is another matter entirely. Wounds are wounds, and scars should be worn with pride. In other words, the lesson (like all of them that don't involve flying) are BORING.

But she's calm, open to new information. If anything, the gold is suddenly inspired, limited memory managing to cling to the idea of contacting Fort's Senior Queen. Elaruth. She scents the name, Hraedhyth following a trail past and through the few camps she has set up within foreign minds. She will find her, eventually.

Drums. They're subtle at first, not terribly intrusive though they very well could be. For now, their beat is slow and rhythmic, the footfalls of a procession rather than the march of an army. Volume will steadily increase, a demand for attention that manages not to carry the severity of war. Wisps of smoke whisper her name, not yet rich and matured: Elaruth?. It crackles with youthful inexperience that isn't quite voiced. Perhaps for pride's sake. (Hraedhyth to Elaruth)

To Hraedhyth, Elaruth does not answer demands. Requests, calls, enquiries, yes, but she will not be drawn by the demand of another; certainly not that of one outside her Weyr. Those drums might unsettle the surface of shallow water for a few moments, until it is blanketed by heavy, white mist and the sound dulled to a manageable level that soon allows calm to settle upon the marshes once more. Is someone there? Perhaps she's imagining things...

The ripples, even in shallow water, is something. A response? No, but there's movement even if it's her own doing. Excitement roars in flame, chain mesh keeping it contained within her hearth rather than spilling out onto the marshes. « Elaruth! » She can still be mistaken, but joy mingles with confidence. If not the Fortian queen, then she will try again. And again. « I am Hraedhyth, of High Reaches. » Though the procession is made up of savage warriors, those of nightmares, they do not attack. Instead, the black and blue peaks of her home are flown to make her intentions known. Little does the younger gold realize, she may be getting ahead of herself- but this is how she is. (Hraedhyth to Elaruth)

« You are the exile's daughter. » Perhaps not the greeting expected or desired, but it's the one that Elaruth has for her, matter-of-fact, without the weight of judgement behind it. Yet. « You are young. » And she will not be threatened by creatures held from attack or not; disregards those mountain peaks, even. « What do you seek? » Only the tallest of reeds pokes through the mist now, cool, still waters, life and landscape all but hidden from the younger queen. (Elaruth to Hraedhyth)

Hraedhyth's pride in her lineage gives a still excited answer, « Yes! » The creatures, her army, her drums and fire... it is what it is. There is no threat specifically for the Fortian. This is different. This is a Senior Queen. « Not so young. » But even this argument is happy, oblivious. Where Elaruth hides her lands, the younger gold isn't eager to divulge anything from High Reaches, either. But she? What and who she is? This is something she's willing to offer without shame. « I am told » A jangle of chains, not her own. « To show respect that I wish in my lands. I would not want strangers » One in particular, « To cross without making themselves known. » (Hraedhyth to Elaruth)

With a harsher edge, she might seem to be mocking the foreign gold, yet still Elaruth's observation is put out there for what it is, no louder than a murmur. « It is interesting that you should speak of respect. Another of politeness. These are not things I - we - have come to associate with yours. » A glimmer of pale starlight ripples through the mist, much like the clear water ripples far below. « Are you announcing intent? Or are you asking? » Indulgent, almost. Teasing? (Elaruth to Hraedhyth)

To Elaruth, Hraedhyth gives just enough pause for the edge to be realized. If startled, she will not give away or falter in the face of the older dragon. The drums still, though there's a fading echo of something not as joyous in the air. Slowly, not trying to seem confused but youth belies much, « But it is yours who enter our lands. Who sneak. » She has done none of this, she can't even between yet! Caution is thrown to the wind, eager for a question she can answer with honesty thumping steadily, « Can it not be both? Both! » It's a long, forgetful moment before she adds in, clumsily, « If you allow it, Fortian Matriarch! »

« And yet, » so say stolen memories, « it was yours who entered our lands. Who took. Stole. Claimed. » Elaruth allows that to settle for a while, the idea floating before it sinks slowly, slowly down and out of sight, right to the shallow depths of hidden waters. « If they are not welcome there, we must be told. And we will afford you the same courtesy of not being troubled to ever visit here. » Only right. Only fair. The elder queen is kind enough to pretend that clumsiness doesn't exist, but she will not give up her teasing just yet, terribly serious with her: « And if I don't allow it? » (Elaruth to Hraedhyth)

Elaruth's words are snatched away, not stolen to add to past slights, but borrowed. Examined. Pensive flames inspect the accusations, turned and turned slowly over her fire before tasting them herself. « Took. Claimed. I did not know of this. » Her own claims are offered for inspection, if needed. « Not won in battle » Which is honerable, « But stolen? I would not- » Voice cracks some, not so much with emotion but due to it's still-maturing timbre. « I can give it back. » A question that is not quite that. If the drums slow, sound sulky then it could be from what's been said and not at Elaruth's last words, « Then I will not cross your borders. » There's nothing said about Fortian dragons not being welcome, per se. (Hraedhyth to Elaruth)

To Hraedhyth, Elaruth is gentle with her quiet assurance. « You cannot. It was before your time. It is done now. We have it back. » But. « Yes. Taken. Not asked for or fought for. » And no more of that will she speak, for it is the past and Hraedhyth is here in the present, the now, not that past. The same question asked of her sister is asked of her: « Why do /you/ wish to visit? » with the addition of: « Especially if you do not like ours visiting yours. What could we have for you? »

To Elaruth, Hraedhyth is not so easy at letting things go, but she will allow the subject to die, although reluctant. What she has learned will be kept, not as a trophy but because it is important to know of these things of one's people. « Why? » Is echoed, surprised by the question. « Because I want to. » It doesn't sound right even to her own ears, so she'll try once more. « I do not mind. I have invited some into my » Our. « lands. It is when they do not announce themselves, do not show proper respect that I do not like. » To watchriders or elsewhere, protective chains rattling from memory. « My Sister. She wishes to go to Fort. I would like to be with her. » To protect in foreign territories isn't spoken, but she doesn't hide it. As for her own reasons? « To learn of your tribe. »

To Hraedhyth, Elaruth is amused, her soft laughter a rustle through those hidden reeds. « You cannot seek manners in other when you cannot promise the same of your own, » she answers, not a challenge, but something she has learned. « We are queens, but we cannot - should not - command every moment in every one of our... » she'll substitute 'tribe' for her own word, sharing, « flock. They must be allowed to make their own mistakes. Sometimes. » Yet she is not quite through with her questions. « If her opinion differs to yours? If she learns something you do not? What then? »

To Elaruth, Hraedhyth likes that laughter, a pleased growl tearing through the air above secluded marshes. « This is why I am here. » Not here, but speaking with the older gold. « I will not make these mistakes. » Never mind the countless, insensitive blunders she's made in the past; with Elaruth or others. « I represent my territory, it is my duty. » Though she is not Matriarch she is still a queen, through and through. Drums are now upbeat and pleasant despite the unchecked strength used to make them thunder. « My Sister is mine. » Possessive, protective, and yet... « But she is her own Iesaryth. And I am Hraedhyth. » Water and fire, forever connected and yet so very different.

To Hraedhyth, Elaruth continues to be that little bit indulgent, the glitter and glow of stars breaking through to cast a brightness through the mist once more. « Will you not? Are you not? » Perhaps it's a hint or just a challenge; maybe she simply won't tolerate the thundering that, to one with such piercing senses, must seem so impolite despite its upbeat nature. « You have much to learn, Hraedhyth, » she gently chides. Reminds. « Mind your manners. And ask again when you seek to visit. » All at once, her touch is gone, evaporating in seconds to a white nothingness.

To Elaruth, Hraedhyth cocks her head, felt more than seen of course. Possibly from confusion, or to spare a look up towards the stars which are just beginning to peak. « I am not. » She doesn't think so. The fact that it's question gives her pause, « Am I? » Not that she expects an answer, confused and surprised far too often with this Queen. Rather than rampage, she quiets during the jumble of confused thoughts and possibilities. They will serve as kindling to fuel the pensive flames, later. For now, « Then I will learn, Elaruth. » There's a whoop through her ranks, celebration that is cut far too short. Ahem. « I will. » Though sudden departures are far from her favorites, this time Hraedhyth's displeasure is near to nonexistent.

The Weyrlingmaster finally dismisses the class...