Difference between revisions of "Logs:Rights"

Sunny spring skies, even with the scattered cloud covering, are a fortunate sign on the day of the Ista Hold gather; not that a little rain has ever kept the Istans from celebrating. Happy rumors circulate the Hold and leak into the gather square, and that must be the reason for the even more upbeat mood of the revelers. Cups are overflowing as is cheer; harpers make with a merry tune on the stage; dancers swing and dip; children run underfoot. It's only slightly ruined by the humid air and high temperature, a fact which hasn't stopped one Igenite-turned-Reachian from enjoying herself. There's a trickster wowing a small crowd near the drink booths, hiding a ball under a series of cups and calling his rapt audience to guess, for a pittance, where he's hidden it. Farideh looks on with merriment shining in her green-brown eyes, but she's idly picking at her snack of seasoned meat on a stick. She's dressed in a sleeveless tunic with a colorful sash around her narrow hips, and her typical trousers with boots, her hair braided down her back. When the man's hands move to reveal the ball, which was not under the cup someone guessed, a cheer goes through the group and everyone claps, including a much-awed Farideh.

Given that it is Lilah who has invited her Weyrwoman out for the gather, she has elected not to embarrass her with her usual wardrobe; instead dawning a dress made of sage green, cloth gathered at her waist and at her shoulders and light enough that the skirts move with her when she walks. "It must be nice to live on an island," is what she chooses to remark, lightly, to Hattie as they move through the gather. "They say that it is a different type of life than living on the continent." She hasn't gathered any drinks or spent any marks, yet, those kept away instead of making an appearance.

Maybe it's Hattie who could be bordering on embarrassing instead, for she's hastily twisted and pinned her hair up using a series of glass-tipped pins, without thinking of bringing glasswork under the noses of the nearby Glasscraft Hall and their crafters. Still, the lighter colour of the pins matches her cream-coloured dress, the latter accompanied by a burnt-orange sash that harmonises with her citrine pendant and bracelet. "I imagine that you can hear the ocean from most places," she answers a little wistfully, sidestepping a pair of enthusiastic children who pelt past and through the crowds. She seems intent on handling the drink situation, for she asks, "Wine? Spirits? ...Ale?" of Lilah, looking towards the booths.

The harper playing gets more frantic and the raucous noises from the dancers supersedes the trickster's small gathering, pulling the laundress' fickle attentions away. Wildly, fervently, happily, they dance, and it brings a smile to her rosy-cheeked face. It's in looking away from the table that she notices a familiar redhead and her less familiar companion. Her face reflects indecision as her eyes follow their movements through the crowd; whatever her thought process, something makes her start towards them, her sash swaying with her steps. Steps that lead Farideh in an imprecise path with the obvious intent of meeting Lilah and her well-dressed friend.

"Perhaps something iced? I am practically dying in this humidity," admits Lilah, the hint of a smile pulling at her lips as she surveys the gather. Idly, she comments as well, "It is a shame that we don't do gathers of our own, or something like it. Imagine the marks they must bring in. And if we did, with Dice--." But, she trails off as she spots Farideh, offering a distant greeting with a tip of her chin. It is only as the younger woman gets closer that she tells Hattie, "I know her." Closer still, before she says, "Weyrwoman, have you met Farideh? Farideh, this is my Weyrwoman, Hattie."

"We could, if we gave it a name and found a reason, I suppose," Hattie replies, her gaze catching on Farideh as she approaches, yet she doesn't do more than give her an assessing once over, for now. "Turn it into an event to attend, rather than 'we want you all here for your marks'," she adds rather wryly. "Holds have it easier that way. It's more part of their traditions - and expectations - than ours. Then, we've not really had the marks ourselves to..." Whatever she might have said, she trails off and falls to silence when it's clearer that Farideh is moving with the intent of their crossing paths. At Lilah's prompting, she offers a hand and a polite, "Well met," following it up almost immediately with, "Would you like a drink? I'm just on my way over there."

Holding her food out and aloft, Farideh's hands come up, self-consciously, to brush any wayward wisps of hair back from her face before she allows a smile to brighten her features. "Weyrwoman Lilah and Fort's Weyrwoman Hattie," is both greeting and a method of reciting, the latter given a hand in returned politeness. "It's nice to meet you." Her eyes belatedly touch on the older woman's knot, that of a Senior Weyrwoman, and skip off soon after to Lilah's face. "Are you enjoying yourselves? It's even more crowded than the gather I last went to at Nerat, and everyone loves a Nerat gather." There's aptly placed wonder in her voice, conveying her admiration, but Hattie's offer brings her attention back with quickly-flushing cheeks. "I couldn't let you do that. I'm quite fine. Thank you, though," of them both, with widening eyes.

Lilah would answer you, Farideh, but it seems that it is more important to press on the abandoned topic of before before it's forgotten, suggesting to her Weyrwoman without regards to whether the young woman who has joined them can follow the conversation, "But we used to have something like it. I have read the records, and there used to be Weyrgames hosted between the Weyrs. If we were to host one--. What we lose in marks to do so could be made up for in the marks they spend at Fort." It's only after that her attention returns to Farideh, a slightly apologetic smile there briefly before it's gone. "We haven't been here long. Saw some of the booths and were just considering drinks." A pause. "What is this about a Nerat gather? Do you go to many of these?"

Hattie quirks her lips at Farideh's response, though doesn't argue the point and simply tells her, "Very well," as she begins to turn from the younger women to do exactly as she's said she's going to. Over her shoulder, she answers Lilah with, "/At/ Fort is not quite the same as profit going /to/ Fort," evenly enough to not be argument, but, to her, statement of fact. "Contracts with vendors and any deals with crafters and their Halls would have to be worded very carefully. It would only be worth it if we had more than we began with, in the end." And off she goes to get drinks without further ado, moving through the crowd with relative ease.

The younger girl's eyes flick back and forth, between the two goldriders, but it doesn't appear as though the thread of their conversation makes any sense to her. Hattie's retreating form is followed as far as she can go and then Farideh tips her head towards Lilah. "Nerat? You've never been? I don't think it's as much what's there as the reputation, kind of like Benden wine. It's not all good, but word's always been that it is, so everyone assumes--" She rolls her eyes for effect. "It's usually sunny and warm. They've got any number of talented harpers. And there's this rum-soaked cake I've only heard stories about." As for her, she shrugs noncommittally and tries holding in a smile, which only makes it shine through her eyes. "I've been to a few."

Lilah's gaze trails Hattie as the Weyrwoman makes her way to the drinks, something thoughtful and determined there in the goldrider's expression as she considers her back. But, she does answer Farideh easily this time, "No, I have never been. Perhaps I will, for their next gather. I have never had rum-soaked cake, after all, and if they can manage it with wheat, well--." She questions, next, "Did you come alone, or is there a sailor waiting to sweep you off to the dance floor?"

It doesn't take Hattie long to return with two drinks in her hands (either there can't have been a queue or her knot helped her out), her progress back through the crowd slower this time, for the sake of attempting not to spill anything in the broad glasses she cradles. When she finally reaches Lilah and Farideh, she offers one of the drinks to her junior, then tries a sip of her own. Both are a pale pink in colour, chunks of ice and small slices of various fruits occupying much of the glass, small bubbles that denote the contents as fizzy clinging to them. "My first Weyrleader had family in Nerat," she says. "I mean the first one that was /mine/. Still has family there, I assume. I can vouch for the quality of the cake."

"Rum-soaked cake with fruit and syrup," Farideh points out, as if salivating over booze-y desserts isn't enough. "You should definitely try Nerat. It's not on my short list of favorite places, but it's certainly better than, say, Crom." Her nose wrinkles; ew, Crom. Fort's Weyrwoman's return is met with a curious look and a polite smile, and an equally interested tone of voice. "I'm not familiar with past and present weyrleaders, especially not anyone other than the Reaches," with another scrunching of her nose. "Is he related to the bloodline?" That can be the only significant relation in Nerat, right? Lilah's question has her brow lowering, furrowing, and her lips becoming pursed and pouty. "No. I told him I never want to see him again. And I don't."

"T'rev," Lilah identifies for Farideh, certainly well-versed with Fort's history of leadership by now. "N'muir is her current Weyrleader and weyrmate." The goldrider flashes a grateful smile to Hattie for the glass, taking a long, satisfying sip of the fruit drink before holding the cold glass against her neck that has already been plastered with sweat and stray, wet strands of red hair. Her gaze slides briefly, amused, to her Weyrwoman, before she questions of the young woman, "What happened with the sailor?"

"Though T'rev was /not/ my weyrmate," Hattie hastens to clarify, quickly crunching down on a piece of ice just to get it out of the way and keep it from obscuring the clarity of her words. "And no, he's definitely not of the bloodline. About as far from it." Dry, that, and she takes another slow drink from her glass. "Not that he was entirely without connections of other sorts." A glance between Lilah and Farideh has her falling silent, her focus not entirely on the latter in the wake of her fellow goldrider's question, politely there and not there.

The frown that continues to crinkle her forehead and draw her mouth into unpleasant downward lines doesn't let up with the man's name. "I've never heard of him, but--" Farideh's eyes shift to Hattie. "If you say he's no body to worry about." No Blood, not a thing. "Oh," she shrugs, "I thought about what you had said. It's not like I can sit around and wait for him, right? While he's off on some boat somewhere in the middle of the ocean. Besides," it's not false that she looks sulky, "I got someone to ask him to Stand and stay, and he said no and blamed me. I would stay, for him," except, she wouldn't go on a ship with him, apparently. Teenagers.

"You cannot really blame a young man for not wanting to tie himself for life to a dragon just for you," reproaches Lilah lightly, her brows curving upwards at the teenager's story. "It is a monumental decision to Stand, and it should be made for yourself, not for anyone else." She glances to her Weyrwoman, a hint of thoughtfulness in the look there.

"It can't be undone," Hattie quietly agrees over the rim of her glass. "And if things don't end up as you wish them, or things go wrong, then resentment will only grow. At least, if your decision was your own, for your own reasons, then you've only yourself to doubt." Another sip, then she draws her glass down and cradles it just at the level of her waist. "And only yourself to blame. It's a lot of work; it isn't as if everything simply falls into place and becomes beautiful, as some of the more flowery literature suggests. I'd never undo it... but I'd never have Stood for someone else's sake either."

Logic, teenagers hate that. Sighing dramatically, "I know. I realize. It wasn't my idea. It was H'vier's, and they're his eggs, so he should be able to decide who he wants to ask to Stand for them. And Drex said no, so it doesn't even matter anymore." Farideh does look sheepish at least, scuffing at the ground with the toe of her boot. "That's what everyone has been saying. It's not a decision that you can just make all of a sudden, though a lot of people do. How do you measure if your life before could be better or worse than a potential, inflexible future one? Who can make bets on that?" She glances back up then, looking between the two women; obviously they did.

"I thought I knew my future with a dragon and without when, when I Stood," is what Lilah answers dryly, not quite meeting Hattie's gaze when she says it. "I decided a future with a dragon was the one that I wanted. It isn't so hard to tell what it would be like, if you Impressed. I am sure the Weyrleaders encourage you to speak to dragonriders, observe them?" The topic of H'vier and his eggs only gets a hint of a smile, before she corrects, "They are Niahvth's eggs, really. I'd like to see H'vier try to claim one of his eggs away from her."

"By rights, the decision over who Stands belongs to the clutchmother and her Weyrleaders." Brows arch briefly, but Hattie betrays no more amusement or concern over any contrary belief than that. "And Lilah is correct. I've yet to meet the bronzerider who could claim any queen's eggs as something he can possess." Then, more dryly: "If any have, they've clearly not survived to brag." She takes a breath, hesitant, but ultimately ends up continuing on anyway. "I knew I was never going to get what I wanted. And I was told I'd never be alone, if I Stood. Turns out, I ended up with more than I wanted. I suppose you have to consider the risks of a dragon making you /more/ or /less/, in more than one way."

Their vehemence on the subject of golds and their eggs gives the girl pause, and color floods her cheeks again as she looks between them, confused. "Alright, they're Niahvth's eggs, but--" Farideh frowns. "Aren't they Reisoth's, too? And by extension, H'vier's? Are they not--" She continues to look confused, but bites down on her lower lip to keep herself from putting her foot wholly in her mouth again. It's a long, drawn out span after, when her teeth finally release her lip, that she concedes, "You both chose Standing over a life you weren't excited to lead, before?"

"Not quite. Eliyaveith's eggs would never be mine, they are only hers while she protects them until they hatch. And when they hatch, the dragons will belong with their riders," explains Lilah, from her position of so much knowledge, of course. "The dragons will be of Reisoth's blood." That, at least, she will agree with that same, simple smile. She nods to the question, not expanding her own story and instead only glancing to Hattie for hers.

"I suppose it depends on the queen. Elaruth acknowledges that the sire is her mate and the father of her offspring, in that he can be near the eggs. But if any sire's rider tried to tell me he had any power over what happens to her clutch while it's in her care..." Hattie gives a shrug that she must mean to punctuate her last statement. "I chose to Stand because it was a choice I could make, for me. If I didn't, I envisaged my decisions forever being made for me. ...My mother liked to argue that my lack of choice /led/ to that choice." And, for that, she can't help but roll her eyes as she lifts her glass again.

"I see." Farideh's knowledge of dragon relations being as limited as they are anyway, which is obvious from her assertions throughout the whole conversation, she simply nods along to what the two weyrwomen tell her about a queen's rights. It's Hattie's latter part of the sory, her story, that switches the quasi-guilt on her face to surprise. "You-- are you-- you were going to be married off?" That's her assumption, anyway.

"Her family holds at Ruatha River," Lilah offers, once again giving up information on behalf of the Weyrwoman. But, without her own story to share, she takes the time to take slow sips from her iced drink, enjoying the cool as her gaze slides between Farideh and Hattie.

Hattie slides a look to Lilah, though she doesn't appear annoyed by that sharing, more surprised, if anything. "One way or another," she confirms. "Eventually. I managed to evade a number of proposals and talk my father out of alliances, but I assumed that, once he called me back from Fort, he would've made sure I was married whether I liked it or not." She gives another, light shrug of one shoulder. "From what I've gathered since, it's not an uncommon story among female candidates. Sometimes boys too, but not often first sons."

"Blooded," Farideh near-whispers, moving her shocked gaze from Lilah to Hattie. It's with rapt attention that she listens to the whole story, and at the end it's hard not to see and (almost) feel her excited, nervous energy. "Was your family mad? Did they ever forgive you? Were the Weyrleaders--" She stops, inhales, and drops her chin. "You're here and you seem fine. Was it worth it?" This last encompasses them both, inquisitive hazel eyes shifting from Hattie back to Lilah.

Lilah, obviously, does not have the answer to that. But the way her dark gaze settles on Hattie, she certainly is interested in the answer as well.

More cautious now, Hattie looks between Lilah and Farideh again, then gives a tiny shake of her head. "No, they weren't upset. I'd never told them, besides. They found out when they saw Elaruth choose me." That admittance makes her look down at her feet for a moment, expression rueful. "I was more of a hassle at home, anyway. Perhaps it was a relief; I know it would've been for our staff. My father... he had his reasons for sending me away, and for being glad I Impressed. I didn't know it at the time." Was it worth it? "She's always worth it."

"Oh." It's a word that's filled with many emotions: disappointment, curiosity, and anxiety; it also lingers, in the shape of her lips and the distracted glaze of her eyes. "I see. It turned out for the best, then. If she's--" Farideh's eyes flick between the two goldriders again. "They're worth it. Everyone says that. That it's worth it. But why does it seem like such an ominous choice to make?" Her smile turns awkward and she coils her fingers around her braid, pulling it over her shoulder idly. "I'm supposed to meet a friend by the stage. It was nice to see you again, Lilah, and to meet you, Weyrwoman Hattie," is polite, almost demure, and just lacks a curtsy for dramatic emphasis.

"If we said they weren't, no one would ever Stand, and there would not be enough riders to meet the next Pass," is a dry joke on the goldrider's part, though Lilah is quick to follow it up with a smile and a, "Have a good gather, Farideh. Hopefully things work out for the best for you and the sailor too." Her gaze flicks back to Hattie, though, with a hint of a question there.

"Maybe because it implies that there has to be something surrendered in return," Hattie thinks aloud, her voice a little quieter than more, and words soon followed by a long drink from her glass. "Enjoy the rest of your day," she answers Farideh. "I hope you feel you've done as you would wish, in the end." Catching Lilah's look, she glances to her, quirking a brow in silent enquiry.

A face is made towards Lilah at her sailor comment, but Farideh breaks into a sunny smile thereafter, one hand lifting to bit the two women adieu with a wiggling of her fingers. She's short and small enough to easily maneuver through the crowd, moving deftly towards the stage and hopefully, to enjoy what's left of her rest day and the beautiful Istan weather.