Difference between revisions of "Logs:Damocles' Sword"

What sunshine there is hasn't managed to make much of an impact on the Weyr as of yet, to the extent that a thin layer of fog still ghosts over the water of the lake and curls in against the lower edges of the bowl. Not many have bothered to get all that close to the water today, since it looks so uninviting, and so there are only a few, solitary figures scattered along the shore at various intervals. One of them is the Weyrwoman, who stands close to the lake, the tips of her boots lined up with its very edge, and throws pebbles into the murky depths, watching the little stones punch temporary holes in the fog. At the southern end of the bowl, Elaruth has chosen one of her favourite perches, close to the waterfall, and sits hunkered down and watching the goings-on below.

The cooler autumn weather has Ali sporting her usual shawl to keep the late afternoon chill off. She's got an arm tucked through K'varl's, chatting quietly as they stroll around the lake's edge. It's the greenrider that notices the Weyrwoman first, drawing the junior's attention in that direction. There's a brief conversation, before the greenrider heads towards the bowl, and the goldrider for Hattie's location. "Weyrwoman?" part greeting, part query, it echoes softly as she approaches. Isyath circles contentedly high above - visible as a glitter of gold swirling amongst the fog - occasionally reaching out to pull in this-or-that dragon to join her. Even Elaruth is coaxed - or there's an attempt, at any rate - the younger queen talking up the interesting downdrafts the cool afternoon weather generates.

It's not that Isyath's coaxing has little effect, for every now and then there's a flare of thin, sunlit wings like she might leap skywards in the next seconds, Elaruth inevitably settles back down each time, determined to keep watch over her Weyr. Hattie doesn't spot green or goldrider until she's addressed, so focused is she on where those pebbles land and sink, and only when she hears Ali's voice does she look away from the water to seek out its source. "Ali," she replies, not query, but statement, her voice quiet, as though determined not to damage the eerie, fog-laden silence. In goes another pebble.

The momentary temptation - the hint that Elaruth might join - only serves to let the coaxing continue, if sparsely. After all, she can see /everything/ from up here. Well- mostly, fog aside. "You seem- deep in thought." Ali, too, feels oddly bidden by the presence of the fog to keep her voice low, falling silent a moment as she glances upwards, even though there's little to be seen. With her brow furrowed briefly, she's unsettled, at Hattie's side, before moving to slip an arm through the other woman's, if allowed. Whether it's simply some show of solidarity or just impulse is difficult to say.

Hattie's reaction to Ali looping her arm through hers is to relinquish the remaining few pebbles and drop them to the ground, careful to make sure that they fall around her own feet, rather than her junior's. She doesn't move away, and, if anything, inches closer to her, all without saying a word. A slow breath is taken and exhaled, her gaze fixed on some distant point out across the water, and then she murmurs, "It feels as though a dagger is being dangled above my head." Then she sneaks a glance over to catch a glimpse of Elaruth's pale form in her peripheral vision. "At least, whatever happens, whenever it does, she'll be happy with her eggs."

"She always struck me as at her happiest when she's- mothering," Ali says, of Elaruth, a fondness and warmth in her voice as she does so. "And it'll be nice to have- have weyrlings again." The junior genuinely sounds as if she's looking forward to that particular part the most, her fingers pressing briefly against Hattie's arm where they touch in support. "When you think it is time for us to leave, you have only to tell us. And if you-" a hitch of breath, a glance over her shoulder, then sidelong towards the other goldrider, "-want us to try and draw away certain- certain people, we could do that, too." Or /try/, at any rate.

"I'm almost jealous of them - the new weyrling accommodation looks fantastic," Hattie says wistfully, flexing one shoulder in an effort to ease the tension there. "As for /when/... She refuses to leave, now. Has to stay and keep an eye on the nest. So, she could start to glow tomorrow, or it could be months." She's resigned, there, and quietly apologetic for just how unhelpful that is. Her gaze darts to Ali's, but she can't keep it there and has to look out over the water again. "...I asked--" she starts to tell her, only to stop. "I did a bad thing. I asked E'ten to... go. He made me angry and I--" Another deep breath and an abrupt diversion. "Maybe Onyka will send one of her puppets." Joking?

"It's certainly an improvement," Ali says, slowly, of the barracks, "But it's- I still wouldn't feel comfortable, knowing what happened. Although if a lot of our candidates come from outside the Weyr-" she trails off, chewing her lower lip. "It'll be okay. We'll leave, and it'll be okay," she says, sounding certain of herself on that. It's the latter revelation that makes her stop, sucking in a sharp breath. "E'ten? W- why?" it's not hard to read the defensive nature of the response, though she's struggling not to continue; even the joking mention of Ista's Weyrwoman doesn't evoke a reaction.

"Because he's in bed with a renegade, for a start." The irony of that clearly doesn't strike Hattie for a moment or two, when she deflates and her shoulders slump. "I don't know," she admits. "He's not ready. He's too... reasonable. I don't know." She falls silent again and fixes her distant stare on a point somewhere nearer, or maybe it's just that she looks ashamed. "I took it back." Like that could make it better. "...It doesn't matter, anyway. Elaruth's doesn't exactly let those she wants slip away quietly. ...And I don't--" Stop, start again. "I don't have the right to make any /choice/."

"According to /rumor/, so are you." It isn't meant to be as thoughtless as it probably comes out as; the second she's said it, Ali blanches and tightens her arm against Hattie's as if afraid she might pull away. "I'm sorry, that was- sorry." A deep, uneven breath follows. "He'd be a good, steady Weyrleader. And you'd help him adjust, if it came to that." It's less defensive than earlier, but it's not until Hattie declares she took it back that the tension in the dark-haired woman's shoulders ease. "Elaruth will do what's right for the Weyr," she murmurs. Yet if she believed that she wouldn't be offering to try and influence potential suitors to leave, would she?

Ali's instinct is correct: Hattie's arm locks with hers as she moves in what looks like an attempt to pull away, only it's more to turn away so that Ali won't see the pained look that settles over her and won't be blinked away. She stills when that pressure is applied, leaving only scuff marks in the sand to show for her efforts, her jaw clenched as she tries to restore some inner equilibrium. "I don't know what's worse," she says quietly, when she finds she can speak again, "the thought of a new Weyrleader, or what they could do to stop /my/ Weyrleader."

Ali's grip eases, as her head drops; it's a slow exhale that's breathed out, before she finally murmurs, "Either way, we'll figure it out. And- even if he's not your Weyrleader, N'muir will stay." It's phrased as a statement, though there might be something questioning briefly in her look, like she's wondering if it's been discussed.

Hattie's silence says it all, more than the miserable expression that shadows her features and is swallowed down more easily than the pained one. "My sister doesn't think so," lets her avoid whatever /she/ thinks. "Then, she didn't much like P'draig either. At least her opinion of him had no political implications whatsoever. /She/ would rather it were someone else; she's already said she won't admit him to the Hold." She swallows, then adds: "For Boll. Us." Her eyes close for a moment, then she shakes her head. "You'd think Elaruth /was/ proddy, the way I'm going on," she sighs.

"Your sister?" Ali repeats, unable to hide the note of disbelief in her voice. "What does your sister know about- what does /N'muir/ say?" she finally asks, though the expression on her face- uncertain and sympathetic- suggests she suspects that conversation hasn't happened yet. The tension in her posture when Hattie mentions Boll can be felt, though she's silent until she murmurs, "If it isn't N'muir- we'll come up with a plan. Weyrleadering for dummies. We'll take turns yelling and cajoling until they behave, yes?" she's trying for a lighthearted tone, brushing away Hattie's latter comment with a smile.

"Gossip travels, especially when people are eager to know what the Holder sister of Fort's Weyrwoman thinks about her Weyrleader's dark and awful past." Hattie presents that thought like it's the prelude to some instructional Harper tale, practical, upbeat and matter of fact all at once. She listens, trying accept Ali's words as what they are intended to be, then offers a wry twitch of a smile. "I yell, you cajole?" she proposes, giving a gentle knock of her arm against hers. "They should adore /one/ of us." And it plainly wouldn't be her.

Ali's expression darkens briefly, as much at Hattie's words about N'muir's dark past as Ruatha River's Holder's opinion. She's quiet as a couple of weyrfolk wander past, chatting and laughing. Then, "I don't know. Maybe I should try yelling- it'd be cathartic, I feel." She contemplates that picture for a moment before laughing and relenting, "Okay, maybe not. But if neither, they can adore /Elaruth/."

"Elaruth will cuddle and nuzzle them into submission," Hattie agrees, her smile shading more genuine for just a split second. "It's inevitable. They won't be able to fight it." She takes another deep breath and holds it, biting down on the inside of her lip. "He was trying to help Fort all along," she utters to the lake. "And he's tried to do right by Fort ever since. And if /this/ is going to define who he is or was as a Weyrleader--" Her eyes fall closed again in a moment of defeat. "Anyway." She gives a shake of her head and looks up again, then gives a little tug on Ali's arm, like they might start walking along the water's edge. "Tell me about Iska." Who is safer, easier topic for the future.

Ali certainly seems amiable to the concept of walking, easily falling into step with the other goldrider. "Not everyone- can, is able to see that he was doing right. They can only see the consequences, and it's- it's not been good for any of us." The words come slowly, like she's given it a lot of thought, gaze directed downwards. It's the question about Iska that makes her smile all the brighter, unsurprisingly. "She's started babbling, now. It's entirely too adorable." The smile lasts for several steps, before she adds, "I was- thinking after Issy rises I might send her to stay with her father for a while. Issy's difficult on the sands, and I think- it'd be best. She should be old enough to travel safely by then." Of course, the very /idea/ of not being near her daughter makes her frown.

The idea makes Hattie frown too, though it's not, surprisingly, anything directly to do with Iska's father that brings forth that expression. "...Are you... happy, with the thought of her being at High Reaches?" she asks slowly, voice still kept low. "If it's Isyath and the Sands that trouble you, I could ask Elaruth to keep nudging her. I just... haven't felt that it was... her place to do that, in the past. It felt like it would be imposing her view of things should be done."

Although Ali shakes her head to that question, she's quick to follow it with, "I- I'd miss her of course. But I'd be spending all my time in the galleries, and the thought of her being in the nursery-" she takes an uneven breath. "Besides, K'del's had it so hard, being so far from Iska. It's- it's the fair thing to do." Even if her expression suggests the idea doesn't make her thrilled. "No!" Sharply, and then with an apologetic look, softer, "No, that's- Elaruth shouldn't have to do that. Issy needs to- she needs to learn." Even if that doesn't seem likely, after all this time. "Sometimes I wish-" a glance at the rim, in the direction of where Elaruth is, but she bites her lip and doesn't finish the thought.

"The nursery isn't so bad," Hattie answers, giving a shallow shrug. "I've had to surrender all of mine to it at some time or another. Still have to. I can't get everything done, and nor can N'muir, if we don't have help." It is at least plain which she would choose, given the choice of Fort's nursery or being sent to the 'Reaches. "It's your decision, though. And I suppose I have sent mine to live with P'draig for long stretches. It's Hasander's home." The sharpness to Ali's tone makes her start and almost miss-step, but she walks on steadily after that. She glances at her, inviting her to finish that thought, but doesn't press her for it. "Maybe she's still getting the hang of it," she ventures.

"I- I think it'd help K'del, too," Ali confesses, with a brief chew of her lower lip, as if she might be worried. "Even if Iska was in the nursery, all I can remember last time is being- exhausted and irritated and a terrible person to be around. I wouldn't want to inflict that on a baby who can't understand why." The uneven breath suggests it's as much that she doesn't trust herself as anything. "You know Issy; stubborn as ever," there's warmth there, of course, but resignation as well. "If she hasn't by now-" she won't ever, is the unspoken sentiment. Then, finally, after all that, and a long stretch of silence, "It'd be easier, if she were more like Elaruth." Wistfully spoken, but quiet, like voicing it aloud is some sort of betrayal.

"Fair enough," Hattie concedes. "I think... as much as it does different things to them, it must do different things to us. I don't really mind being in the galleries, but then that's mostly because she's so happy, it makes being there easier." And yet she has to admit: "Not that her panicking at /noise/ or hating letting the Candidates near her babies or wanting every little detail /exactly/ as she must have it is... relaxing." Her lips curve in another wry little smile and she reaches to gently touch her free hand to Ali's arm. "If she were more like Elaruth, she wouldn't be Isyath. And we all need an Isyath in our lives. We all need Isyath." Though, with the soft affection in her voice, it'd be easy to understand need and love meaning the same.

The walk continues with Ali silent for a long time, opening her mouth a couple of times but not actually speaking. When she finally does it's after a deliberate breath, and with warmth in her voice, "Thank you, Hattie. I- I guess we both have to work at it. I wonder if the same is for other weyrwomen; do they just make it look easy?" A wry smile follows that, a little more at ease, before, "Do you want to have some tea in the kitchens with me?"

Hattie considers that, lips tugging to one side. "Do you mean that, once it's all over, do we all want to go and collapse quietly in a corner somewhere, but /no/, we need to go oversee a party?" That must be rhetorical. "I think /we/ make it look effortless." Maybe she's teasing, though there's a good amount of genuine pride in both tone and expression, proper smile sneaking through. As for the invitation: "Of course. Anywhere that there isn't all this fog." For it still swirls around ankles and out across the water. Before she goes to gently steer them in the direction of the caverns, she pauses to look up at Ali again and murmur a quiet, "Thank you." That her mood has significantly improved is hardly not noticeable, but she leaves it at that as they move off, moving on to joke about how Nimarie has insisted that both she and Iska are going to Impress gold and take over from them when they're old. In like, ten turns (because five turn olds have no concept of time).

"I think the first time I collapsed in my bed after the feast and slept for a good day. I'm sure it was an entire day." But that was a relatively long time ago, and Ali might well be exaggerating just a tad. The thanks earn a smile and a gentle squeeze of fingers, before the conversation turns to their children, with the dark-haired woman grimacing at the thought of a goldrider daughter, and insisting Iska's going to join a craft, at least, and surely become a Craftmaster instead. That'll last up until they're interrupted by the kitchen staff asking for advice on the evenings meal, and they part ways.