Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Family"

Madilla's Quarters, High Reaches Weyr

Larger than most of the quarters in the Complex, this suite is made up of three distinct rooms, all rough-hewn but of a reasonable size. The main room is a living area, largely filled by a table with several chairs, as well as a small desk. Beyond, the two further rooms are both bedrooms, the larger one filled by a set of bunk beds and a single, whilst the other, smaller, contains a double bed, one that fills most of the available space.

Rag rugs cover the floors throughout all three rooms, while heavy quilts provide both insulation and decoration, hung from the walls.

The plan had been to cut his sleep time more or less in half, with his parents (and brother) gone. The plan had been to get caught up on those hide-based duties he'd been overlooking in favour of familial requirements. But the plan was interrupted. The results are still there to see in the morning, H'kon with his head lolled to a side in a way that promises a stiff neck, and the sweater he'd had on now draped over little legs - one in his lap, one somehow up just under his chin. And the Raija who interrupted him? She's still got one of his hides clenched in her hand, sticking out from that quilt. He's like never to get it back.

Despite being generally disinclined to approve of plans that involve that much lost sleep without really good reason, Madilla's immediate reaction upon finding the father-daughter pair is warmly affectionate. She pads towards them, apparently intending to reach in and scoop up the toddler, though once she gets there, she simply pauses: perhaps it's just that the image is too adorable, or perhaps she's reluctant to disturb either of the pair.

It could be that the toddler is just that exhausted from the whirlwind visit, with its somehow older copy of H'kon, and its warm and talkative grandmother who insisted upon giving everyone familial titles (hi, mum and dad), and... well, the Uncle - it could be all that which keeps her from waking. H'kon is, if perhaps at least as exhausted as the girl, and for nearly all the same reasons, not so deeply asleep. Whether that soft noise of Madilla's footsteps, or just that sense of being watched, in time, an eye opens. He lifts his head with an 'mmf' that doesn't quite make it to full groan volume.

Madilla's expression, as H'kon wakes is the very image of 'fond', though she's quick to draw her mouth into a smile. "Let me take her," she murmurs, though of course it doesn't seem likely that Raija will wake at this point. "Do you want klah?" Because it is, sadly, actually morning.

H'kon nods, and draws his arms back, the beginning of a stretch, albeit one that is held until that girl is safely removed from the couch, and his lap. "Faranth," comes mumbled next, stretch stretched, and then one arm brought to rub his neck. His grimace comes in time with that rider's look. Arekoth, it would seem, is awake as well. The look given to Madilla, once all this is done, is apologetic. Not the plan.

Not the plan, but Madilla, now with Raija curled up against her shoulder (hand still clenched around that hide, but of course), smiles anyway, giving an easy shrug. These things happen. "Be right back," she murmurs, not waiting for an answer before she turns to deliver Raija to her bed. Luckily, all three children remain soundly asleep, leaving the healer to return, alone, moments later... though now she heads for the hearth, for the kettle and mugs.

H'kon is sitting forward by the time she's come back, and has retrieved the sweater that Raija's legs only halfway dragged off the couch. He's not wearing it, of course; he's just got it in his lap, clenched in one hand, while the other has moved to rubbing at his temples while bracing his forehead with the palm. "I hope you slept well," when he hears her footsteps, before he's even got to lifting his head to find her whereabouts. "I'd not intended to leave you alone." Even if these things happen.

Madilla's got two mugs on her return, one in each hand, and presses one of them quickly towards the brownrider. "I slept fine," she promises - reassures? - in a low, smiling tone, before she slides herself into a seat alongside him. "I'm sure you didn't. How's your neck? That can't have been all that comfortable. And Raija..."

H'kon's selfish hand is willing to abandon the weight of his head to his neck, and retrieve that mug instead. All the while, the sweater stays neatly protected, held close, almost loved in comparison. Not so much as that klah, though. "Arekoth is correct, that child is made of rubber." Or the Pernese equivalent that makes hoses for flamethrowers. "She must be," comes after he's had a sip of that klah (totally more loved than the sweater), and is willing to (gingerly) turn to look at the woman square on, "to have survived these past days, hm?"

There's sudden exhaustion in Madilla's face after that reference to the events of the past few days, though she laughs - a low, muffled sound, both relieved and tired. "She must be," she agrees, her free hand joining the other about her mug. "She did better than I expected. She's... come a long way. Hasn't she. It was time."

Sure, he's talking about Raija, but it's still Madilla's features his eyes play over so carefully, so methodically. "Hm," comes as agreement, after both she's spoken, and he's completed his inspection, and is settled to simply meeting her eyes. "Good for her to know, also, that even if some show some interest in her... her place is here, now." H'kon presses his lips together, gives another 'hm', and then lifts the klah to his mouth again. "And, I'm not certain anything might've held my mother off at this point."

At least, by the time he's meeting her eyes, there's a smile to them: as tired as she seems to be, she's not unhappy. "Yes," she agrees, with perhaps more force than is strictly necessary. "No more strange visitors, taking her away from everything she knows. No more... well." That, of course, has left the healer introspectively thoughtful, and so it takes her a moment to actually manage to add, "I'm glad we could make your mother happy, too. Besides... a child ought to have grandparents."

H'kon's mouth opens, a ready response about his mother there, surely, at the edge - but he stops. The klah is lifted too thoughtfully, allowed to waft steam over his face for too long, for it to be a need for it that's stopped him. And instead, when he does look back (and lowers the mug, unsipped), the question is a straightforward: "Is it strange for you?"

Madilla's answer is prompt, and wry. "Which part? The... family-ness of it all?" She turns her own mug in her hands, around and around.

H'kon doesn't confirm directly, no nod or even a shift of those eyebrows of his. He's still looking at Madilla, straight on, and there's no hesitation in, "Is it an odd thing to ask?"

"No." There's no hesitation in that, either. "It's not. And... yes and no." Madilla continues after a moment's pause, having pressed her teeth into the softness of her lower lip, her voice low. "Yes, it's strange. It's been a long time since I was part of a more traditional family. At the same time..." She smiles. "I'm glad of it. I think."

"You were nervous," H'kon prompts, a technique he's no doubt learned mostly from the healer herself. Now, that klah comes for a real sip, and he shifts the angle of his head and neck a little - though the grimace doesn't suggest it provides any relief.

The barely-there lift of Madilla's eyebrows comments on that prompt: is it fair, using her own techniques against her? But she nods, all the same, forgoing answer until after she's taken her own sip. "I was afraid it would be a disappointment. Or painfully awkward. Or... I don't know. I was afraid."

Another 'hm' for her troubles, and he turns forward, most likely more as reason to rest strained muscles than to turn away. "I'd not," is thus spoken more or less to his klah, "have allowed anything... worth fearing." Especially once his brother arrived and made him bolder, but like as not, H'kon didn't notice that so much.

One of Madilla's hands, the one closest to the brownrider, withdraws from her mug; she lifts it, aiming to put her fingers to his neck and rub, gently. "I know," she says, quiet and firm. "It's not a logical fear. It never was. I like your family."

"Hm." This time, it's contentedness - or rather, the anticipation thereof. The mug lowers, slowly, until it rests on his knee. The sweater is held a little bit less fiercely. "They like you also. Approve of you, so much as..." H'kon was going to finish that sentence. He was. He may, still. Perhaps he's lost in thought.

Madilla's head turns so that she can watch the brownrider. Perhaps she's waiting for the end of that sentence, or perhaps it's just that she likes looking at him. It may well simply be the latter, given the way she murmurs, then, "Good."

The end of that sentence, it never comes. H'kon doesn't look over, either. The klah, though, it carries on steaming, albeit at a slower rate. And eventually, the man comes out with a carefully measured, "Lilabet and Dilan... what do they think of all this? Family?"

"You know what Dilan's like: not much bothers him. He's pleased, I think, to have more of it. Lily--" Madilla still hasn't managed to get her head around referring to her daughter by full name. "Lily's more difficult to read, these days. And more cautious. I don't think she's opposed, though I rather think she sees herself as separate."

"Ah," is not exactly pleased. H'kon turns now, sore neck or no, to look once more at Madilla. And, in time, leans back into the couch, careful not to slosh the remaining klah in his mug.

"I think she enjoyed talking to your brother, at least, though I caught her rolling her eyes at something he'd said," continues Madilla, quite as if H'kon hadn't spoken at all, though she meets his gaze, and gives him a smile. Her own mug is brought back for another sip. "Remind me to hide those gifts he brought."

"I hope that is an encouraging thing. Her speaking to him at length otherwise might not be." There's that look of a long-wearied H'kon, who finishes what's left in his own mug, mimicking without much thought, and perhaps, getting lost in the role. "I've an ideal place," comes when he's finished, "though it will require Arekoth's assistance." One eyebrow arches.

The arch of that eyebrow has Madilla's smile broadening, twitching about the corners. "Please," she says. "Please. I'll come up with some kind of reason for their disappearance." And, "She said they spoke of harper things, and that she found him interesting." Whatever that means. Her fingers, at his neck, still, though don't yet move away.

"So long," H'kon adds, "that he doesn't try hide them on his own, to distribute when our backs are turned. It's fortunate, I suppose, that dragons are only so dextrous." Somewhere, a hawk-beaked brown dragon is pleased. On the couch, H'kon nods, but just the once. Perhaps to avoid dislodging those fingers. "Kairek said he'd spoken to you... about bringing her to the hall."

That particular mental image makes Madilla laugh. "His kingdom for opposable thumbs," she supposes. Of Kairek, she has a slow, careful, "Mmm. He suggested a visit. If we were amenable. I'm just not sure whether it will make her more impatient to go, and frustrated that I don't think she's old enough. In her head, I think she sees herself as significantly older than eleven."

"He might at least give her some preparatory work... He's not a bad Harper." Whatever H'kon may think of his big brother, otherwise. And surely there was all sorts of strange sibling interaction going on these past few days. "At least then the wait might have meaning." Talk that brings a glance to the children's door - though if Lilabet is listening, it's not as though she'd need be visible.

Madilla opens her mouth to answer, and then closes it again, chewing over whatever it was she was immediately prompted to answer with before deciding otherwise. It's with a sigh, then, that she says, "I suppose there is that. Something to work towards." Her own gaze slides after H'kon's only belatedly, intense, as if she can beam thoughts into her pre-teen's head, if only she thinks them loudly enough.

"It would certainly be simpler than simply keeping her from it altogether, I should think." H'kon, champion of Lilabets everywhere. He passes the empty mug over to the sweater hand, linking a couple fingers about its handle. That other hand, now, is free to reach and rest just above Madilla's knee. "And when she is ready... she'll know you stand behind her in this, and that she'll always have you to return to, should she need." Okay, maybe he and his brother did more than just bicker over that visit.

Madilla frowns, though it doesn't seem to be in immediate reaction to anything H'kon has said in particular. Perhaps it's more that he's left her so much to think about - that she is is certainly obvious in the way she chews at her lip, gaze dropping to the hand upon her knee. "I hadn't thought of it quite like that," she admits. "Thank you. I think I'm... having more difficulty than I expected, seeing her grow up." She's only eleven, after all! It's not Lilabet's fault she spent too much time around adults as a young child. "She'll be pleased."

H'kon, it seems, can wait whatever length of time is needed. If his eyes have halfway closed by the time Madilla does speak, that might be as much his dragon as sleep deprivation. "Hm," again. "Or at least, one might hope, less frustrated." And then, that bubble is allowed to pop. "I'd best see to Arekoth. And be grateful we've no sweeps today. Though drills will be..." grueling?

"That, at least," agrees Madilla, in a tone that edges on rueful. Her fingers give the muscles in his neck one last squeeze before withdrawing, reaching, instead, to take his mug from him. "Good luck with the drills. Take a nap this afternoon if you think you need it... there's no point trying to do too much if your head's not up for it."

"We've seen our way through worse than this," is meant as reassurance, if also as dismissal of her advice. But H'kon offers her a smile, and gives her leg a squeeze as he stands. There's hesitation a moment, another look cast toward the children's door, a longer, and certainly affectionate one turned to Madilla thereafter... and then it's a flurry of motion, setting the mug aside, gathering his things... and finally heading out to the bowl.

Like a good little housewife, Madilla sends H'kon off with a smile - and not a chide, whether or not she'd like to - and gathers up their mugs for cleaning. Besides, she's got (older) children to drag out of bed, and a day of her own to begin. But at least she got more sleep.