Logs:In Hindsight
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| RL Date: 17 March, 2013 |
| Who: Azaylia, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: As their dragons fly, K'del and Azaylia have a talk full of wouldas, couldas, and shouldas. |
| Where: Hatchings Sands/Galleries, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 2, Month 4, Turn 31 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Barnabas/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, I'kris/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| Hatching Sands, High Reaches Weyr Whether one enters from the main bowl entrance or one of the smaller tunnels at the back of the cavern, golden-brown sand glitters and swelters in every direction. Close inspection reveals that while the large egg pieces have been gathered up, small fragments remain mixed into the hot sand, record of a thousand hatchings. The main source of light is a huge window of sky high in the wall that also serves as an aerial entrance, its overhang just deep enough to admit light and cooler air but fend off harsher weather. The sands' setting designs them to be the focus of the vast amphitheater, with tiers upon tiers of galleries rising up its southwestern side near the tunnel to the bowl, and rings of dragon ledges higher yet: heat and architecture combining into what can be a palpable sense of pressure. The cool brush of snow carried on the winds isn't enough to chase the weyrfolk inside, many determined to enjoy what many have decided is the beginning of spring. With no eggs to watch, the galleries are scarcely populated, though a curious head may poke in occasionally to try and figure out what Azaylia is doing down there. The weyrwoman is the last person one would expect to see on the sands only a day after the hatching. But there she is with a rake and several filled buckets, looking odd in a light, airy dress and big, thick-soled boots on her feet. She's leaning against the rake now, her efforts adding no color to paled complexion, only sweat to her brow. Hraedhyth is high in the sky and far, far away from the heat of her duty's prison, tawny form barreling through the air as she viciously reclaims her freedom. Evidently enough people know where Azaylia is that K'del doesn't have much trouble tracking her down, though Cadejoth politely rattles his chains in Hraedhyth's direction to warn her of his rider's impending arrival. No doubt the easiest way onto the sands would be via the weyrleader's complex, but K'del eschews that option (avoiding Aishani?) and instead shows up in the galleries, heading down towards the front-most row to watch Azaylia for a moment before he takes that last step down onto hatching sands proper. "Hey," he says. "Would've figured you more likely to make the most of your freedom, today. Go somewhere nice. But here you are, working away." Beat. "They really were good clutches." Hraedhyth is grateful for the bronze's warning, though she'll reach beyond what is polite to give a yank to those chains. He should fly with her, test her wings that have been maintained with only routine, grounded excercises. Azaylia rests her brow against the long wooden handle, slumped and not opening her eyes even after K'del has spoken. There's a careful swallow, and she's slow to speak, "Was planning this, after. I wanted to see what the Smiths could do..." Another gulp of air and she's forcing herself to straighten up. As he nears, it'll be obvious just how very, very hungover the goldrider is. "Go?" As if it's not an option, as if she's unable to leave even with her dragon off the sands. Still, his compliment doesn't go unheard, "Thank you." And when would Cadejoth ever refuse such an invitation? Never, that's when. A moment later, he's rising up from the snowy expanse of his ledge, seeking out the young queen with determined beats of his wings, those chains dancing with enthusiasm. « Freedom, » he says, knowing, despite the fact that he cannot remember, surely, being trapped upon the sands himself. "Did you bring some water out here?" K'del rather quickly works out Azaylia's state, and, as he gets closer, reaches out to grab for the rake, to pull it away from her if he can, while aiming one arm to wrap around her shoulders. "Don't over do it, hey." "No. Sorry." Azaylia answers, and then apologizes for it. "Drank a lot this morning. And before bed. Bones made me." She doesn't want to give up the rake, pulling it back until its support is replaced by K'del's arm. A hand is dried on her skirt and then smoothed up over her face until her fingers end up gripping the back of her head. Despite her discomfort, "How're you? Are you okay?" Hraedhyth's drums speed up with each quick beat of her wings, not silent even when she glides. « Freedom. » The queen echoes, a snarling cry of victory among her nightmarish armies. Despite her joy, there are heavy black plumes that linger in her mind, more to do with her rider than her own emotions. But when are their feelings ever truly separate? "Well," says K'del. "As long as you've been keeping your fluids up." Concern is written across his features, into those knitted brows and the thin line of his mouth. His arm around her shoulders squeezes, and then he suggests, "Want to sit? Talk for a little while? I'm-- okay. Yes. Promise, I'm exactly who I say I am. Always have been." There's an edge of wry humour at the end of that, though it doesn't make it to his expression. Above, Cadejoth seems both pleased and approving of Hraedhyth's victory; he falls in alongside her, eagerly a part of her army-- onwards, to further victory! « All will be well, » he promises, so quietly certain. Hraedhyth knows. Cadejoth speaks a truth that is desperately needed in this time of deception. Of lies. For now, she will leave that to human business as she and the bronze tear through the snowy skies above their home. "S'not funny." Azaylia half chokes, hand rising to her lips as if she doesn't trust her roiling gut. "I should have known. Hrae should have. I didn't... how did she..?" The words are said slowly, not wanting to upset herself. For now, she'll abandon her fanciful task and the buckets, steps taken as she tries to lead the bronzerider off of the sands. "I do want to go. I want to go somewhere far away and not think about this and just-- but I can't. I won't leave it all up to her." Gentle voice drop into an equally soft hiss. K'del, with rake still in hand (though he'll rest it up against a wall as soon as he has a moment to do so), is easily led, and gives Azaylia another squeeze as he goes. "I know," he says, quietly. "We all should have realised that something was wrong there. But - we didn't. And now... it's up to us to fix this." At least he seems certain that it can be fixed, even if he's equally certain there there is something that needs to be fixed. "Should've known. Figured it out. She must've been the one who left a Vijay knot on my step, turns ago. And the first noose-- maybe both of them." One of Azaylia's arms rests against his back, reaching up to grab the nearest shoulder to help steady herself. She can manage well enough, but the added support is certainly appreciated. "Trying to scare... you?" She's still not sure of the details, of the why. She only knows what has happened, "Scaring the candidates." Though her words are slow, soft, there's a manic energy to be felt in her tensing muscles. They twitch, at times, "What can we do? I want to do something. I want her to know that this is not okay. That you can't lie to your Weyr and... and you can't ruin their hatching feast and just walk away." Some of that panic slips into her words, helpless, hungry for action. For now, she will have to contend herself with walking up the steps and a few tiers high of the sands. K'del's voice is so very quiet. "Presumably, she feels like I murdered her father. That's why she hates me in particular." He sounds far less bitter and angry about that than is, perhaps, to be expected, though he certainly doesn't sound pleased. He escorts Azaylia to a seat in one of those tiers, silent for several moments before he adds, "It was supposed to be celebration. For the new weyrlings. Not for-- it isn't okay, is it? Doing that. Dropping that on us. What we need to do is take the Weyr back from her. We need to make sure Hraedhyth rises first. Because you would never do something like that. You would think of other people ahead of your own petty... whatever it is. Vengeance?" Once seated, Azaylia's arm lowers to rest a hand on her lap with the other. She's quiet, attempting to wrap her mind around not only the recent events, but what hints they've been given in the past. If any. She'll keep leaning into K'del, if he lets her, unfocused eyes aimed down at the painfully empty sands. "You did," She overcompensates for one goldrider's deception by being painfully honest, "But only because you had to. Because of what he was doing to your home. Our home." With a deep inhale, "I didn't trust her, after finding out what we did. But now..? I don't think I ever can--" She avoids hysterics with a sharp breath, her next words more of an escaped thought. "I would have understood. Before. She could have told me and I... but not now." The idea of vengeance has her head snapping towards him, and she looks sick for it, "Is she done? Is she... is it enough? What else is she going to do? Iesaryth said that the Weyr wasn't in danger, but..." Can the dragon of a liar also lie? "Yes," agrees K'del, acknowledging his own part in this affair without flinching. "And it wasn't a decision made easily. It was... it haunted me. Maybe it still does, to some degree. But it had to be done. You can't just let people steal from the Weyr." He seems more than happy to let Azaylia lean in to him; certainly, there's no move to push her away. More quietly, "I know. Now... can she ever be trusted? What else is there? What are her motivations? Even if she doesn't intend to do anything now, how can we know she won't change her mind later? We know she'll lie. Iesaryth must have known, and..." There are too many possibilities, and they're probably all running through K'del's mind right now. "I just don't know, Azaylia. That's what worries me." He's looking at her as he says this, his expression flat. "Like I'kris." Azaylia murmurs. The name does nothing to help with her feeling ill, bronze complexion looking almost yellow as she battles her hangover. One night of not caring comes with a price. "I understand. She should be able to after what we did." But Aishani doesn't, so the goldrider won't dwell. Another bout of pensive silence, closing her eyes to keep the cavern from spinning while she thinks. "I'll be ready. I will. Hraedhyth is. She always has been." A note of admiration and devotion breaks through her otherwise flat tone. "It could be turns before either go up again." Brown eyes are slow to open, but when they do they go looking for K'del's. "What do we do now? What about the weyrfolk? I'm sure there are some that don't think anything has changed, but... what about those who do? This is their home, too." K'del can't help his flinch at mention of the brownrider, though that is one death that isn't on his hands. "Yes," he agrees, carefully. "Like I'kris. It's one of the things about being a leader... sometimes you have to make that call. Even when it hurts." And it does hurt, though not enough that the bronzerider turns his gaze away from Azaylia, even when she closes hers; he's still there, looking, when she returns her gaze to his. "I know," he says. "You'll be ready. We'll make sure of it. For now... we reassure people. Remind them that there are people here who haven't lied, and who... We remind them. I need to--" He swallows, his expression abruptly repentent. "Should never have let myself explode at H'kon like that. Half the Weyr probably thinks I'm unhinged, and that's not going to help anything. But you. You can remind them. That you're here. That they can trust you." His flinch has Azaylia's hand reaching over, finding his and giving it an apologetic little squeeze. Sometimes, she forgets. While K'del's solution suggests that they take far less action than she'd like, the goldrider accepts with a nod. "The Weyr is still standing." For now. "It... changes things, but it doesn't. There are weyrlings to look after. Reports. Bellies to feed." And so, Pern continues to spin. Just when her hand might retreat, it gives another squeeze for the bronzerider's regret. "I don't think you're unhinged. If anyone does, I'll tell them they're wrong." The offer is a weak one, though her voice finds some strength. "I won't try to change your mind about H'kon. Just... you know better, now." Rather than a scold she sounds almost proud, confident that there won't be anymore brawls. Public ones, at least. K'del seems to appreciate the squeeze, giving Azaylia a little, crooked smile in reply. "Not sure there's much else we can do," he admits. "Not yet. But yes: there's all of that to do, and that's what we'll make sure gets done. Tillek-- you may want to keep an eye on Tillek; they're probably not well pleased, at the moment." He lets out a low chuckle, as he continues, his hands twisting and twining in his lap. "I do," he says. "It was a stupid move. It was-- maybe he was involved, maybe not. But--" He swallows. "Just can't get the image out of my head. I'll be better, Azaylia. Not trying to force myself into-- not trying to act like I am definitely going to be your Weyrleader, or anything like that. But I'd do it. Will do it, if I have the chance. And I'll be ready for it, this time. If." There's a soft grimace for Tillek, "I forgot about that." It'll all come back to her, eventually. Azaylia will leave his hands to twist, her own sliding up to rub at his wrist before it returns to her own lap. "It was a mistake." One she's forgiven him for, "I've made so many..." They steal her away for a moment, distracted by past actions and inaction. By decisions that could have possibly prevented all of this. Distractedly, "You're the only Weyrleader I've ever known." There's a faint curl to her lips, realizing that just by having Hraedhyth, some meanings change. "Since I was an Apprentice. It only feels right that you help me. Io..." The name is quickly swallowed, "There wasn't anyone who could really teach me. Teach us. Lujayn did what she could, but there's still so much to learn." There's a faint nibble to her lip, "There are things I need to think about, if Hraedhyth rises first. People I need to talk to. Still," There's some warmth in the look she aims at K'del, "I can't think of a better pair to catch." At least in this moment. "Things... kind of got a little distracted," says K'del, who doesn't seem surprised that the whole Tillek situation has lost some prominence. He regards her, levelly, nodding only once to accept her words on mistakes-- he gets it. His expression turns harder as she continues, though, and ultimately, as she finishes talking, he lets a low breath escape. Is that relief? It could be, but it could also be any number of other things. "We'll do our best," he promises, serious and determined. "And so will you. Do whatever it is you need to. Talk to whoever you need to." Beat. Then, more lightly, "Strange, isn't it? Remembering back to when we first knew each other. You were terrified of Cadejoth, at first. And now..." Now there's Hraedhyth, a dragon potentially far more terrifying than Cadejoth could ever be. "We'll get through all of this. High Reaches is resilient." Azaylia manages to keep that soft smile despite the thoughts so obviously turning behind her gaze. "I know you will." Memories strengthen the curl to her lips, fighting against the urge to get lost in nostalgia. "I do. I don't know who scared me more, the Weyrleader or his dragon. If I only knew." Her eyes turn up as if trying to track her own lifemate, Hraedhyth's clubs still striking the chilly air. There is nothing so terrible about the gold now, other than her seemingly endless amount of energy. "High Reaches survived Tiriana." There's a sour twist to her mouth, as if even she doesn't like to admit, "As awful as she was... at least she was honest about it." Back to looking sick. K'del looks sick, too, and has to take several long breaths before he can properly answer Azaylia. "Yes," he agrees, with an edge to his voice. "Tiriana was a lot of things, but brutally, painfully honest was definitely among them." The twist of his mouth suggests it's a trait he is only coming to understand, and approve of, with the benefit of hindsight. "It's funny," he says, going back to that earlier, easier topic. "Thinking back that far. Honestly had no idea where things would end up, then, of course. But... High Reaches is lucky to have you, Azaylia. You're the heart." "Not that I want her back, either." It's K'del's own discomfort that causes her to speak, to assure the man that Azaylia wouldn't trade this new problem for an old one. Her gaze lowers to his hands, then to the buckets still on the sands. "I don't think--" The argument dies in her throat, "Thank you, K'del." Her gentle words waver with emotion, touched by what he's said. "I wonder what it'll be like later when we're older and looking back on this moment?" A touch too philosophical, especially with a hangover. The weyrwoman slowly gets to her feet, "If I'm the heart, I should take care of myself." And that means recovering from her self-inflicted sickness. "Would you mind helping me carry those to my weyr?" Yes, the buckets. She's keeping them. K'del gives her, just for a moment, a meaningful glance: he means what he says, whatever her doubts. Nor does he seem to doubt this whole idea of having Tiriana back; no, he doesn't believe it, either. As she rises, so does he, his nod coming even before she's finished saying what she intends to say. "Of course," he agrees, abruptly smiling. "I think... one day, we'll look back on all of this and smile. Because there'll be all kinds of things we haven't thought of, haven't considered, and in retrospect, everything will seem different." But that is too much philosophy: he'll settle for being a beast of burden as the dragons fly on. "I hope so. I just... want things to be alright again." Azaylia mumbles, head only half-turned so that she might be heard over her shoulder. K'del's smile has her lips quivering in an attempt. As she points out which buckets will be coming with them, no doubt she'll have a grateful smile for her beast of burden. She'll abandon the more serious subjects for now, no point in lingering on what can't be changed. All they can do is move forward. To try. |
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