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 two single beds, 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.
H'kon's presence has been quite constant since Raija has come to the weyr; the brownrider is trying, at least, trying to do what he's come upon as right, trying to be present, if not overtly communicative. But he's not given up that new knot, and this night, it's kept him away until well past the supper hour, if not overly late. Outside the door, he pauses, straightens his back, takes a few breaths. Closes his eyes to reach for the dragon who cannot follow him here. It's as prepared as he'll be, when he tries the handle, and lets himself in.
Raija's clinginess - and, thus far, disinterest in and distrust of most people other than Madilla - has kept the healer relatively close to home. Administrative work is, on the whole, relatively easy to keep up with; patient care is not. Papers related to the former are, as a result, spread out over the table, though the healer herself is not there now-- no, she can be found sitting on the floor in the larger of the two bedrooms, just watching the toddler, who is burrowed beneath her quilt and - it seems - sleeping peacefully. Lilabet and Dilan are nowhere to be seen - probably at Delinda's, again.
As with every wing meeting - with Y'rel - H'kon has that slightest hint of whiskey about him. But his eyes are clear, his walk is straight. He knows where to expect the woman, when the papers are abandoned. He moves to that bedroom, quietly, and looks in... but stays at the door. Waiting.
Without heavy footfalls to alert her to H'kon's presence - though perhaps she has heard the door - Madilla stays as she is, watching, for several seconds after the brownrider appears. From her position, she may be able to see part of Raija's face, but most likely it is simply the steady, deep breathing she's noting, and the way that quilt rises and falls atop the sleeping child. Finally, perhaps because she's sensed that presence in the doorway, she glances up, giving H'kon a tentative smile.
For the first part, H'kon watches Madilla. It's the next moment he turns his head toward the sleeping girl, when his face becomes a bit more unreadable. He watches, quite in the way they've been watching each other these past few days, when nearby and both awake. But it's not so deep an observation that he doesn't notice the movement from Madilla. He turns back to her, dipping his head, lifting his eyebrows, and then gesturing, faintly, toward the main room.
Madilla gives a silent nod in answer, one that's quickly followed by her (careful, quiet) attempt to rise to stockinged feet. If she seems faintly paranoid in her movements, pausing after each step, it's probably not entirely unreasonable: Raija does not especially seem to like being abandoned, even in sleep. Still, Madilla makes it to the door without incident, and from there out into the better-lit main room.
H'kon backs up as Madilla exits, leading the way not to the table, but to some midpoint in between the two, where he stops. This is a new look to Madilla, one slightly more revealing of whatever unresolved conflict the brownrider has (and of course, hasn't voiced). He's been trying, but that doesn't always mean he's been succeeding. What he does manage to break the silence, speaking low, barely audible, still far too aware of the girl in the next room, is, "I spoke with Leova."
Madilla leaves the door just slightly ajar behind her, then progresses after H'kon, eyes now fixed upon him: yes, she's studying his expression. His words don't seem to surprise her, though she exhales anyway, giving answer in that and in the nod that follows before, finally, venturing: "And?"
"She distances herself from it," H'kon decides after barely a hesitation, "in her words. I doubt she'd every say 'grandchild'. She also said none other have claims..." That furrow is there, as always. "I'm to tell you we are not to spread her relationship to this child about." With more a sense of wounded pride entering his voice, "Though her concerns are unfounded."
For anyone to actually say 'grandchild' seems to... not surprise Madilla, not exactly, but it does give her a physical jolt, her eyes widening. For the rest? "I know they are. I suspect even she knows they are, but... it's a difficult thing for her. Speaking of it, and acknowledging it. She was devastated when she first found out about Raija."
If H'kon sees that jolt, there's no repentance on his face for having stated what is, after all, a fact - of genealogy if nothing else. "Hm," is not overtly sympathetic, though there is a nod, some conveyance of some understanding. "And now she's managed to have her brought close." Whatever implications that may have... he leaves unsaid, like so many other things.
Madilla wraps her arms around herself, fingers resting loosely upon her forearms. She's silent after H'kon's statement, though her expression has turned abruptly cautious - not unhappy, but certainly seriously thoughtful. "Had she someone in mind to care for her who was not here," she says, quietly, "I do believe that is where she would have been sent. For someone who has distanced herself for so long, I don't think it will be easy to be so close."
"Indeed," curt agreement. The only elaboration he offers is, "She knew you would be best of anyone for it." The look he gives her is meaningful, thoughtful. "There is more she said. Asked, of me. Whether we'd sworn oaths, what were my intentions." His chin lifts a little, new angle, new topic.
Madilla's cheeks go pink, just faintly, but there's otherwise no change to her expression: she's not surprised by Leova's faith in her, nor does she seem to doubt it. In any case, H'kon's next remark does cause a reaction: a little breath, caught and then released. "She's protective of me," she says, though at least she doesn't sound defensive. "She's seen me hurt before. But I don't--" Doubt? Worry? Need reassurances?
"I cannot fault her for that," is... well, not quieter. He can't really go quieter. But it's gentler, certainly. Green eyes track away a moment, but H'kon has looked back to her, certainly before - if there was to be any completion - Madilla can finish that thought. "And my oath to you was from the first. It's not changed."
It makes Madilla smile, though, that first, quiet remark. Not a big smile, but genuine nonetheless. Her gaze aims to meet his, squarely. "I know," she says. "Nor has mine, to you. I don't doubt." There. She finished that statement. "Even when I... what is it they say, throw curveballs? Even then. Even now."
It's one of those moments where actual emotions start to show through, the softening at the corners of his eyes, the reach that brings his fingertips up to her cheek. It's a quiet moment, wordless expression, his most honest kind - and it ends just as soon at that reminder. Fingers retract, and the brownrider looks stern once more. "And that cannot occur again. Not to this extent. Not if we are to go on as..."
It's wordless, but it obviously makes Madilla deeply happy-- right until she ruins it all without that last remark. His sternness has her gaze lowering, her expression something like that of a naughty child, caught out by a stern parent. "It won't," she promises. "I know. It wasn't fair."
H'kon shows no relief for being saved having to place a label on anything, but certainly stops searching. He holds that serious look on her a moment or two longer, only leaving off after he's confirmed, "It was not." Even the eventual sigh that follows doesn't bring all that was there before back, even if it seems to shunt any other feelings of wrong aside, unexpressed. He turns toward the room where Raija sleeps. "Leova will provide me with what information she has, on her parents. Birthing parents."
Despite her words, there's something that hints at mulishness in Madilla's expression, as though she'd very much like to say something else. Instead, she exhales, long and a hard, and finally says, "Good. I suppose it's important to have, just in case." Now, her tone is even, any wayward emotions smoothed out into neutrality. "It'll be easier, once she settles in. Children are resilient."
"I've also asked she alert me - us - of anything else important." H'kon has brought his hands up in front of him, one rubbing at the muscles in the palm of the other. "As it occurs to her. Or simply occurs." A note ominous, but he nods to underline the possibility nonetheless.
'Me' vs. 'Us' is likely what has Madilla taking in a more-obvious-than-usual breath, but it's the rest of what H'kon says that truly catches her attention and has her inhaling a second time. "You think that's a possibility," she says. "That something might happen, to... change things. Or impact Raija, and thus us, as well."
H'kon looks back to Madilla when he says, "I do. If her parents are so young. And I am not certain to what extent Leova's involvement has influenced this arrangement." He stops with the wringing of his hands, instead bringing his arms to cross, solidly, over his chest. "The girl has been put through enough," might have sounded off-handed, for the speed in which it's delivered, the slight turn of his head as he says it. But for the protective note ringing in it.
It's that protective note that finally has Madilla lifting her gaze to meet his, with something contemplative plainly obvious within it, and within her expression, too. Her nod is minute. "It's possible," she allows. "But I won't let it happen. She belongs here, now. I hope it never comes to that, but I'm glad... that we'll hear, if there's any suggestion of it."
"I know," that she won't allow that. The tone is unquestioning. "Still." Still, H'kon is trying to prepare, still trying to be the head to balance the heart. Except that when he looks over to that door again, and listens for - well, anything - his eyebrows move forward, almost concerned, certainly at least a tiny bit emotive. Little bit.
Little, tiny bit... but obvious, at least to Madilla, who can't seem to help the way the corners of her mouth lift just slightly. It's not a full smile, it's not even a half, but it's there. "Still," she agrees, despite that smile, or perhaps even because of it. "She was sleeping soundly when you came home," she adds, not much above a murmur. "But if you'd like to check on her..."
H'kon's turn for surprise, if not quite a jolt. Eyebrows have exchanged forward for up when he looks back at Madilla, and he uncrosses his arms, grabbing at his belt, for lack of much of anything else. He shakes his head, almost immediately. "No- leave her sleep. She's uncertain of me," still shaking his head, "I'd not have that wake her."
Madilla's nod is minute, and her stance just on the edge of awkward: she's still got arms wrapped around herself, hands planted upon the curve of the opposite arm. "She'll get used to you," she says, firmly. "And to all of us. She fell asleep more quickly, tonight." It's a start.
H'kon does seem genuinely pleased to hear that last, and certainly not unconvinced of the words that came before it. "Best not to rush her, anyway. Not now." It's here he truly focuses back on Madilla, on Madilla herself, rather than her words, the conversation, even any frustrations he may have involving here. And still not back to that one golden moment earlier. "Did you need anything? I'd not asked."
This time, Madilla's nod is firmer and more obvious, a confirmation of H'kon's words that gets followed by a, "She'll get there. We all will." His question has turned the corners of her mouth up again, into a smile that's genuinely pleased: at last, her arms unclasp, dropping back to her sides. "No," she says. "Just you."
"Hm," is not displeased, at least. H'kon gives her face further study, thoughtful. "You are very patient," seems the result of whatever it was he was thinking over. A hand unhooks from his belt to reach for her fingers, now they're just there for the taking. "And I am here." Earnest.
"I've had to learn to be," answers Madilla, albeit distractedly: she's extended her own hand to meet H'kon's, and then the other lifts to join them, holding tight. "You are," she agrees, pleased and quiet and content. "I didn't ask how your day was. Or anything normal." It's an apology, in some sense, and also a promise: there's going to be time for just them. For normal, whatever that is.
H'kon presses his teeth together, shifts his jaw, and presses his lips. "It... drills went well enough. Today." He pushes a thumb across her fingers, reaches his second hand to complete the full set. "I suppose there is little normal, just now."
It's a face Madilla knows well enough, and it leaves her to watch H'kon more closely. "Very little," she allows. "But that doesn't mean we can't try. Is there... is there anything I can do, to help you? My duties, at least, are easy to rearrange in the short term, and..." She breaks off without completing that sentiment, though perhaps the earnestness of her expression helps. It may be that, "and the timing of this, with your new position, is terrible, I know," is not what she'd originally intended to say.
"Perhaps it's that 'normal' has changed." It's a stretch, and certainly not something pre-planned, for how it's said. H'kon lifts her hands in his, just a little, just enough that it might serve to bring her a step closer, more than change their stance in any other way. "I chose to pursue this." The 'but' that pulls at the edges of his mouth is ignored. "And to stay with this, also." No acknowledgement for the fact that it was indeed a question. "I'll see to it." And he pulls at her hands, a little closer again.
In lieu of answering verbally, Madilla gives a little nod, and with it a gentle exhale. H'kon's motions draw her closer: one step, and then, a few seconds later, the second. It takes only a gentle lean forward, now, to cross the rest of the (physical, at least) distance between them. "I believe you," she says, as she moves to press her lips to his.
H'kon might have said, 'Good,' or reiterated his intentions or loyalties. But instead, he cranes his neck forward, meeting that kiss, bringing those hands, all their hands, right up between them, still clasped tight. It's a short time they can stay that way; a short time before the rest of him wakes enough to have him pressing her, to force the loosening of one hand, that it might go to her waist and keep her close.
Madilla's hands squeeze before they loosen, and as H'kon's one hand moves to her waist, her one hand moves to wrap loosely about his shoulders. With her other hand, though, she's not letting go, even if now she can guide them back down towards their sides, giving that much more space for her to draw herself into and against him. Sometimes, kissing is better/easier/generally superior than talking.
Superior, easier, better, and suddenly quite urgent. Kisses become more insistent, hands too. The trip to the other room is hurried, quiet, and they even manage to get so far as pressing bare skin to bare skin before that long, frightened wail from the next room can reach their ears, and bring everything to a halt. Oh well.
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