Logs:Perseid's Opportunity
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| RL Date: 19 March, 2012 |
| Who: Perseid |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Tillek Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: A childhood connection gives Perseid an opportunity at something unusual. |
| Where: Cardine Grove Cothold, Tillek Area |
| When: Day 10, Month 4, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Edeline/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Potipher/Mentions, Thedrin/Mentions |
| Storyteller: K'del/ST |
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| It's been nearly two months since Lady Edeline's heir was found in that ill-fated shipwreck, and still she remains in seclusion, passing off her responsibilities to the hands of her husband, Consort Potipher, and her Steward. It's hard to escape her sorrow in Tillek, these days; hard, too, to escape that nagging concern that Tillek no longer has an heir. Back on the cothold, however, life goes on, and as spring begins to warm the air, work on the land begins again. Another of those instructions to return home arrived recently, and on Perseid's arrival, his father is, perhaps unsurprisingly, out in the fields, working. It's chilly, and the air is damp; so is the ground, which is more mud than solid earth, at present. A dragonrider's leather jacket, not bought cheaply, frames Perseid neatly where he returns to his childhood land, for all that he arrives on runnerback rather than dragon. It is a neat launch from the saddle that brings him to his feet before Mercy has completely stopped, catching himself gracefully even as he turns to throw the reins in a loose loop over a post made for that purpose. His strides bring him with purpose to the fields, hand rising to shade his eyes against the sun that dances through the clouds, one moment bright and the next faded again. "Pa," he calls, more an alert than a greeting. "Son." Perred doesn't turn immediately: he's inspecting the new growth on his vines, touching the plants with the true reverence and affection of a man whose life revolves around them. It's only when he's satisfied that he turns, trudging around the rows of vines to meet Perseid at the edge, his dirty hands wiped unapologetically on his pants. "Be a good turn, this one, the weather holds. No more frosts. Sweeter than usual. The vines're enjoying the sun, what sun we've been getting, in any case." "Will the books profit for it, however? With Tillek in the shape that it is, this may be the year we should consider selling elsewhere," Perseid suggests, the argument flavored with age, the press of it more habitual than expecting at this point. His own warm eyes sweep over the vines, disinterest clear as he looks over the only produce of their lands. "There are places that would pay more." It's an old argument, indeed, and not one that Perred has any time for. "We've always sold to Tillek, and we always will. They've done well by us. Won't use the Lady's misfortunes like that." Perred is snappish as he says that, and scowls at his son as he runs still-dirty fingers through his greying hair. "Not when they've-- No. We'll not speak of it again, Perseid." It's his 'and this is final' tone, not that that's ever really meant much. Abruptly, "I've had a letter from Consort Potipher." There is a tightness to Perseid's jaw at his father's answer, but many turns have taught him to bite his tongue on his retort rather than to try to chip at stone. He only smiles flatly in turn, posing a dry, "Oh?" Real curiosity does flavor the question, reflected mainly in the brightness of his gaze where it sharpens on his father. "About the crop?" Perred doesn't miss much, not after all these turns, and Perseid's answers has him turning his head away and staring, instead, in the direction of the distant vines: at least they won't betray him. "No," he says, his tone carrying a note of bitterness, unsuppressed. "Not about the crop. I imagine he cares as little for my vines as you do. No, he was reminded, by one of his Steward's assistants, that you were once friends with the boy Weyrleader. Kasadel, wasn't it?" In the face of the accusation, Perseid offers no defense, no denial of his father's words. Instead, he merely murmurs with remembered affection, wry as he agrees, "Yes, Kasadel. His family owns the land next to ours." There is something pointed in this addition, reminding his father of neighbors long since forgotten. "Him," agrees Perred, though if he has any real recollection of the boy Kasadel or his family, he's certainly not showing it - and the vague wave of his arm in completely the wrong direction certainly doesn't help. "I've no idea who you've been consorting with, boy, but somehow you've come to his attention, and here we are. He thought you might like to reacquaint yourself with the boy." Now man. Now, based on title, more powerful than mere-Consort Potipher himself. But still: always a boy. "I would tell you who I have been consorting with, but I do hate to disappoint you," Perseid offers mildly, his fingers tucking casual into the pockets of his jacket as his gaze drags over his father as if suspecting some sort of trick to his words. "Why would a renewed friendship matter to the Consort?" "Do you?" The words aren't outright scornful: mostly, they're just sad. Perred is clearly not happy about the news he's relating - he's uncomfortable, most likely both with being singled out, and with the prospect of what is to come. "Eyes and ears, boy. Eyes and ears. You're Tillekian, and maybe the boy Weyrleader has forgotten that he is, too, but someone has suggested that you won't." His sigh is long, and sad. "Would you be happier, there? Is there really nothing an old man can do to make you stay?" "I could be happier there," Perseid phrases slowly, regret touching his own words in a soft brush that holds too much unhappiness to be truely effective. "It will be a chance to earn a debt from the the Lady Holder, father, and it would not be forever." He pauses, before reaching out to carefully clasp his father's shoulder in a firm grasp. "I will be back whenever this mess is over." Regret is-- maybe it's not enough, and maybe it can ever be, but it's a start. Perseid's hand on his shoulders draws another low breath from Perred, but ultimately, he's able to nod. "Perhaps there's just too much of your mother in you," he says, sounding, this time, more rueful than outright sad. He's not physically affectionate, but there's no doubt that the look he gives his son is proud, at least in some small way, and doting. "I'll miss you," he says, then. And: "But you'll write. And visit an old man, maybe, when you've the chance. You're a good boy, Perseid. In the end." A laugh catches in Perseid's throat, smile flashing crookedly on his lips as his hand falls away to draw knuckles instead through the scruff against his jaw. He offers an easy, "I try, I swear I do. It will be good for us." Scratching thoughtfully through stubble, his gaze drifts back to the land stretched out with the new growth of the season. Unable to bring himself to offer any words of loss, he instead adds lightly, "When I come back, perhaps we can revisit the subject of marriage." It doesn't really seem as though Perred believes Perseid: that it will be good. But he'll nod, all the same, and give his son another of those crooked smiles. "Mmm," he says, using his hand to shade his eyes against the sun that has just now burst through the clouds once more. "When you return. We'll do that. I've a mind to grandchildren, one day. You'll stay for the meal." It's not a question, and nor is there any hint of begging - but his glance, then, could almost be described as hopeful. "They won't need you to leave immediately." "As soon as I've scrubbed off the filth and sweat from the road. You let the housekeeper cook, didn't you?" Perseid questions, an easy joke held in the question even as he turns for the house. It is likely a quiet meal, filled with talk of crops and expansion, long silences as he persues the books to correct and balance them before he leaves again. |
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