Logs:Failing
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| RL Date: 6 July, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: As encouraged by Leova, Farideh comes to see Madilla. |
| Where: Madilla's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 10, Month 3, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aishani/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, H'kon/Mentions, Irianke/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Teris/Mentions, Tiriana/Mentions |
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| Madilla was at Benden, that first day, working with the healers there, but the wheels of progress have moved nonetheless: the following day, there was a note of invitation for Farideh, and this afternoon, the healer is very definitely in. Her 'office' isn't really much of one, just a tiny room off of the lower caverns, decorated with rag-rugs and quilted wall-hangings, with two battered old armchairs and a table in the corner in lieu of a desk. With a quilt over her knees, and a fresh-brewed pot of tea on the table, Madilla waits in placid silence, sewing, at the appointed time. The polite thing to do would be to send an answer in reply to the invitation, even to offer a time or a day, a yes or a no, but Farideh doesn't; instead she shows up unannounced on Madilla's threshold, looking both confused and anxious. She's twisting her fingers together by the time she works up the courage to say, "Hello? Master Madilla. I'm-- Farideh. Leova referred me and I-- I got your note, about coming. I'm sorry it's been-- busy, but I'm--" She holds out her hands, palms up, and then drops them to her side. Here. "You're here." Madilla seems genuinely pleased by that, her smile warm and inviting as she gestures for Farideh to join her in the little room. "Come in. Would you like some tea?" Carefully, she secures her needle into the piece of embroidery she's been working on, setting it down upon the little table beside the teapot. "I'm glad to meet you. It used to be I knew all of our goldriders-- well, it used to be that it felt like I knew everyone, and I'm still getting used to the fact that my work no longer encourages that so much. I miss that." "Thank you," Farideh replies, moving past the doorway and taking a seat in one of the vacant chairs. "I'm fine. I appreciate the offer, Master Madilla." She clasps her hands in her lap, obviously flustered by the whole ordeal, but politely listens. "I--" Her voice falters and her brow furrows. "I can only say that-- we haven't yet met for the fact that I'm in good health. I should have acquainted myself sooner." She pauses, again. "And Irianke? Have you met her?" Then, she settles back, and waits, with some disquiet evident. "I have a far less... hands on role, as a general rule, these days," says Madilla, with another of those smiles. "Less healing, more administration." She's more wry for that; it's plainly a trade-off that she's still not wholly sure about. "And since I'm not officially posted here... I've far less to do with you and Irianke. But," she inclines her head forward, "I'm glad to hear you're in good health." "Still, we should have-- should make all attempts to become acquainted with-- with any, and all, Masters, here, and--" Farideh hesitates, flicking a glance around, as if suddenly nervous. "You were-- Weyrhealer, before." She flattens her hands and then relinks them, allowing her eyes time to shift back to Madilla. "I suppose I'm not all healthy or I wouldn't be here." Madilla's nod agrees: yes, she was Weyrhealer, before. Once upon a time. More quietly, now, "I don't know." Green eyes consider Farideh, thoughtful. "I'm not convinced that counts as poor health. More... a very human need to be listened to, maybe. I don't see you as a patient; I'm not here as a healer, even." "Oh." Farideh takes in a deep breath and then lets it out, in a way that shifts her whole body. "I-- so, Leova just wants you to-- listen, to me? Listen to me cry about all the problems I have? I thought-- I don't know. It seems-- less than interesting, for you." "Listening is what I do," says Madilla, simply, pressing her hands together atop the quilt in her lap. "I won't say 'do best' but that's probably not too far from the truth. Sometimes it helps to have someone who is outside your normal sphere to talk to; someone who isn't here to offer advice, but can help you think about things. That's all. I'm not surprised you could use something like this; I think anyone who makes it look easy is burying the truth." "Isn't that our job though? To bury it. Underneath piles of the perfect words and fake smiles, and--" Farideh lifts her eyes to the ceiling and stops talking. "I'm failing at this. At all of it." "No," says Madilla. "You're not. No, you're not perfect." She reaches for her sewing again, now, drawing the needle out of the linen and adjusting the wooden hoop; her fingers stay busy, but her gaze focuses on Farideh. "Neither is Irianke. Neither was Azaylia, or Aishani, or Iolene, or Lujayn, or Teris, or Tiriana. Or Satiet. Though she was very good at burying it, indeed." She pauses, pressing her lips together for a moment. "Why do you think you're failing?" Polite enough to listen through the litany of goldriders come and gone, of pretty faces and non-perfect lives, but in the end, Farideh frowns at Madilla; she's less than impressed. "Because everyone tells me I am. I'm not smiley enough. I'm not happy enough. Not a nice enough person, not brave enough, not caring enough, not a good enough friend, not willing to pretend and brush everything under the rug. Not the same, not different enough. Not me enough, but not good enough at acting. Not the perfect picture of domesticated tranquility that the Weyr needs-- not some battle-axe wielding heroine from a harper's song. I turn one way and it's a dead end, only to the turn the other and face the same problem, and no one wants to tell me how, they just want to tell me why I'm horrendous." She looks down at her fingers, which are still twisting around each other. "I can't be me, because no one likes me, so I try to be-- I don't know. I just-- I don't know, and therein lies my problem." That litany of personalities and problems draws a thin line to Madilla's mouth, though it does not seem to be directed at Farideh, not when her gaze is so full of quiet empathy. "Everyone," she says, finally, "has their own idea of what a goldrider should be like. I wonder if it is a bit like motherhood: suddenly, everyone has an opinion, and invariably, who you are and what you do is wrong. And some people decide that you think you're better than them, because you no longer have the time or the world-view you used to. Because you have to see things differently." "That's fine, but that doesn't-help, knowing why. They will think that, regardless. So, what do I do? Because if I ignore it, I'm petty, and if I face it head on, I make Irianke disappointed, and if I give them what they want, then I'm breaching diplomacy. I know how to do this. I don't know how to be everyone and no one." Farideh closes her eyes, and lowers her chin. "I used to be untouchable. I was pretty, and my family had all the things other people wanted. I was courted, and complimented, and everyone wanted to be me, or be with me and now-- I don't know how to deal with this. I'm not equipped for this, and most days--" She finally opens her eyes, only to continue not meeting Madilla's gaze. "I don't even want to be here. Except, I don't have a choice." Madilla's gaze hasn't wavered, for all that her fingers continue their work. "I imagine," she says, quietly, "that even when you were untouchable, there were things in your life you didn't like. Things that other people did not understand. You wouldn't be here right now, if that weren't the case. The decisions that led you here... did you make them for you, or for someone else?" "You're right, but it wasn't like this. It was--" Farideh has to think now, and thinking is still pretty hard. "I came here to get away from my mother," is with dry laughter. "She wanted me to be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife to someone she got to choose, the perfect paragon of poise, beauty, and political connections, who could run a Hold as well as she could choose her outfit to match the occasion." Fingers press to her lips. "She wanted me to conform. To be something I wasn't. And now?" Now-- I feel like I'm back to square one." "I'm not sure that anyone gets through life without someone trying to make them into something they're not," muses Madilla, as she changes the colour of the embroidery thread on her needle. "Though I'll grant you, your situation is more... obvious than most. It's not easy, and I do understand why you're struggling with it. You're being pushed and pulled in all directions; expected to grow up overnight. I suppose my question is... how do you want to play it? Which path feels least like losing, even if none of them feel like winning? Because that you get to choose." "Did someone make you? I thought a craft is something you-- choose, because you like it, because you're good at it." Farideh frowns, and then frowns some more, her eyebrows snapping together. "I'm not sure that I follow." "My family sent me to the healers," explains Madilla, with a wry twitch of her mouth. "I was to learn, and then come home and look after them all, never mind that our cothold was far too small to support a full-time healer. And-- well. Had it been up to me, I would still be a Journeyman. Still Weyrhealer. That is all I wanted." She's slower to answer the other, and this time, sets aside her sewing to do so. "You can't please everyone; that much is plain. So. Do you care most about doing your best? About being true to yourself? About being well-liked? About defending yourself? Do you want to tie yourself in knots, trying to be everything, or decide, for yourself, what your priorities are?" "You don't want to be a respected Master?" Farideh says it slowly, enunciating each syllable perfectly, as if she's willing herself to understand how it could be a possibility. "I'm sorry." She's quiet for a few minutes; digesting information, words. "I want to be able to be me, and that be good enough. I want to be me and do what I think is my best, and make Irianke proud, and everyone else happy. And that--" Her fingers flex out, in her lap. "How do I pick one? I can't keep disappointing them." Madilla's smile quirks, silently acknowledging Farideh's reaction to her explanation. "I'd rather be a healer," she says, "than an administrator. I'd rather work with people than papers. And I'd rather have the time to spend with my weyrmate and my children. I'm lucky that my craft ultimately allowed me to remain at High Reaches, instead of being posted back to the Hall. And Farideh..." She hesitates. "You are always going to disappoint someone. Every decision you make will be evaluated and judged, often with the benefit of hindsight. When I was your age, I bent over backwards to make other people happy, to do what was expected of me, and it wasn't enough. Above all, you need to be able to live with yourself, and look yourself in the eye and know that you did the best you could, and that you are learning from every mistake you make. Whatever other people say. It's not easy, but it's important. It matters. The more you doubt yourself, the more other people will too." For a moment, it must look as though the healer intends to continue, but perhaps she's realised-- belatedly-- the length of her speech already; her mouth closes, twisting upwards in the corner in wry acknowledgement. "That's--" Farideh is at a loss of words, for once. She might commiserate if she were the commiserating type, but all she has is a sympathetic stare. "You can't choose to do something else? Teach? There might be a Hold, somewhere, that could pull strings with the Hall to have you posted as a healer. It might-- it could give you what you want," she says, not sounding entirely sure; crafts are mystifying things. "You're saying it like it's-- like it's easy, like there's not--" She leans forward, putting her face in her hands. "Am I learning from my mistakes? I don't know. I think, here I am, doing a good job, only to be told I'm going a shitty job of it. As far as I can tell, I keep taking steps backward, which means I'm not, and I don't--" And then she's up, moving away from the chair, away from the desk and Madilla's patient embroidery. Hands on her lower back, she faces the opposite wall. "I don't have the time to learn or to mess this up." "I'm weyrmated to a dragonrider," says Madilla, as if that answers everything. And, besides, she's more focused on following Farideh with her eyes, from that face-in-the-hands to that facing-the-wall. "You do have time," is what she says. "I know it doesn't feel like it, and I do understand the pressure you're under, but that's the truth: you have time. Anyone who expected you to suddenly be perfect, just because a gold dragon looked into your eyes on the sands... they're wrong." Her pause is only for a moment. Then: "What does Roszadyth think?" "One of the Holds in the High Reaches coverage area?" It's much easier to focus on other people's problems than one's own, but even Farideh can't lend more than the one question to Madilla's affairs. She's too busy pacing in front of the far wall. "I don't have time. I have another turn. A turn in a half, two, at the most, to become what I'm needed to be. I know-- I want to believe that Niahvth will rise first-- but if I'm being honest," she stops long enough to flick a glance at Madilla, "I know there's the possibility that Roszadyth will first. What would I do, then? How could I, in my state now, ever be the kind of Weyrwoman that High Reaches needs? I can't." Some sort of affection enters her expression, then. "Roszadyth always assures me that we will get through everything, together. She is never concerned about-- that, but dragons don't worry the way that we do, do they?" "Devaki's offered, but-- I want to live here." Madilla's got to be aware of the distraction her own affairs is, however small, but she's quick to refocus her attention to Farideh, to really listening to what the younger woman has to say. "I suppose they don't," she allows, in the end. "But-- do you believe that, were she to rise first, you would be set adrift without help? You don't believe that Irianke would help? Jounine? Whomever your Weyrleader was? You would learn. And you will. Are you sleeping enough? Managing time to relax and just... breathe?" There's a slight twinge at mention of High Reaches' Lord Holder, but she breezes through it with a slight inclination of her head. "I understand," is what Farideh says, not pushing anymore than she had already. "I don't know. I like Jounine and I think she's competent. I hope-- I really hope, Irianke would help me in the event that it happened, but she has more of a right to it than I do. It would be hard, I think, to give up the reins to someone like me. And the Weyrleader--" Her scoff is low, muted by the hand she presses against her mouth. "It would be nave to think it won't be Cadejoth who catches the next queen to rise, again. I can't stand talking to the man, much less asking for his advice on how to run a Weyr and how to be a Weyrwoman." Then, she half-turns, to stare at Madilla. "No and no. When do I have time? Now, for now, but it just leaves more time to think-- more time to worry about everything I shouldn't worry about." "And yet he," murmurs Madilla, "knows more about running a Weyr than most, I think." It's not outright support for K'del-- indeed, those words are neutral, and overwhelmingly so-- but merely musing. She runs her teeth over her lip and then says, "As a healer, I have to say this: you need to relax. I understand how overwhelming it seems; I've seen goldriders go through it before. But if you worry yourself into a state-- once you can between-- if you can't already-- I want you to go out for at least one day or evening every seven. I want you to take your knot off, and just be. Irianke will be introducing you to other goldriders around Pern soon, I hope? I'd encourage that, too. None of them will be in the same situation you are-- but you can learn from all of them. But above all? Don't beat yourself up for every mistake. Ask for help. And take one day at a time." "Does he? I would love a bullet point list of his exemplary traits and his battles won, before I would give credence to that. His name-- his title has been linked to so many--" Farideh makes a frustrated sound and turns back to the wall. "How? When? Between lessons and drills and training and meetings and wanting to rip my hair out?" Another dry laugh falls in the space between her words. "And I need clearance from Quinlys and Irianke before I can just go running off for a whole day. Why would they let me when I can't even keep my mouth shut in our Weyr, much less in other parts of Pern and--" One more sound, verging on a growl, as she turns to leveled her eyes on Madilla. "None of that even makes sense. I ask for help and everyone uses pretty words to walk around the subject. You're even using pretty words, now. Don't beat yourself up, take one day at a time. What does that even mean when I'm already here?" Abruptly, just like that, Madilla rises, letting that quilt fall from her knees as she does so. "In my capacity as a Master Healer," she says, calmly, bypassing the barbs and frustrations without showing any signs of being personally wounded, "I'm prescribing you a break. You, Farideh, need to take a step back from everything before you worry yourself sick. The way you talk, now? You make it sound like you expect to disappoint, and so it's no surprise when you do. No one expects you to be perfect, except, apparently, you." She pauses, partially for breath but also, in the end, to change tack. "For tonight, I'm going to send up some tea that I need you to drink, and I am cancelling all duties for tomorrow and perhaps the next day as well; I'll clear it with your superiors. Sleep. Eat. Run, if you need to. Fly with Roszadyth. Cry. Whatever it takes." That Madilla gets up from her seat doesn't faze Farideh, but the master's words do. She stares at her, wide-eyed and speechless, for longer than it takes the healer to finish talking. "What? What-- why? No, that will just make it worse. Then everyone will know I can't even-- get ahold of myself when I need to." Her frowns starts to turn a little wobbly, her chin too. "I don't want to be a failure, Madilla. I just want-- I just--" She sighs then, and squeezes her eyes shut as she backs up into the wall. "Are you sure?" is all she asks, quietly. "I know you don't. If nothing else... I am absolutely sure of that. You want to succeed, and I am confident that you will." Gentler, now, Madilla's words hang for a moment before she takes a few steps forward towards the goldrider. "Take the time, Farideh. Use it as a way to... break the cycle. I promise you'll feel better, afterwards. No matter what happens, you need to look after yourself, too." "How am I supposed to look after myself, think about myself, when there's everything else. So many things and all of the--" Farideh catches herself, showing the strain in her face. "If you think-- if this is what you're saying will help, I'll do it, but what if it doesn't? What I'm just-- I'm not cut out for this-- for--" Her mouth compresses briefly, and she shrugs her shoulders lamely. "I'm scared." Close enough, now, to reach out and press her hand to Farideh's shoulder, that's exactly what Madilla does. "I know," she says. "I know you're scared. And I don't think there's anything I can say that will make that any better. I don't know you well, but I do believe you can do it. You have a lifetime to get good at it; in the short-term, all you need to be is adequate. You're smart, and you have a strong, experienced weyrwoman to teach you. It'll click." Though Farideh looks like she's on the verge of tears, she doesn't cry; not yet. "It's hard to think of. That there's something other than this." She doesn't flinch from the other woman's touch either, and drops her gaze. "Thank you. I'll-- it's fine. It will be fine. Everything will be fine," is echoed, hollowly. "I'll rest. I'll get better. It will be fine." Madilla's hand squeezes gently at Farideh's shoulder, and though it's entirely possible she'd rather draw her into a hug... she restrains herself, drawing that hand back. "It will be," she agrees, evenly. "Go and take a long hot bath," she suggests. "I'll have something sent up to make sure that you get some sleep. Don't worry about anything, if you can help it. Let Roszadyth help. I promise, things will get better." "Thank you," she murmurs again, keeping her eyes tactfully on the floor. "I'll try. I'll-- yes. I appreciate it. I appreciate-- thank you." Farideh lifts her gaze, to study the other woman's face, and then turns, taking a few steps to the exit. She stops and looks back, but only offers a terse, sad smile to the healer, before she departs the office. Madilla's smile is, at least, encouraging. Maybe the tray of dinner that arrives, complete with wine, dessert, a mug of sleep-encouraging tea... and a stack of novels will help, too. Maybe. |
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Comments
Squishy (00:01, 7 July 2015 (MDT)) said...
Oh Farideh.
This was beautiful.
Alida (03:49, 7 July 2015 (MDT)) said...
NICE to see this. :)
Faryn (16:36, 7 July 2015 (MDT)) said...
Finally. I'm glad for this, because Farideh needs it so so much. Thank God for Madilla. (My phone renamed her Manila, so cool.)
H'kon (17:43, 7 July 2015 (MDT)) said...
This was excellent.
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