Logs:And Sorriness For All
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| RL Date: 16 October, 2015 |
| Who: H'kon, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Months of failed attempts have taken their toll. |
| Where: H'kon and Madilla's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 1, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Kairek/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions, Raija/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: Angst. Infertility trigger warning. |
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| The ledge has been empty most of the evening. This was planned, of course; tensions or no, H'kon is not one to disappear without notice unless it were to relate somehow to his duties, which a summons from his Harper brother almost certainly does not. It's later when Arekoth returns, late enough that what alcohol was imbibed has had time to work through his system, though not so late that all in the weyr should be asleep. Arekoth lands quietly nonetheless, and is as subtle as possible when settling, and resettling, and resettling his wings. It's a tic, at least a bit, reaction to the brownrider who pauses and prepares himself before stepping into his weyr. Their weyr. Madilla is, once again, not pregnant. It's not yet definite, but... she knows. She's guessed. They'll know for sure in another day or two. The healer has spent the evening at come, telling stories (and being told them) by Raija, and keeping an eye out for Dilan, who is staying with a friend but, who knows, might end up home again anyway. It does happen on occasion. Alone, now, Madilla sits in her chair within the weyr - their weyr - with her sewing, glancing up at the sound of Arekoth outside, though she makes no immediate comment. H'kon can't be said to know, but to have guessed? It's more the cautious look he gives her as he enters. There is surely concern in that look, though whether or not it can be sorted from anything else is questionable. "Hm," is a greeting only once he's drawn close, enough to take a seat on that stool that's followed him from his old weyr, that he still uses for shaving and leatherwork, more often than not. "Asleep?" become real words, once he's settled. Madilla is calm, at least, and smiles-- if tiredly-- in answer to that look. "Asleep," she confirms. Raija might like to have stayed up for her father, but even at nearly seven, that's not always possible (or preferable). "How was Kairek?" Her needle continues its steady path through her sewing, one straight, tiny stitch after another. "I'll check in later," is a quiet promise, for their daughter. On the matter of his brother, H'kon answers, "His usual," a shrug working its way into his shoulders, though they've the stilted movement of stiffness. "He mocked my situation with Lilabet. He sends his love." It brings a bit of a deeper furrow to the man's brow. The shrug from before must still hold; another one is not given. Mention of Lilabet freezes Madilla's expression, if just for a moment; it's been a difficult situation for her, being caught between the two of them. Teenagers. "I'm glad," is what she actually says, reaching, now, to aim for H'kon's hand with one of hers; to squeeze it. H'kon's hand is ready, if not anticipating, and quick. He squeezes her back. And looks dreadfully serious when he looks beyond their fingers, and at his weyrmate. "Today?" It's that seriousness that has Madilla's gaze dropping, turning away so that she can look at the wall, instead, where yet another of her quilts hangs. "No," she says. She takes her hand back, too, squeezing it together with the other, safe in her own lap. H'kon almost flinches, when her hand leaves. His jaw sets, then. He looks to his empty fingers, partly curled around air and nothing. He tongues at his teeth. He certainly doesn't look over to Madilla. "I'm not ready to give up," Madilla blurts, after long, long, long moments of silence. "I keep thinking I am and that I can just accept it but I can't because each month I feel hope again and it hurts, and I still... want it." She's not crying. She's rambling, but her voice is firm rather than desperate and emotional. "But I don't like what it does to us, either." He sort of looks her way. Askance. With the occasional, frowning refocus on his hand, or his feet, or the floor. H'kon tongues at his teeth once more, and then licks his lips, and then swallows. And remains silent. Thoughtful. Those sidelong glances to Madilla have stopped. It's all about that spot on the floor now, while the muscles of his jaw twitch without much accomplishing anything. Having rambled, Madilla now seems without more to say. Her fingers tangle together in her lap. "I'm sorry," she says, then, abruptly miserable. It's the apology that shakes him enough from his brood that H'kon looks up. It's quiet, then, and deliberate, the half-lunge up from his stool, leaning and ending in a crouch right in front of Madilla and her chair. There, he reaches for her hands, all the while somber. "The fault isn't yours," is mumbled, but intelligible. Madilla allows her hands to be taken, and allows her gaze to meet H'kon's, now, too. "That's not your fault either," she says, firmly, squeezing one hand and then the other, fingers twining around his. "I started this. I... knew. And all it brings is pain." It doesn't make it better, all that. H'kon's face has gone hot, and he lowers his head toward Madilla's knees, pressing at her fingers all the while. "But how much longer could you forgive this? The disappointments." Still mumbled. Harder to hear, for how he's pointed his face now. Again, Madilla's fingers squeeze. "Eventually," she says, with a half-restrained sigh, wistful and also honest, "I will give up. If I was smart, I'd give up now." But she's not smart. She feels rather than thinks and it hurts and hurts and hurts some more. And H'kon's head drops until his forehead properly meets her knees. It stays there, while he breathes slowly, consciously, steadily. He doesn't let go of her hands. "I'm so sorry," says Madilla, and even if he can't see it, he'll be able to hear the tears in her voice. "For doing this to us." Her tears may drip into his hair. It's a thing. Don't cry, no, don't cry. H'kon squeezes more solidly, though not hard, and shifts his weight from his heels, where it had fallen, up to the balls of his feet. His head traces along on her knees a bit, before it is lifted, to stare at her hands. "I want to give you this." More whispered than not. And more whispered still, "I've wanted this..." Madilla, too, stares at hands. Her hands; his hands. Their hands. She exhales, a shaky breath. "I know," she says, trying to control the tone of her voice. "I've always known." No tears on his face, at least, when he looks up. But those lines are deep, and the expression is notably readable. "I'm sorry." Barely audible. "No," says Madilla-- blurts, really. "Don't be. It's not your fault." She can't seem to get the words out to explain that, and so is reduced to shaking her head. "I haven't given up. It could still happen. We don't have to try. I'll understand if you want to... but I haven't given up." H'kon hears it. He nods, but there isn't belief or acceptance of that, on his face. He doesn't apologise again. "Even though the hurt?" "Even though." On this much, Madilla has found her strength. Those fingers give his another squeeze. H'kon takes a slow breath, and lifts his chin, the angle different, now, less the suppliant. But still, "Not tonight," has the sound of a plea, laced with an emotional exhaustion. And, indeed, coming from H'kon's own mouth. "Not tonight," promises Madilla, without so much as a pause. She might smile, if it weren't for... everything. "Come to bed. To sleep." The snap of ligaments in his knees heralds H'kon's standing. He's not let go of her hands. He has little intention of doing so. "Hm," is agreement. Sleep. Closeness, too, but some things need not be said. |
Comments
Squishy (00:16, 17 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
I love these two together, but oh the hurt.
Alida (00:58, 17 October 2015 (PDT)) said...
The one bastion of normalcy, sanity, and decency in an insane Weyr. ^^
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