Logs:Distressing Decisions
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| RL Date: 16 November, 2015 |
| Who: Alida, Ilicaeth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Deep in the night, there are distressing decisions to be made. |
| Where: Alida's Rest and Relaxation Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 17, Month 4, Turn 39 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: A breezy, pleasant, cool day. |
| Mentions: C'ris/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Quinlys/Mentions, R'oan/Mentions |
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| Without access to the whole of Pern that she (and other dragonriders) normally had since 'Reaches had confined itself to its territorial borders, Alida found herself growing more and more irritable. Enough of it had to do with the lack of freedom to come and go, but she'd endured such before - though as a 'mere' Guard - in service to a greater duty. She really couldn't blame anyone, though, given the ferocity of the plague which was running rampant and striking down highborn and low with equal callousness. And now, whatever disease it was that worked to cull the weak and the strong had finally claimed its first dragonrider. It didn't matter that R'oan had been Fortian. It didn't even matter that Alida'd barely known him. He'd been a *rider*. *She* was a rider. There were sick riders at High Reaches...at nearly *every* Weyr. The conclusion was unavoidable, though - somehow - she'd been shying away from the full implications of it. Even the most pragmatic riders could slowly come to gain at least a hint of inviolability; as if their elevated status, elevated mountain homes protected them from the harsher aspects of reality. She hardly even knew C'ris...knew too much of Quinlys. Again, it didn't matter one sharding bit that Alida thought the man to be a little 'goofy,' or the Weyrlingmaster a personal adversary: the former was ill, the latter was waiting to become ill. "Here". At "home". As more Weyrfolk became ill - especially more riders - Alida had channeled her over-abundant energies not only into her usual Wing duties, but also into her newer dragonhealing ones...helping U'sot, Leova, and the others deal with the panicky, sorrowful, concerned dragons of those that had taken ill. Ilicaeth seemed a natural in his own supportive position in this role as well, the granite-firm and bedrock-deep blue meeting each challenge presented to him with his characteristic aplomb, the fluid ease of sand. A few dragons, unwilling to bear being physically separated from their riders during their humans' illness, were taking up habitation in the dragonhealing complex, their humans placed beside them upon cots, while their winged lifemates watched over them in their wallows. Alida couldn't separate herself from the sick, anymore...not while remaining a dragonhealer in fact. Part of her cursed her commitment to that promised duty, railed at her daily that she give it up and keep herself and her dragon as safe as possible in this dangerous time. And, a pair of times, she'd even caught a tired Ilicaeth - on the verge of sleep - giving in to his own nagging concerns over the vulnerability of his all-too-human partner. The time she'd felt that second such burst of concern from her lifemate's mind, Alida'd almost gone to U'sot to resign. She'd managed to guard her mind and actions well enough to not rouse Ilicaeth from his deep slumber, had sent a tired Pyrite off to request a pick-up by the elevator dragonpair. Part of her was beyond-relieved - the more primal, cautious portion - but another piece of the blonde howled uncharitable epithets and accusations at her, made her wince and snarl at herself...made her pull at her own hair to try and make the conflicting inner diatribe STOP. Even before the pair on elevator duty had finished with the delivery previous to her own, Ilicaeth was finally roused by Alida's inner conflict. « Enough... » the blue flawlessly cut through the endless parade of conflicting emotions, concerns, loyalties... his mind a tower of seamless granite that walled off all except their bond for a few critical moments. Ilicaeth wasn't angry, nor agitated: you couldn't be that too often and be Alida's lifemate...unless you enjoyed the risk of going somewhat crazy. He knew when to seize the reins, by now, and (mostly) knew when to let them go, before things could get ugly between them. No words beyond that first jarring one were needed in that space of two seconds of fully-open contact on both ends. He "knew" and she "knew", and they both understood on a gut-level what needed to be done... done in order to keep Alida (and perhaps, by association, Ilicaeth himself) from becoming even more emotionally 'crippled.' It didn't mean either of them had to like it...but it simply *had* to be. It was a mental deadlock of sorts...but it was *something*. Grumbling her irritation at being forced off of her bit of warm pillow once more, an orange-eyed Pyrite again served as message-deliverer to the elevator pair, cancelling the green's pick-up of the bluerider. She would not volunteer herself for K'del's special Wing, would not risk herself (and Ilicaeth) for the tenebrous accolades of potential Holder and Crafter thanks. They'd already proven themselves to (mostly) care only about themselves, anyway. And the hazard pay? It never even entered into the picture, given Alida's side business. Oh, she might not be getting paid, right now, but none of the 'regular' folk she did business with wanted foreigners anywhere near them, right now, anyway. Quarantine had a 'special' way of terrifying humans into xenophobia. Instead, when their new day truly began, Alida and Ilicaeth - a unified team, if also a cautious one - flew down from their weyr to breakfast in the uncharacteristically quiet living cavern, then squared their shoulders and conducted themselves back to the dragonhealing cavern, and *that* duty within. She might not know many of the faces of those ill - those dragonriders holed up with their lifemates within - but they were *her* family of-a-sort, and *they* deserved her efforts, her care, her concern. She'd let conflicts of interest, upset, the 'forest' cloud her vision, but this time, the blonde managed to see through to the 'trees' within. When the grey-eyed green - curled beside her delirious lifemate - offered Alida a despondent hint of a croon, the bluerider felt almost all of her resolve return, felt Ilicaeth supporting her, and then the older green. Spoken aloud for both of them, Ilicaeth's anchoring, rasping baritone supportively informed the green, « We're here. You're not alone. » |
Comments
Edyis (22:06, 16 November 2015 (PST)) said...
I love seeing these little bits of growth and change in Alida.
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