Logs:Grief, Loss and Family
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| RL Date: 8 September, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon, Madilla |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: While Dee and Lily have a playdate with Devaki's family, H'kon and Madilla walk and talk. |
| Where: Cove, High Reaches Hold |
| When: Day 28, Month 9, Turn 32 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: B'tal/Mentions, Devaki/Mentions, Dilan/Mentions, Issedi/Mentions, Lilabet/Mentions, Naelli/Mentions, Y'rel/Mentions |
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| Cove, High Reaches Hold
A lovely, cloudless sky offers warm sunshine during the day, though the weather turns distinctly chilly after dark.
Arekoth and H'kon had, strangely enough, managed to capture the role of 'moody sentinel' in perfect parallel while Madilla was making arrangements for her children with that... man. The brown has since turned more jovial, even if the occasions of his darting particularly close overhead while skimming at the ocean have become less frequent over the course of the walk. H'kon has remained serious; just so when he turns to her, and gives a little half-sigh of comment for those hair strands. "I always have to remind myself that it could be worse - that I could wear my hair as long as the women in my family did," says Madilla, breaking the silence that has been lingering of late with something deliberately light. She stabs at some of those errant locks with a pin, recapturing it triumphantly. "Still, wind or no wind, it's nice out here today. And Issedi seemed a little less frosty than usual." H'kon responds to this, as to so many things, with a longer look at the woman, contemplating. He pushes his hands deeper into his pockets, though reminds himself to try, at least, to roll his shoulders back, to walk straight as he can. It's juxtaposition, insofar as he's successful. "Hmm," for the whole thing. "How long is that?" has more precision. Likely enough, Madilla wouldn't have been wholly surprised to have gotten no more answer than the glance, and perhaps that 'hmm'; she seems pleased, as a result, and adjusts her stride to maintain it next to him. "Their hair? Most of them never cut it at all. It became too difficult for me to maintain on my own, and so heavy. But I'm sure my mother would be horrified." All that work over pockets, and all only that H'kon can pull a hand back out. It hovers, not for hesitation, but for precision, until his next foot is planted, and his fingers won't jerk in a quick reach to flick at one of those strands. "I like yours." The withdrawal of his hand comes on the next step. The hair, predictably, bounces, and then gets caught up in the wind again. Madilla laughs, that smile that accompanies it lingering in her expression even after she's stopped the actual laughter. "I'm glad," she tells him, now going back to adjusting her shawl in a way that suggests she is, as always, trying to keep her hands busy. "It's plenty long enough, given how thick it is. I'm glad Lily inherited B'tal's." "Hm," for talk of inherited hair, and that hand goes right back into his pocket. H'kon takes a moment of distraction, looking out, looking up, to where a broad-winged silhouette is moving from the sea for a quick flyby of the hold. Supervisory, certainly. Hands-off, surely. "When I was a boy," under his breath, "small boy," and back to the slightly distracted tone with which he began, "my hair was kept longer. My mother liked the curls in it. When long." That little nugget of childhood information seems to delight Madilla. "Did she? I suppose I'm not surprised. I won't," her mouth is twitching, "try and convince you to grow it longer so that I can see, I promise." As tempting as it clearly is. She studies H'kon, side-on, as if attempting to imagine it all the same. "Did it bother you, as a small boy? Is that why it got cut?" H'kon looks back over to Madilla, mouth pressing into a line. Then, he looks to the sand beneath his boots. "Less small," is an almost scientific specification, though it comes with a shrug of his shoulders, which - hands in his pockets and all - might well have come from a boy itself. This, too, makes Madilla laugh - a laugh that the wind carries away with it. "All right," she says. "I won't ask too many more questions on that topic. But I am going to end up imagining this a lot; I'm sorry in advance." She nudges her elbow lightly against him, a gesture obviously intended to be teasing or companionable. And again: "Hm." H'kon's stride breaks, just a bit, for that nudge. He looks up to Madilla, again, makes some attempt at pulling the corner of his mouth upward. Soon all the serious in his eyes is right back on his face. This time, at least, he shares, with an abrupt and formal, "Would you allow me give something of Naelli's to-" barely hesitation, "your daughter?" It's an abrupt change of topic, and one that results in a falter in Madilla's step, though that may be as much for the what of the change as the timing of it. Although her teeth drop to rest upon her lower lip as she regains her stride, and though her expression, too, is abruptly serious, her answer is quick in coming. "Of course I would. If... that's what you want to do. I know she'd be honoured." "I've nothing for Dilan," H'kon carries right on, in time to the nod of his head that acknowledge's Madilla's response. "Least not when he is so young. Even after..." Uncertainty twists the edge of his mouth down into a compacted grimace, kept mostly to that corner of his face. Madilla, watching as closely as she is, is well aware of that grimace and all that it entails. She keeps her voice level when she says, "Don't worry about Dilan. It isn't always about being equal. It - " She hesitates. "It's very good of you to think of Lily. And too..." The words don't come. She shakes her head. "We're all aware of how much you love," yes, love, not loved, "Naelli. How difficult this is." H'kon's hands are in his pockets, but that doesn't stop them clenching. He frowns fiercely, though manages at least to keep that to the sand, rather than the woman beside him. "So seems to be the case," is all tightly wound, as is H'kon, the next few steps. Right up until he drops, with no warning, and tugs his hands free to start pulling his boots off. Not, clearly, a reaction Madilla expected or hoped for. She comes to a stop, stiffly still, and just watches him. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-- I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make it more difficult." This is Madilla: she's far more focused, it seems, on H'kon's comfort and wellbeing than hoping for reassurance. H'kon doesn't speak, and doesn't stop his work, until his boots are off - socks too - and he's pressed his toes into the sand. "You are not making things more difficult," is certainly not reassurance, tone occupying that sharp edge just beyond frustration, just shy of anger. Madilla flinches, arms crossing in front of her so that her hands can hug opposite shoulders; she shivers, though it's probably not because of the wind or the temperature of the air around her. She's not reassured. She also doesn't say anything. That's time in which he can catch up. Time in which he can get up, one hand snatching his boots on the way. Standing, H'kon reaches his free hand to rub along the bridge of his nose, the knitted space between his eyebrows. When his hand drops back down, he takes a step, and only then looks back to check on Madilla's progress. Or lack. To check on Madilla. She looks... not lost, and not upset (at least in that overly demonstrative emotional kind of way), just... present. She's barely moved, still standing there with those arms around herself, her attention focused on the brownrider but not in a way that suggests she's trying to read things in to his actions. Much. Finally, she takes a step forward. Walking, then. She can walk. And so can he. Once he's assured she's walking with him, H'kon moves forward a bit more steadily. It's a bit farther down the beach that he manages a calmer, "You don't make things more difficult." Solemn, but calmer. Madilla exhales. Her voice, when she answers, holds a definite wry note to it. "I don't mean to... push, or anything." She's looking at the sand in front of her feet rather than at H'kon, now. "And if it feels like I am, tell me. I'll stop." H'kon swings his head, not quite fully around to look at her, though she will certainly be in his periphery. A deep breath in comes out as, "Madilla." He shakes his head slightly, chews on the tip of his tongue. "You've been very patient," doesn't quite come out satisfactorily, but. Madilla's head turns just slightly, though she too does not turn it far enough to look at H'kon directly. She sucks in a breath of her own. "I know how it feels," she murmurs. "Losing people you care about. You... you take all the time you need. You do what you need to." "No, I-" A sharp little breath, and he hefts the boots in his one hand, and rubs the palm of the other against his thigh. "I do not wish to simply be left alone." His head turns that much more now, to fix her a bit better in his gaze. She must feel his gaze on her, because she turns her head to look at him more directly. The corners of her mouth turn up just slightly. "Then I won't," she promises, quietly. "I'm here. You just have to tell me if there's anything else I can do." H'kon ducks his head, lets it come back up more or less of its own accord. And then frowns. "My requests will seem strange," is full of foreboding. Enough that he doesn't even look up, when Arekoth passes high overhead, back out on his way to the sea. Madilla's gaze doesn't waver, even when H'kon drops his head. "Try me," she says, without hesitating. H'kon takes that as invitation to stop in his tracks. "Well, I've already asked the one." The faintest tilt of his head, while his index finger presses at his thigh. "Next, then. Tell me what you did, the day that I lost." Madilla stops a step later, and turns back so that she can look at H'kon. His question has her catching her breath. "I was afraid you were dead. I... fretted. I tried not to break down. And then I went to work, because I needed to do something, and I couldn't deal with the children. It was simpler. I'm not sure I was a terribly good healer that day, though." It's wry, nearly. It's enough that H'kon should take a step, and reach again for any free strand of her hair. "And meanwhile, my wing," comes in reply, almost monotone, musing, "drilled. Some of them ate before, some after. The wingsecond sought us. It was Y'rel who'd spoken to you, and to me when we returned. At Tillek, I imagine my family went ahead with arrangements, unknowing. And Arekoth and I touched no one, and all that time was just a few seconds." There are free strands: some blowing in the breeze and some clinging to Madilla's face. She tilts her head down, watching him. "No one keened for you," she murmurs, musingly. "I don't know how that works - when they do, when they don't. Perhaps they simply have to feel the death as it happens in order to be sure. I spoke to Y'rel, and after that, I said nothing, for fear that would make it... I'd have to believe it, then." She pauses. "It's for the best your family didn't know." "I must think dragons feel time differently than we do," H'kon muses, fingertips encouraging those stray strands together, away from her face. "Even trying to explain to Arekoth about not going back..."" It's now he thinks to look for his dragon, although Arekoth is nowhere to be conveniently found. "I agree it is best," serves to refocus the brownrider. The grooming stops, only once he's watching what he's doing again. "I'm sorry you were... fretful." Madilla is still, very still, as H'kon deals with that stray hair, though those green eyes are focused intently upon him, even when he looks away. "Do they?" It's a new idea to the healer, albeit one that is quickly filed away for future consideration in lieu of telling the brownrider, firmly, "It's finished with, now. It was... a difficult day, but in the end you made it back, and for that, I am grateful." H'kon gives a nod of agreement, curling his fingers in toward his palm, leaving the edges of his knuckles near her cheek. "The whole thing, finished," he proceeds, quieter. "And no sense returning, to any point. It is this that has been missed." In answer, Madilla's hand lifts, her palm aiming to cover his knuckles - loosely, no squeeze. "Good," she says, solid but quiet. "Good." The repetition is firmer, but no louder; she accompanies it with the upturn of her mouth, close to a smile. "And yet," H'kon continues, his hand bobbing just slightly when hers covers it, ready to leave, and then choosing against it, "most everyone seeks only to remind." The continuation leaves Madilla without immediate answer; it might not necessarily be true to say that she's surprised by it, but she certainly pauses. "How so?" she prompts, finally. H'kon watches her, bordering on expectant, when Madilla pauses; he exhales, takes a moment, after that prompt. Knocks his boots up against his leg. "Speaking of what was. But in the way that was." A little sniff, as likely for some particle that has landed on his lip as a form of commentary or emotion. "The names used, the tones." His fingertips twitch, once. "I'd barely been called 'Hali' since I cut my hair, but by one person." There's something like amusement, in that. "Though I suppose, people are left with little but memory." Abrupt thoughtfulness heralds Madilla's understanding far more than any real moment of discovery; she sucks her lower lip into her mouth, chewing on it. "Those little things that will always be linked," she supposes, in the end. "No, I don't suppose we ever escape those. Details. Sometimes, for me, it helps. Remembering details. Being reminded. But not... always. Memory is fickle, good and bad." "Hm," has a hint of reflection to it, this time. H'kon's fingers slowly work their way up, out of the cover of Madilla's hand, in order to give one, definitive fix to one particular strand of hair. After that interlude: "I've begun to wonder if I've left them with nothing else." It marks off another step, resuming the walk - but this time, he's going back the way they'd come, once again glancing to the healer, monitoring progress. Madilla's own hand, in reply, drops back towards her side. She's slower to start walking again, afterwards, but her longer stride makes it easy for her to catch up. "Only memory, you mean?" she wonders, piecing together what he's saying. This time, "Hm," is affirmation as he makes his way, not overly fast, content in navigating the bumps and lumps in the sand, feeling them in his knees. "I mean to go home again, in time." H'kon steps over a bit of driftwood. "Full contact, full actuality." That surely makes sense to him, at least. "Would you come?" Matching her stride to his as best she can, Madilla's turned her attention towards the sand in front of her, focusing on it instead of the brownrider. Which doesn't mean she's not listening, of course-- something that's immediately obvious in the wake of his question, if not before. Were he to be glancing at her, he'd see a smile. "Of course I would," she says, simply. H'kon is not looking, not glancing. There's a hint of tension working into his back, but still he nods, and doesn't break his stride. "Good." A few more steps, and there he stops, still looking forward. "It is foolish, attempting to keep families separate." The furrow he's worked into his brow doesn't leave when he finally does check over to Madilla. But it does change shape. When H'kon stops, Madilla does too, just a half step later. She glances up, meeting his gaze. "It can be," she agrees, and there's still the curve of a smile in her expression. Perhaps more importantly, there can be benefits to abandoning separation, I think." She may intend her nod to be encouraging, or to reiterate the fact that she is, quite obviously, pleased. "Do you?" comes in time with a slight tilt of his head; H'kon's invitation for her to elaborate. The way Madilla's mouth opens and then closes again, without issuing any words, speaks to the fact that she doesn't seem to have expected to need to elaborate on that front. Finally, having sucked in another breath, she says, "I suppose it's that it... makes a statement. A positive one. It builds bonds, breaks down barriers." She could say more, and might, but-- "Do you think it's time we should be back? I don't want to upset Lady Issedi." It's only a partial dodge. And all that, rouses something like a laugh from the brownrider. Or perhaps a strange cough. He shakes his head, afterwards, and scans the skies, looking for his dragon once more. "Or at least, upset her swiftly and leave promptly." And he takes that all-important step again. Madilla probably takes it as a laugh - or, at least, she has one of her own to follow it, however rueful. "Or that," she confirms. "I can deal with that." Forward momentum it is, then: back towards the path, and the Hold beyond. |
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