Arekoth's Ledge, High Reaches Weyr
Narrow at first and then widening, this ledge unfurls like a tongue from the mouth of the weyr. Medium to large, it could likely hold one bronze or perhaps two smaller dragons. Unremarkable, the pockmarked surface is smooth in places and ruggedly chipped away in others. Within the holes and crevasses, mold is beginning to grow, safe there from things that scrape over the surface of the rock and showing the rather shadowed nature of this low-set ledge.
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Autumn can be cruel, when the days begin to get loaded, and the sunlight refuses to stay around to even see them through. It was dark by the time Arekoth and his rider had returned after a failed attempt at a flight, shunning dragon and human (even Madilla, especially Madilla) contact alike to tend Arekoth's war wounds. It was unkindly cloudy for the day in between. And now it's darkness that greets them back to High Reaches today, following Tillekian dusk, and a visit with a pleasant and probing mother, and a father in competition with his visiting son for the Most Taciturn award, and Most Awkward Smile prize. Arekoth, needless to say, heaves a sigh when his talons scrape his ledge, home again.
Long experience with the son has allowed Madilla more ease with the father than she might once have had; she has succumbed gently to the probing, and brought to the table as much pleasant as the mother, a genial, friendly guest to their table. Arekoth's sigh is not one the healer echoes, now, as they return safely home once more-- and yet she does seem pleased, her shoulders drooping just the tiniest amount, the only real hint she's given to any escaping tension. "Safely home. Thank you, Arekoth. And thank you." The words are easy, but her head is turned: she's watching H'kon, thoughtful.
The brown is good enough to wait until his rider has also dismounted before shaking out his wings, ducking his head this way and that to loosen the muscles of his neck (in theory, anyway), stretching that twisted limb. It's to this backdrop that H'kon gives a solemn nod, reaching up, hand still in glove, to rub hard at his face. His mouth opens, closes without having released any of those precious, hoarded words, and he opts instead to step forward and grip Madilla's upper arm. The quick step and hard kiss that follow are abrupt enough probably to have not been planned.
The grip on her arm is a surprise, though it certainly gets Madilla's attention (for all that H'kon really did have it before: this is more active attention, especially when it gets followed up by that kiss. It gets returned, of course, as her arms reach to snake around his waist and hold him there. Afterwards, her eyebrows are raised in silent surprise, but she's smiling too much for there to be any suggestion of displeasure. She may have read something into it, despite the lack of words, given the way she nods.
H'kon's grip on her arm has turned to a tighter embrace, one hand at her hip, one along her back. They stay there, stay close, even as his chest rises and drops with a quick breath, his eyes playing over her face just before he turns his head to look to the weyr's entrance. "I'm grateful." Nod. "You were there." Two rapid shots of words, while he presses his fingers into her back.
"It was nice," is Madilla's answer, in lieu of the more predictable 'it was my pleasure'. "I like your mother. And your father reminds me of you, which means I can't help but like him, too." Her fingers twine together, behind his back, the pads of each digit pressed flat. And still she smiles.
What might have been words turn instead into a little, near-falsetto, "Huh," and H'kon nods again, still looking to the side, to the entrance of that weyr. The brownrider's chest is up and down again, quickly. That hand at her back still presses. But the other one abandons her hip, so those fingers - still in gloves - can pinch hard at the bridge of his nose and inner corners of his eyes. Needless to say, Arekoth has stopped fidgetting and watches.
There's a lot Madilla can read into little gestures, by now, and into where H'kon looks - and even into Arekoth's movements (and lack there of). She waits, those dark brows lifting ever so slightly, all over again. "Tell me," she prompts, voice lifting minutely at the end there, turning 'statement' into 'question', but without conviction; it hovers between the two, uncertain.
H'kon starts out with quirk words strung into, "I'm certain now is not a-" but after a catch in his throat, lands far too hard, and with far too much uncertainty of his own, on, "time." There's the suggestion of instability in the next breath, which he deals with by abandoning the 'pinch' tactic, and pressing the heel of his palm firmly against that spot where his forehead and nose meet. And still that other arm's held tight across her back.
"Now is a time. A time. Maybe it's not the right time, or maybe it is. But you have to start finding words one of these days." Madilla's words could be chiding, but they're not: she manages to make them sound far simpler than that, without heavy emotion from either end of the spectrum. Her gaze is lowered towards him, searching; her arms tighten, squeezing just gently.
H'kon shakes his head, minor movements to either side, again coming quickly. "Madilla, there is," and the look he gets of her, when he inevitably turns her way, has got to be a bit fuzzy for those tears he's been unable to be rid of, glove or no, "nothing." Maybe that exasperation is for the emotion he can't seem to push down. Best, surely, to shift, not away from her or her arms, but to the other side, and point the whole mess at Arekoth. That and, away from his face now and hanging in the air, has little to do but to tighten and relax its fingers.
Madilla's voice, when she finally opens her mouth, is very quiet, and somehow still, as though the word is foreign, or meaningless, or somehow empty. She certainly doesn't sound dubious, as could so easily be her inclination. She's watching him, when he looks at her; by the time she opens her mouth, she's looking at Arekoth, word coming out on an exhale of autumn-cold breath: "Nothing."
"There-" is as far as he gets before a little tremor works its way through him, despite H'kon's best efforts. And from there, it's all physical tension, the hand at her back turning into a fistful of cloth, all the strength in that compact frame put into holding still, to a point where it undoes itself with an occasional little shiver. Eventually, his other hand will surely join in twisting wrinkles into her clothing. Arekoth simply cocks his head, steps a bit closer, and settles to wait.
The sound of that word is what sends Madilla's gaze back onto H'kon, her expression shading from wide-eyed encouragement to hesitation, patient hesitation, when he breaks off again. One of her hands disengages, now, but only so that she can slide it further up his back, stroking as it goes. "It's okay," she murmurs. "It'll be okay."
Perhaps it's to be expected that the release, such as it is, should take a while; H'kon is an expert at repression and procrastination of emotion. The dark, at least, will hide puffiness in the eyes, and other visual remnants of all that, by the time he's relaxed, and a moment later, shifted back, not out of reach, but enough to try and smooth where he'd grabbed along Madilla's back, dutiful and orderly. "I'm sorry," is soft, an afterthought.
Madilla is, unsurprisingly, patient: now that he's started, H'kon can take as long as he likes. Between physical proximity and the focus of her attention, she's clearly well aware of each stage; as he shifts back, she loosens her arms though doesn't release them, and seems... well. Perhaps the dark will hide the way her mouth twists, just slightly, at his attempts at smoothing. "Don't be," she answers.
Smooth. Stroke. Pat. H'kon's head tilts as if to inspect his handiwork, eyebrows knit in concentration. Another pat, for good measure. And then, the inspection, with short little nods of his head, intermittently. It's that time in which he musters, "I did not mean nothing. At all." He looks up to her again. "Madilla." The next pat simply turns into contact, a light hold on her.
For this, too, Madilla is patient, standing still so as to allow H'kon to complete his grooming and the inspection that follows. "I know," she says in answer. "I'd be rather more concerned if you did." She meets his gaze without hesitation, leaning in to him as she does so. "It's all right. Everything's all right."
That lean of hers finds H'kon securing his hold on her that much more. "Everything's different," is more observation than outright argument. The sigh he pushes into the cooling air is, this time, simple, controlled. "And I should not have been so stubborn, and brought you back when she was there." It's one of those awkward pulled smiles, now. "She'd wanted to meet you. Since I'd first mentioned." This time, the look to Arekoth is more of a check in. Maybe the dark will hide some of the heat reddening his cheeks. "It would have made me happy, too, I think." And the hand on her back presses in the direction of the weyr.
"Everything changes," murmurs Madilla in answer, though it comes with an acknowledging nod: it's a big difference, a notable difference, of course it is. She aims one step backward, the first in a series that will inevitably require her to pull away, if they really are going to make it safely indoors. But first, "I would have liked to meet her, from what you've said. But... what's done is done. And I'm sure she was glad to know you were happy."
H'kon's smile at that is a sad one, and he closes his eyes, even while taking his own step back, away from Madilla. There's something quite juvenile in the quick reach up to wipe his nose on the back of his glove. "I'm sure you'd have taken to each other," is again serious, when H'kon opens his eyes again. And as Arekoth shifts up and prepares to make for his couch, his rider gestures toward the entrance to his weyr.
This time, Madilla turns her head rather than watch H'kon after he closes his eyes (or as he wipes his nose), as if to let him have that moment in private. For a moment, she glances at Arekoth, and then, when his rider speaks again, she smiles, turning her attention back towards him - even as she takes the rest of those steps towards the indoors, out of the autumn chill. "I'm sure we would have," she agrees. "Two of the people who love you best; how could we not? Brr. Let's get the hearth going properly."
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