The Dragonriders of PernŽ is a trademark, Registered U.S. Patent & Trademark Office, of Anne McCaffrey. This is a recorded session, generated by Harper's Tale MOO on Sunday 4 January 2004 for the benefit of members unable to attend. Logged by Pyrene and Wyn.
United We Stand
Council Chambers
There's something to be said for not being on the defensive. Knowing that Lylia, if not one of the drudges ahead of her, would undoubtedly tell Pyrene in short order about just who's back in town, Wyn's decided to keep her 'forward momentum', as Vorkoroth would term it, and has relocated herself to the Council Chambers to wait. She's seated surrounded by a few stacks of hides and scrolls, a mixture of research she'd done before making her way back home, and reports that had piled up in her absence.
Pyrene has that seething look about her. Perhaps it's in the rigor-mortis-esque stiffness of her shoulders, or the straighter than a poker back. Maybe it's the fact that the blast of cold air that comes into the chambers with her is positively as warm as Igen when compared with her eyes. "What in cold between are you doing here?" she roars at the prodigal Weyrsecond.
Adel pauses at the entrance and then steps inside.
"My duty to the Weyr." replies Wyn quite calmly, even if that irritating composure is probably anything but the best tactical choice at the moment. Then again, what's done is done. "Firelizard messages work at far too slow a pace given the fluidity of the situation," she begins to explain herself, pausing now and again when it looks like Pyrene's too close to popping some critical blood vessel. "Dragon-relay is too easily garbled. Drum messages aren't nearly confidential enough. And in any case, I did some research, and this," a pat to the pile of hides on her right, most blazoned with Healer Hall's insignia. "Indicates that, with our time having survived the plague, we most likely have some mythical little creature called 'antibodies' to it. So, having weighed the risks, and since quarantine is more meant to keep people in than out... I made a judgement call and returned." The errant weyrsecond then interlaces her fingers in front of her, elbows on the table, lifts an eyebrow and inquires "So, what -is- the current situation?"
Adel lets in the cold somewhere back down the corridor when she comes in from the bowl and it precedes her in a wintry little gust down the smooth stone hallway. She pauses at the entrance to the chambers as she listens to Wyn's comments, then chooses her moment. "And that's more or less what I wanted to ask, Pyrene," she adds on the heels of Wyn's final question.
Pyrene spins around at Adel's entry, discomfited at the audience. "This is a private interview, Weyrwoman," she replies stiffly. "And Wyn, you should be setting an /example/ to the others." This healer-talk of antibodies goes right over her head. "At least you could have given us notice before returning!" Apart from the fact that Pyrene's no fan of unexpected returns these days in any case, she would have liked the chance to forbid Wyn from doing anything.
Wyn
Thick brown hair frames a heart-shaped face, falling in a gentle wave to just
brush her shoulders. Grey eyes appraise the world calmly, although a dry humour
often lurks in their depths. The young woman is slim and petite, height rising
to a mere 5' 4, with a smooth complexion of olive skin. Her legs provide most of
her limited height, but are the muscled extremities of an athlete rather than
classically beautiful. Not one to make her presence unduly felt, she nonetheless
is possessed of a quiet and purposeful strength, manifest in every movement,
although she rarely raises her voice above a low and mellow alto, and travels
with sure grace on near-silent feet. Coiling irregularly about her right
shoulder when the skin is exposed, the silvered flesh of an old scar tells the
tale of the agony and adrenaline of flying Threadfall.
Wyn is wearing riding leathers. Black and green. 'Clook Wyn' if you want to know
more. Three firelizards are crowded on her shoulders.
Double cording of midnight and jet twines into a triple loop knot bound with
silver thread. A ribbon of blue denotes a lifemate, a ribbon of lavender speaks
of Dragonhealing affiliations, and the entire ensemble identifies the Weyrsecond
of High Reaches Weyr. Groovy.
She is a young adult of about 26. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.
Wyn has no apparent threadscoring.
Adel
Dark curls form a tousled halo around plain features of no particular ethnicity:
broad cheekbones strengthen an otherwise narrow face, and her black, black eyes
seem oddly inscrutable against her too-pale complexion. She's tall, but aside
from that her build's fairly average, and if her face seems somewhat gaunt, it
looks more like lack of sleep than anything else.
Soft, grey fur trims the hood and cuffs of her black wherhide parka. Underneath,
chunky woollens hide her curves in 'Reaches blue, while the sturdy leather of
her black trousers looks to be cut more for comfort than high fashion, and her
scuffed boots look in need of a good polishing.
Heavy cords of black and 'Reaches blue form an intricate knot that marks her as
the Senior Weyrwoman of High Reaches, while a finer strand of topaz gold marks
her -- more importantly -- as Ulrinath's.
She is an adult of about 34. She is awake, but seems rather distracted.
"Weyrwoman Adel, I presume?" Wyn nods a grave greeting to Adel, formally polite as she gives the woman a coolly measuring look, not unfriendly but merely seeing just what sort of person she's got standing in front of her. But then it's back to dealing with -her- Weyrwoman, and she reinforces her air of reasoned and complete unrepentance. "I believe I did, Pyrene. As much as you'd no doubt revel in the chance to accuse me of negligence, there are a lot of people in Igen, Ista and Fort who can prove that I did my research before coming back, speak to Igen's Weyrhealer if you like, they'll assure you my decision wasn't made lightly." she offers with a flick of her wrist. "In any case, the majority of people are too terrified the thought of a new plague in addition to the recent one of our own affecting the dragons to possibly give a thought towards researching anything but the way to get the farthest from us as possible. And also, in any case, what's done is done. I am here now. So you can ask Sii'kyn to take my knot and be down a weyrsecond, or we can actually get down to work."
"Oh?" Adel lifts a brow as she glances from Pyrene to Wyn, ignoring the weyrwoman's protest. "You presume correctly, Weyrsecond." -- she identifies the knot as she returns Wyn's greeting with an equally cool gaze. "And I, for one, would like to hear your thoughts on how to deal with this illness, if you have anything constructive to report." Private interview or no, her stance, her tone, and the knot that she belligerently continues to wear indicate that she'll not be palmed off too easily.
Pyrene belatedly wishes that just once she and Wyn could present a united front against their problems. "One of these days, Wyn," she mutters dejectedly. "And as for work, I suggest you talk to the healers. I've left the quarantine to those whose area of expertise it is." She shakes her head at Adel's contribution. "As long as there's no recurrence, you needn't worry about how to deal with the plague. As we said to you, it claimed no more lives after you left." She still finds it odd to talk to a woman who she was taught to revere as a child.
"And what if it claims lives now?" Adel counters. "I'm sure there's more to be organised than whatever the Healers will have to do to prepare for this thing." To her credit, something a little bit self-accusatory twists at her lips. "We may have brought the dragon-blasted Plague back to a brand new 'Reaches, and it would be silly to repeat the mistake of thinking it wasn't serious enough to warrant proper preparations." Her mistake. Back then. And what twists her more than that knowledge is having to admit as much to this successor of hers.
No doubt Wyn and Pyrene will work together smoothly just as soon as they're both old enough that all this maneuvering for position has gotten boring. Since Wyn's just as bad about scoring points as the goldrider is. She does deign to align herself with Pyrene's position now that the present skirmish has been gotten out of the way, though. "As Pyrene said, weyrwoman, the plague had mostly run it's course by the time you left, so you needn't trouble your heart. But, for your personal comfort, I did have a few copies made of treatments that proved effective during the Great Plague of Moreta's time. Shall I have them sent to you?" she wonders, offering mild plesantries and scribbling something on a hide which she waits for an opportune moment to slide to Pyrene. Inside? 'Why is she wearing that Senior's knot?'
"I'm sure you'll find that our healers have been preparing with great care for such an event," Pyrene replies, on the defensive. "Their apprentices have certainly been diligent enough in copying out Catia's records of the plague, and I understand that they've been in touch with Catia herself in Southern." At Wyn's note, she raises her brows at the Weyrsecond and shakes her head slightly.
Adel is thoroughly tired of people -- especially those who were mere children when she last saw them only a few days ago -- telling her not to worry. "You might not remember the heartache and the chaos this stuff can cause, Pyrene, but I do. I was there, and it was less than a week ago for me. More to the point -- and what I came to speak to you about -- is that the Healers advise me that those of us who came forward probably won't be affected, since we lived through our own Plague. But we have, in all likelihood, considering the violence of the thing" -- she probably means virulence; or at least the Healer, whose words she's reciting, might have done -- "brought it to you." She takes a deep breath. "For which I, personally, am deeply sorry. Those who weren't yet born then, or who didn't live here at the time could now be infected. Once it hits -- if it hits -- Cloudburst may be the only full strength wing the 'Reaches has. /I/ think that Cloudburst should be more involved in taking on duties so that they can step in to cover for one of the other wings if need be. Things have changed; we need to figure out how to integrate old ways with new ways and old riders" oh she hates using that word when referring to herself "with new ones."
Wyn leans in her chair now, one elbow rested on an arm, and a detached look coming to her features. "Weyrwoman Adel, I was with Healer Hall before I Impressed. I don't tell people not to worry about things medical if there's a reason that they should." she notes quietly. "Diseases do not simply vanish, they remain in the population, and the population grows to adapt to them. Perhaps if you'd jumped a hundred turns into the future, instead of a mere twenty-odd, we'd have to consider that as a serious possibility, but now? Precautions are excellent measures to take, but recriminating yourself over something that's statisticly unlikely to occur will only burden you. And I believe we ought to have the discussion you're suggesting with more people in attendance than just us."
Pyrene frowns. "Wyn, you're the one with experience. Since you're back, I'll leave the quarantine up to you. Talk to the healers, and I'll let people know that it'll be your authority to lift it." Pyrene will be all to happy to wash her hands of it. "As for the plague, don't forget we've passed onto your dragons our own recent plague, Weyrwoman. At any rate, I suppose the first thing to do would be to sort out Cloudburst with the rest of our wings. I'm sure Ike can do that." She pauses, forced to confront the issue she's been putting off for so long. "I will of course have you back in Esprit. I believe our formations are little different from your time, so you should be able to catch up readily."
Adel nods slowly as the Weyrsecond speaks, unwilling to entirely accept that something that so recently decimated her own friends and acquaintances could have had its teeth so thoroughly pulled, and unable to entirely accept the former Healer's absolution. But it's Pyrene's comment that really rocks Adel back a notch. "/You'll/ have /me/ back...?" She gapes at Pyrene, jaw sagging. It's not a good look for her.
"I'll get right on that, Pyrene." Wyn confirms, giving a nod and getting down to the business of riffling through those stacks of hides mentioned earlier, organizing them into a new form and politely ignoring the suddent increase of tension in the room. For a moment. "I do sympathize with your position, Weyrwoman Adel, and this is difficult for us, as well, having storied legends suddenly appear and be all too human, but in this time, Pyrene is Senior Weyrwoman, from a legal point of view. Lessa didn't assume leadership of Eighth Pass Benden Weyr when she visited it, and precedent is a powerful force."
Pyrene was afraid she'd react like that. However, on this one, she has Cadge backing up her intractability. "How else would you put it?" she asks, forcing herself, with an effort, not to tag on Adel's title. "Remember our circumstances." She doesn't break her gaze to look to Wyn in gratitude, but she tries very hard to convey it with the set of her right shoulder.
"Lessa," Adel's tone is as chilly as the weather outside, "was from a later time. Her Ramoth had not yet been hatched in the time she visited. The precedent, if you wish to discuss the legal aspects, *is* Ulrinath." Ulrinath, who can also play at Cadgwith's game. "If Pyrene were to jump forward by a week, would you all give her knot to one of your juniors? How about a month? A year?" She snorts. "When dragons choose, they choose for life or until voluntary retirement. Ulrinath is still alive and I have certainly never indicated any intention of retiring. To be quite frank, Weyrsecond, I would prefer to seek legal advice from those who are qualified to dispense it." Her pointed glance at Wyn's knot adds subtext: like Harpers, not Healers. "But you're quite right; this discussion should involve more than just we three." And it's perhaps a little sooner than she wanted to have it, but one can't put the dragon back in the egg once it's hatched.
Pyrene shakes her head. She hadn't expected Adel to be this stubborn about it. "Well, anything you can say for Ulrinath will also be true of Cadgwith," she snaps. "And Cadgwith is the Sr that the dragons of here and now acknowledge. Think on it, Adel. We will get harper advice if you wish, but I fail to see that stepping down in favour of a woman who has no knowledge of Reaches over the past 26 turns would help my Weyr. Now, if you'll excuse me." She walks out, before she can say words she'll regret.
Pyrene goes home.
"The matter is still time-travel, whether forwards or back." replies Wyn, now turning that immovable and irritating calm of hers on a different goldrider this time. "I apologize for the upset, Weyrwoman Adel, but you're the visitor to this timeline, not Pyrene. The Weyr has changed dramatically in the intervening turns--" But then Pyrene talks right over her steady reasoning, saying all she planned to say but swifter and sharper, and Wyn has to fall silent and change conversational runnerbeasts in midstream, gathering up her hides as she does so. "I shall see about calling a meeting. And if it's truly the dragons who decide, and -if- you're intending to stay on permanently, then we could always look farther back in history still, and chose Senior Queen-ship by whichever of the two rises first." she offers, shrugging slightly and rising from her seat.
Adel nods. "I had not intended to stay on permanently, but there are issues with the paradox of timing it, which need to be discussed first. Obviously, if it is possible to return to my own time, once our dragons are clear of this new Plague, that would be far preferable. A meeting, between myself, R'meld, F'renkil, yourself and the Weyrleaders of now, would be appropriate." Her tone is cool and calm, but her eyes snap and the tension that tightens her jaw and taughtens her shoulders gives the lie.
Wyn , prudently, doesn't choose to bring up the little fact that, in this timeline, Adel and R'meld and company never returned. There's something to be said for picking one's battles, after all. She merely gives a nod and offers over the promised copies of reports to the weyrwoman before agreeing that "I'll see what time can be scheduled as soon as possible. Demonstratably, we must at least acknowledge the problems in order to face them. Good day, Weyrwoman."
"Thank you," Adel accepts the report. "I would appreciate that. Let me know when you find a time that suits." And with that, she offers her own "Good day," with equal politeness (at least on the surface), before turning and making her own way out of the Council Chambers.
