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 11 January 2004 for the benefit of members unable to attend. Logged by Wyn.
Discussion of the Weyrseconds
Star Stones
With Thread in full swing and fall charts so common, this old sentinel is a
bit of a charming antiquity, a monument to history: lichens eat at the stone
in crevices not latey scrubbed, and firelizards perch in the unblinking socket
of the Eye Rock. Only snow lands often on the broad, lower ledge, and only
wind climbs the short stair to the top, but the view for the curious is worth
it and more, as all the mountains of the Reaches' range spear the sky above,
and the Weyr itself lays below, its ring of spires like some great titan's
discarded crown.
It is a winter afternoon. It has finally stopped snowing. The sky still seems
a featureless white, with thick stratus clouds obliterating the sun. The air
is cold but not unbearably so, with all the cloud cover.
Balanced in the Eye Rock are three firelizards.
Wyn is seated between Vorkoroth's forelegs, stealing warmth as the blue and bluerider crouch on the heights of the Weyr. She seems to be waiting for someone, stealing glances at the sky now and again, and very occasionally sneaking nips of brandy from a flask she's brought with her. More as endurance against the cold than any desire to get drunk. The sensible modern weyrsecond just doesn't -do- that sort of thing.
Sonrith starts as mere shadow, the small brown angled for a perfect landing atop his desired target. And though he is small, the rider on top of him is utterly dwarfed-- because F'renkil is a tall man. Comparitively, he a songbird to a wherry. Sonrith's wings, casting a faint browish glow in the glare of the white snow, billow as they're cupped into the air. The dragon lands quickly and silently on the star stones, and in the same manner, F'renkil dismounts. He smiles a business smile towards his present day counterpart.
"F'renkil," greets Wyn with a similarly businesslike nod, half-rising although she remains leaned against her dragon. Vorkoroth rumbles a polite greeting to Sonrith, and then returns to a watchful silence, something of hidden interest whirling in the darkling blue's ridge-hooded eyes. "Just the man I was hoping we might find here... have you a moment?"
"Wyn," F'renkil reciprocates, crossing his arms as a chill wind puffs across his face. "I have a moment, or I wouldn't've taken the time to visit the stones. From up here it almost seems as if I'm back home, because the basic structure looks the same, and the mountains in the distance never change." He's talking to himself and talking to Wyn at the same time-- although more the former than the latter. "The only thing that really reminds me I'm not supposed to be here would be the unfamiliar faces. That-- that and the food. Doesn't taste right, the food..." He swallows briefly, probably imagining some dish or another in his mouth, and then focuses back on Wyn. "But yes, yes, I have a moment." Sonrith doesn't respond to Vorkoroth's greeting, and in fact seems to ignore the blue altogether. His neck cranes the other way, as if he were too distracted by the mountain range to notice Vorkoroth's presence.
"Cooks change," agrees Wyn. "I grew up at Benden Weyr myself, and I've never been able to find baklavah that tastes like it's made back home. Even back home, now." There's a soft snort from Vorkoroth at being ignored, and the woman's eyes go distant to soothe the blue's pride for a moment, before snapping back to settle on the older man. "Well, if you have a moment, I thought we might talk of a few things. With M'nty now my weyrleader, it looks like my leaders mirror yours quite neatly, Pyrene and Adel are politely at each other's throats, and we weyrseconds are left to do the actual organizing, as it has been for generations. Comparing notes might prove of some use."
"Benden, was it? Mmm." F'renkil considers this, yet says nothing more of it. He simply listens to the comments about food, and the request of a chat. Mentioning M'nty as weyrleader does cause an extremely exaggerated sigh on the brownrider's part, and he discretely rolls his eyes. "It doesn't look well with that boy supposedly running things. I'd call him a figurehead, just as R'meld is. I practically have to lead him around by the scruff of his neck-- no offense to him, he makes a fine figure for the public to watch out for-- but the weyrbrats would end up have sandcastle contests on the hatching sands while R'meld tried to disorganize an organized event if it weren't for me. Yes, yes. Faranth. If it weren't for R'meld, Adel-- but that's beside the point, now." F'renkil catches himself quite nicely, and promptly bites hi stongue. "Comparing notes? I'm sure your notes are better than mine, being that there's 30 turns of refinement between yours and my procedures."
Wyn meets the sigh with a much more obvious roll of her own eyes, and passes over her flask of brandy with a gesture of sympathy. "Oh Faranth... Pyrene will have M'nty on toast for breakfast in short order. It's not that he's a bad lad, it's just that he's... a lad. Fresh out of weyrlinghood. Admittedly, I'm not as experienced as you, per say," A nod from the younger rider to the elder. "But I've gotten used to Sii'kyn who, for all his faults, was actually a weyr -leader- as well as an old friend. So now we've got no checks and balances on Pyrene but me, and I tell you that's not a position I envy. I imagine Adel will likely be similarly stirred... have you managed to get any discussion going at all about what Cloudburst plans to do?" she wonders, settling back down to a seat again, and smiling slightly as Vorkoroth tucks a wing around her. "Half of the contention on our side is that we're not sure in the least what you're all thinking."
F'renkil smiles only briefly, the brandy flask gratefully taken and dranken from before it's offered back. "No more than that," he states plainly, although his eyes seem to linger for a moment on the flask. "Fresh out of weyrlinghood. He has no experience in him. I would not choose him even as weyrsecond, if I had a choice in the matter. He needs more turns on him, more development in his mind. He's like a fresh guard recruit-- he thinks he's ready for anything, stubborn as a wherry not to admit different, but when actually faced with a murderer he'd rather be the weyrbrat hiding in his cave, safe. I don't see M'nty even having the capacity that R'meld does-- R'meld's at least had some schooling from me. Goodness. When we got here, he forgot to even introduce himself to your weyrlead-- previous. Weyrleader. Sii'kyn. He just sort of stared, glassyeyed, until I told Sii'kyn who we were." A concrete mask forms itself on F'renkil's face at plans. "All I've got for certain is that we're staying here, and that was no decision of Cloudburst's. In fact it would have been no decision for Cloudburst-- we didn't come to stay, we came to leave." Sonrith notes Vorkoroth's wing around Wyn and promptly tucks his wing around F'renkil.
Wyn shrugs gently, taking back the flask and stowing it inside her jacket as she glances out at the view and notes that "Sii'kyn was intended to win that flight... and he would've, if C'radoc and Umiheth hadn't interfered." There's no accusation in the woman's words, merely cool statement of fact, as her part of the information-sharing. "That one's an ambitious one. I suppose I should just count it fortunate that M'nty caught rather than him... and what?" Cue a puzzled look from Wyn. "Then whose decision was it? Obviously, the fact that your wing never reappears in our past in this timeline is a concern, but I should think that no-one of us is going to stop you from returning. Although..." A pause and Wyn trails off, idly rubbing her dragon's thoughtfully-provided eyeridge. "Adel seems strangely adamant that she should be Senior Weyrwoman, for a woman who's ostensibly returning to her own time. During my most recent conversation with her, I tried the example of Lessa's trip through time, but she didn't seem to favour it."
"I don't often talk to Adel, so I wouldn't know much about her personal preferences of rank. R'meld, if anything, relays the indirect messages between us." F'renkil snorts, again-- "C'radoc. I-- there's nothing for me to say about him. I'll apologize on Cloudburst's behalf, but not on his." This is all F'renkil seems to want to say about that unfortunate happening "Whose decision? It was your weyrleaders' decision, I believe. It certainly wasn't mine, nor R'meld's. In fact, I'd like to get out of here. It'd take some star chart studying-- the right charts this time-- and a bit of luck to get back at the right time, though. I also don't know how time works. Perhaps if we went back we would appear in your timeline."
Wyn suddenly looks as though she's been hit with a severe headache at the news that it's her own people behind all this, and rubs at her temples with a weary air, before sighing and patting a concernedly-nosing Vorkoroth on the snout. "Oh... Faranth's gilded headknobs." she sighs. "And of course I was no doubt still stuck in bloody Igen and relying on Pyrene's infrequent communiques. Well, I've been set to organize a meeting between our two leaderships, perhaps we can hammer out something better then. If it's the risk of carrying our new plague back to your old time, then you can quarantine yourselves when you get back, would be my personal opinion." she suggests, drawing idle sketches in the snow with the toe of her boot peeking out from under Vor's wing. "I suppose the other concerns might be the old far-fetched idea that your going back and creating a time different than the one in our history might cause us to cease to exist altogether."
F'renkil is hit by a severe headache as well, but not about news-- "Time. Nothing concerning time ever comes out right, unless you're Lessa. And I suppose, what with Lessa's ordeals, she deserved something in her life to come out well." He tilts his head briefly to the side, scratching it with his left hand. "Your relationship with your weyrwoman seems somewhat similar to mine, although Pyrene seems a little more sane than Adel. Of course I may have missed fits of insanity from the present time that I've seen all too much in my weyrwoman. You know. Perhaps there should be a sort of contest or so to determine the weyrwoman. Adel does have the right to demand the position, no matter how rude it is. Too bad it can't be decided as weyrleadership can be decided." He uncrosses his arms and backs up to Sonrith, sitting down. "I think a meeting would go well. Agh. I'd rather not think about it. I came up to the stones to think about home, get nostalgic, and forget about stress."
Wyn smiles dryly and reaches into her jacket for her brandy again, applying herself a little more thoroughly to the flask than she's done before. As the warmth of alchoholic clarity descends, she's forced to shake her head and admit that "Actually, Pyrene is a fine weyrwoman. We only clash because her ideas of what doing one's duty by the weyr means sometimes clash with mine. And I freely admit to unorthodoxy and a liking for doing what needs doing and asking permission after the fact. And she doesn't trust me because I'm a bluerider, of course. But that's enough of that. Adel commands the loyalty of the Cloudburst dragons through Ulrinath, and this time's dragons answer to Cadgwith and Pyrene. While we humans may debate over who wears what knot, it does all come down to the dragons eventually." Vorkoroth rumbles a little at this, and triggers a smile from his lifemate. "Yes, we are terribly silly dear, but that's how people work."
F'renkil shakes his head, rubbing his index and thumb on his temples. "Sure, sure. But Adel has no place, then. And if we have to stay as it's been decided, then she has no place in this time. This all because she came out of concern for the wing that left. This all because R'meld left out those damned star charts for her to follow us here with. Damned star charts," he mutters to himself. "I just want to see my children grow up."
"She has no place in your own time...?" Wyn wonders, looking confused. "But I'm afraid, as much as this is hard on Adel, I can't support her as senior weyrwoman in this time, when we already have a competant and respected senior of our own. She has my sympathies, though." And, from the quietness and stillness of her, as well as the gaze out at the distance, Wyn means this. A sidelong glance over at F'renkil, as an idea occurs to her. "If you want to go back... I'm sure there are probably others amongst Cloudburst who do. There's nothing holding -individuals- here, and anyone can study star charts... This may be my unorthodoxy speaking, but it seems to me that should a lot of you be truly unhappy here, we cannot in good faith force you to stay."
"Adel has no place in this time. That's what I meant. No place in this time. The pieces fit together, and she's an extra one bit of the puzzle, a piece that Pyrene is currently taking up. And you can't just stack the pieces of the puzzle on top of each other." F'renkil sighs, standing up again. "I'm sure there are others who do want to leave. Others who can. But wouldn't it be a bit suspicious for us to request star charts, for us to study them? Pyrene is competant, as you said. And if not her than someone favoring us staying here would put it together. What would be holding individuals is what is holding the group. No one can time it, at no point. Not the wing, not half the wing, not one of the wing. Unless rules are to be brutally broken. And I never noticed anything in good faith."
"Don't take this the wrong way..." Wyn drawls, now sounding exceedingly dry. "But I can't think of a single person from this time who would actually -want- you all to stay here. You're straining weyr resources, you'll have to somehow be integrated into the current wing structure, caught up on new formations... And then there's the previously discussed complication of Adel and Pyrene." A shrug of her shoulders. "Legends really do work best when they stay legendary. That's my personal view, and at that meeting, I shall give it. Time be damned. If we -do- cease existing, then logically we shan't notice it."
F'renkil actually purely smiles, a wide, glad, apprecitive one. "I wouldn't take it the wrong way, weyrsecond." He pauses for a moment, trying to suppress a battle in his mind about calling her such-- which he does-- and the continues. "That's quite true, quite true. If you do cease existing it would certainly be the best way to go. Quite a bit better than a lot of dragonriders, actually, slowly suffering from Thread injuries, or being burned to a point where ::between:: is the only option. Not that it isn't selfish to go back for my own rights and risk everyone else's. Ah. If only your bosses had the same ideas as you." He sighs again, glancing down at red fingers in the chill wind. "I almost think it's colder now than it was 30 turns ago, but that can't be right, can it?" He glances briefly up at Sonrith, and then motions in the direction of the caverns. "I'm going to go get something to eat, or I'm either going to starve or freeze. It's nice talking to you, Weyrsecond. I hope to hear your opinion at the meeting, and you shall hear mine-- which won't be much different."
Wyn catches the pause and does a little interpretation, before offering that "I find it easier if I think of you as the weyrsecond of a different weyr that happens to have a delegation visiting." as her own little personal solution for the awkwardness about duplicate names and titles, along with a little grin. "And I shall simply endeavour to speak my ideas especially loudly, then. Have a good meal, Weyrsecond." she replies in kind, before cozying up with Vorkoroth. "And if you see me cultivating C'radoc, don't think I've lost my senses... but he's up to something, and I want to know what." she gives a little advance warning. And then, with a genuine salute, she slides out from under her dragon's wing and mounts up, intent on heading back to her weyr.
