Flashback: Nepotism (I'dalyn)

[Omnia Munda]

Daisulyth.

Jordeth was oft-inclined to address other dragons by name; of course, his own clutchsibling would have no reason to think this at all an exceptional act on the bronze's behalf. Jordeth had always been that way.

He was posed upon his ledge, ready enough for flight, listening to the youthful mind to which he was bonded waffle between alternatives. Bring him here, J'fel was pondering, pacing as he did so, fingertips turning his cuffs back and then straightening them again. Or go to him? Formal, informal. Invitational, invasive. Territorial, social. Ugh.

Jordeth had lost patience with this, and reached out to his smaller brother again. Our weyrleader, and here the faintest trace of bemusement provided the illusion of draconic humility, a thing which with Jordeth could only be faux, wishes to see your rider. Perhaps you would bring him here?

Within, in his receiving room, a great chamber adjacent to his and the weyrwoman's weyr containing a sandtable and four chairs - the grandly ostentatious, polished hardwood conference table and its accoutrements were months from arriving, not yet even a thought in the young weyrleader's mind - J'fel paused in his pacing to look out to the ledge and the sleek, coal-striped shape of his bronze against the spring sky.

"Bring him," J'fel asked of the bronze, and Jordeth, ever obliging, bowed his great draconic head in silent assent.

[anhydrous]

Daisulyth stirred from his place on his ledge, his curled form shifting and stretching at the mild interruption of his nap. He recognized the voice immediately and replied with no particular qualm, A strange request. Jordeth and Daisulyth were friendly enough, but their riders had little in common. The drowsiness noticeably present in his voice faded with each subsequent word, replaced by placid consideration. But if he desires a meeting, it will made.

With an arch to his back the brown shifted his attention to the inner chambers of his weyr. Jordeth speaks, he directed towards I’dalyn curiously. Your presence is required. It was quite clear that his interest had been piqued, and his rider’s was undoubtedly soon to follow.

On cue I’dalyn’s brow creased, the familiar name searching for a hold in the recesses of his memory. Jordeth… of J’fel? The name called forth the face, memories of weyrlinghood tying the word to the person. He remembered him well enough, but could think of no reason that he would request a meeting. Why would he need me? Not that Jordeth told you, I suspect. Dragons rarely seemed to have many details, and this was no exception.

Daisulyth dropped a shoulder and I’dalyn pulled himself into position, neglecting to fit his dragon with a harness or to bother with straps. The brown spread his wings and launched himself from the ledge, angling upwards to his clutchbrother’s weyr. He is weyrleader now. Perhaps this is official business. I’dalyn nodded thoughtfully, his grip tight around his dragon’s ridges. He had absently forgotten J’fel’s stature. Indeed, it was rather strange to think of one of his contemporaries as the leader of Telgar.

The bronze’s ledge was more than wide enough for two dragons, with perhaps even room enough for three. Daisulyth back-winged carefully, his talons scraping the stone as he shifted his body forward and out of the air. Greetings, brother, The brown hailed genially, folding himself into a more comfortable posture as his rider warily entered J’fel’s receiving room. “Hello there, J’fel,” I’dalyn said with a careful smile, still unsure of the grounds on which he had been called.

[Omnia Munda]

Jordeth's response to the distant brown was sedate and wordless, much as he'd been to his rider. He saved his greeting for the moment when Daisulyth actually landed.

Greetings, he replied then, while with a silent note he alerted the young weyrleader within of his classmate's arrival; thus it was that J'fel had moved two of the chairs closer to the sandtable, canted toward one another, and turned to receive his guest.

"Come in," said the young man, offering one of the chairs to the brownrider with a lift of his hand. The enormous, ancient chair that had belonged to his predecessor was off to the side, not to be used for this audience, and a similar intimate informality made J'fel's voice warm and pleasant. "Been a while, hasn't it? Let me get you a drink?"

To all this that conspired within, Jordeth had paid some small attention. He now turned back that attention properly to Daisulyth, his head tilting the way a man might raise a brow. Thank you for bringing him, the bronze murmured, letting his wings fall sleek against his sides as he lowered his belly to the stone. There would be no flight needed, for now. Please accept our condolences for your rider's loss.

[anhydrous]

I’dalyn was immediately comforted by the casualness of the scene, no calculating stares or semblances of strict ceremony to be found in the two simple seats and the genial tones. He breathed a sigh of relief, although his shoulders remained tense.

“Much too long, I think,” he replied warmly. The brownrider tried to wear his best blithe smile, but it was proving difficult. Although it was hard to see J’fel in the light that his position demanded, any rank, obvious or not, made him uneasy. “And a drink would be fantastic,” he added thankfully, Daisulyth noticing the flood of relief brought on by the mention and keeping a wary eye on the proceedings.

The brown warmly fended off Jordeth’s thanks, citing graciously, One can hardly deny a weyrleader his requests. Although his brother had been known to be a bit pretentious, Daisulyth always had a kind word to exchange with him. Anything that kept his fretting mind busy was more than welcome, and at least the scenery was nice. Jordeth’s ledge had quite a different view from the brown’s own.

Daisulyth looked out across the weyrbowl and caught himself snorting in reply to the bronze’s words. Attempting to sniff back the gesture, Daisulyth couldn’t help but chuckle inappropriately. I’m sure Mine would be most grateful to hear of your sympathy. Daisulyth’s troubles with I’dalyn’s father were hardly a secret, and he made little effort to hide the contempt that laced mention of I’den.

[Omnia Munda]

Daisulyth's derision must not have been entirely unexpected, for Jordeth received it without startling or concern. The bronze just tilted his head a little bit toward the brown, altering the perspective he had on the other beast in profile, watching him through one whirling eye; and after a moment's internal, private reflection he noted, It is the proper thing to say.

There was no shortage of bemusement in those words; by their tone the brown was permitted to understand that Jordeth, however pretentious, was not above a little self-deprecation for the purpose of his own dry wit.

"Have a seat," J'fel grinned, inside. This is going to be easier than I'd hoped. Again he gestured to the chairs arranged for their meeting, then departed their vicinity to collect from a sidetable glasses and a cut-glass flask with a golden liquid within. "I assume you and Daisulyth are getting on all right." The addition, since I'den died, seemed superfluous and the young weyrleader didn't bother to include it; it would have ruined his jovial tone, anyway. He poured two fingers' worth of the golden spirits into each glass, then turned back to bring them to the sandtable and chairs.

Avoidance of the topic wouldn't do for long, though, and as J'fel offered a glass to his guest he mused, "Must be nice to be out of that shadow."

[anhydrous]

Daisulyth wasted no time in thought after his companion’s lengthy pause, the indiscreet words expressing his opinion of the matter. Proper, maybe, but I wouldn’t be polite to his father even if he were still alive.[/color] The brown sullenly watched the afternoon sun spill down into the bowl, the brightness of the weyr ledges distinct against the shadowy recesses of the living chambers. Dragons graced the rocky outcroppings, sunning their bodies and greedily basking in the perfect heat. Seeming to sigh, Daisulyth turned his attention towards Jordeth and attempted to refine his manner. Our sympathies lie with the Weyr. The loss of a bronze is always painful.[/color] His brother was one for formality, and he would play his game.

Gingerly eyeing the two chairs, I’dalyn settled into one of them and let his eyes wander around the room. He had never been invited into the weyrleader’s quarters before, and found them surprisingly sparse. There was plenty of space, but little furniture. J’fel returned to the table with two glasses in hand, the mention of his father’s death hardly surprising the brownrider. Everyone seemed to have something to say about the recently deceased man.

I’dalyn studied the glass that had been set in front of him, the beautiful liquid alluringly dancing within its crystalline confines. “Yes, we’re getting along fine,” he replied with a carefully casual expression.It was clear that J’fel knew of I’dalyn’s situation. The mutual understanding was comforting, considering that he had to hide his true feelings from most everyone else who mentioned I’den’s passing. “Although, I admit that he seems to be having an easier time with it than I am.” Leaning back in his chair, I’dalyn paused to consider why he had been asked here. Surely it wasn’t to talk about his father.

J’fel’s face revealed nothing, so the brownrider continued. “I won’t lie, at first it was a relief.” his fingers perched along the edge of his glass, thumb bracing it in place as he lifted it to his mouth. “But as time passes, I can’t help but feel a sense of regret.” There was so much he had been waiting to get off of his shoulders. It was hardly fair of him to dump this on the weyrleader, but J’fel had been the only one so far who had realized that I’den’s death was multifaceted and potentially torturous for the otherwise tranquil brownrider.

[Omnia Munda]

Formal as he was, Jordeth raised his head and gazed out into the sky, eyes unfocused, ponderous and silent. Perhaps he attended in his eavesdropping way to what conspired within, for he held off reply for some time.

J'fel was watching (so perhaps Jordeth was watching, too) the expressions that moved across his guest's face or, initially, the lack of expression that was the signal of that careful casualness. Come on, man, thought the young weyrleader, stifling the desire to let a short sigh out through his nose and settling for subsiding into the chair I'dalyn hadn't chosen. I was there. I know what the jackass was like.

But he waited for more to come, offering just a nod and a glance toward the ledge to convey his understanding of the brownrider's reference to his beast, and excused himself from speaking just yet by being first to taste a sip of the bourbon.

Outside, Jordeth felt the fire pass through his rider's throat and was not sure whether he should be grateful to his mate's rider for introducing J'fel to the business of using hard alcohol for show or not. Rather than dwell on it he turned his head back toward the brown and finally replied, as though no time had passed, Be that as it may, what pains us most is the absence of a reliable pair in their place.

Inside it was as though J'fel were unaware of the hint his counterpart had dropped. He gestured with his glass and went on talking about I'dalyn in only the most indirect way: around the shade of his father. "I bet. That's the hard part, I guess - it must feel like there was never a resolution between you."

J'fel set his glass down and leaned an arm up onto the table. As ever, he was a flexible thing, ever willing to slouch and lean and bend his shoulders and raise his head, expressive in the extreme. His eyes fixed intense upon his classmate and more quietly, the bronzerider said, "If you need space, maybe to be away from the weyr a few sevens - this would be a good time for that."

[anhydrous]

Although the tone that Jordeth had used made no implications, Daisulyth’s thoughts prickled at the disclosure and he paused to consider it carefully. I see, was the dragon’s sparse reply, clearly fighting the temptation to ask for clarification. At least he knew that the meeting had a purpose now.

With a sidelong glance Daisulyth checked the progress of the riders' interaction. The bourbon in I'dalyn's hand received a disapproving rumble, and although the rider could feel the irritation seeping from his dragon's mind he pointedly ignored it. Most of the liquid in his glass disappeared with that first drink, not even the slightest grimace settling on I'dalyn's features. Daisulyth was not pleased.

Regardless, after a moment of silent deliberation the brown thoughtfully neglected to forward his discovery to his counterpart. It would be best if the rider could first speak his mind about that awful man. The weyrleader was listening, and with each few words Daisulyth could feel the smallest bit of I’dalyn’s grief dissipating.

“A resolution would have been nice,” he said with the slightest sick amusement, “Although I’ve got only myself to blame for the nonexistence of one.” Pushing his glass away, to the relief of his dragon, I’dalyn’s hand rose to rub at the back of his neck. “I just couldn’t forgive him. Of all men, a weyrlingmaster is the one that is meant to have respect for the mind of an immature dragon. He knew what his pushing could do, and he did it anyway.”

I’dalyn finally looked over to meet J’fel’s stare, his hands dropping into his lap. “If it had only hurt me, I would have forgotten it by now. Daisulyth’s problems are the ones that I couldn’t let go.” I’dalyn’s words were strong but his posture was anything but self-assured, somehow slouched and wilted into the straight-backed chair.

A small smile twitched at his lips as J'fel's voice fell. The offer was kind, but taking time off would be counter-productive. “Really, I’d rather be busy. Being away from the weyr just gives me too much to think about."

[Omnia Munda]

Daisulyth's problems. The words rang through J'fel's mind with a clarity that brought him slowly upright from his crooked slouch, degenerate spine straightening with a formal determination. He fought to keep his brows from sliding too high and giving away the concern that twitched around the muscles of his youthful face: Maybe this isn't such a good idea.

But Jordeth was listening in his way, and while Daisulyth looked into the receiving chamber his bronze brother cornered a sidelong gaze at him. Loathing for the man and nothing more, murmured Jordeth to his rider, though privately he was beginning to form a much darker notion: that through whatever weakness might have been made in the brown by his rider's father's will, beast and rider together might be somewhat controlled. All he told J'fel, however, was: With the man dead, the loathing will surely be left behind.

"I can't fault you for not forgiving him," said J'fel, nodding slowly; the brownrider need not really know that it was Jordeth, not I'dalyn, with whom J'fel was coming to agree. "He was hardest on you - and Daisulyth - of all of us. Maybe of all of his weyrlings, ever."

The young weyrleader tipped his head a little to the side and brought it up again, like he was stretching his neck, and reached out for his glass. His eyes went to the drink, too, leaving I'dalyn for a moment, and it was that moment in which he spoke further, mouth a crooked grin. "Just remember I offered."

He lifted the bourbon like to drink, but withheld the drinking for a moment more, one finger raised along the rim of the glass in signal. His gaze, too, came back to I'dalyn, head tipped down and brows cast up. "Think you're up to undoing the damage he did?"

[anhydrous]

Remember that he offered? What? Perhaps I’dalyn was being naive, but he still couldn’t quite get his head around the subtleties of his former classmate. Glancing out to the ledge, Daisulyth didn’t seem to be faring much better. His eyes were taking on the slightest bit of an uncomfortable tone of goldenrod, tail twitching anxiously as he met his rider’s gaze.

I’dalyn stared, incredulous, as the words that J’fel spoke calmly over the rim of his glass registered in his mind. Surely that couldn’t mean what he thought it meant. Think you’re up to undoing the damage that he did? It wasn’t really cryptic, but the nonchalance with which the query was delivered caused I’dalyn to press his lips together in a sort of puzzled hesitance. He paused for a moment, just long enough to make an awkward break in the conversation, carefully regarding what might just be an offer into his father position. “Surely I misunderstand,” he finally offered by way of a reply, reaching for the glass of alcohol that wasn’t quite empty.

I fear he might be joking. Why would he want you in that position? The brown queried nervously, I’dalyn not quite knowing what to say in reply. He just stared warily at J’fel, sincerely hoping that he was kidding. “There has to be someone more qualified. Hell, you and I just graduated a few turns ago.” Once again I’dalyn placed the glass on the table, willing it to refill itself. He was going to need quite a bit more alcohol if he was to engage in talk like this.

[Omnia Munda]

J'fel tried not to let satisfaction show too clearly on his features; better to let them remain frozen in the brow-raised mischief with which he'd asked the question. Satisfaction would have him mistaken for smug, even for cruel for asking the way he had. But he felt satisfied just the same: the brownrider hadn't taken him to mean Daisulyth.

So the dragon's sound, J'fel prompted his counterpart, who shifted not an inch out on his ledge save for the flicker of the tip of his tail. So far as I can tell, Jordeth responded, and if he thought it ironic that anyone would ask him to determine another dragon's suitability for leadership, well, that was a thought he kept to himself.

Hell, you and I just graduated, I'dalyn was saying and at last J'fel could permit his face to change - he tipped it back and laughed. "So we did," said the bronzerider through that merriment, a little sarcasm bright and good-natured in his words. He washed them out of his mouth with a swallow of the bourbon, then gestured with the glass at his guest, eyes rich but edgy, like amusement could not quite overcome the anxiety that such inexperience inevitably brought this very young weyrleader.

"So we did. But I say, I'dalyn, with our hands and minds dedicated to their work and the right men by our sides, what makes us unqualified? Our hearts're in the right places." J'fel gestured again with the glass, though this time the motion was sweeping, to encompass all his Weyr and its riders. "F'we do right, I'dalyn, we'll be as beloved as any leader turns our elders could be. And like I've got our weyrwoman's pride to my advantage - " Even now J'fel could feel a little heat in the back of his neck when he thought of Aderes. Glory of my Weyr, and of me. Man!

"- you'll have your father's legacy to yours." Again a gesture with the glass, this one begging a moment more to speak, as though J'fel knew - and of course he had to know, didn't he? - that invoking the dead bronzer this way was a pitfall with I'dalyn.

"Not to say I expect you to be like him. No: rather the opposite. But what would we be, either of us, if we didn't learn from the mistakes of the men who came before us?"

Sorry, S'lyn, thought J'fel bemusedly, feeling not sorry at all.

[anhydrous]

I’dalyn couldn’t help but interrupt, a laugh fresh on his lips as he bit back the last sip of bourbon that had been dancing on his tongue. “Nothing but your hands, mind, and the right men? What about experience, J’fel?” The brownrider could barely contain himself, every word punctuated with mirth. “Your heart might be in the right place, but your mind?” He shook his head with a sigh, “I’m inclined to wonder.”

I’dalyn immediately regretted that last bit, and inwardly fought the urge to apologize. It might have been in poor taste, but it was the honest truth. He was a brownrider. He didn’t gain rank by a mating flight, he had to fight for it, Daisulyth’s strength aside.

Upon that thought the brown took the moment to interject, having been carefully watching the scene. You say you have to fight for rank, but this man is attempting to hand it to you. [/color]He nudged I’dalyn’s consciousness fondly, shielding the man from the somewhat icy advice to follow. Perhaps you should watch your tongue. Unlike many of his fellows, the brown saw past the immediacy of the moment to dwell on things to come. J'fel was a friend, and it would be best to keep them that way.

He canted his head towards Jordeth, the yellow having disappeared from his eyes. I take it upon myself to apologize for Mine. He is shocked by this offer. Daisulyth expected his brother to separate dragon from rider, but knew firsthand that sometimes emotion tangled with logic.

Noting J’fel’s gestures, I’dalyn quieted himself and listened to the man speak. The Weyrleader had no lack of enthusiasm. He seemed quite thrilled with the ideas floating around in his head, and it was difficult not to get caught up in his fervor. For a moment he let his mind consider the possibilities, Daisulyth’s encouragement muddling the reality of the situation. Could he really teach the weyrlings? Could he handle the responsibility?

I’dalyn’s eyebrows raised at the mention of his father, settling quickly thereafter. “If we didn’t learn from them,” he repeated, eyes cast upwards to the ceiling with a sort of grim resolve that can only come from a conflicted man, “We would be asses.” He took his empty glass in hand, staring resolutely into the clear crystal bottom. “Speaking of predecessors, I can’t help but wonder what S’lyn would think of this offer.” Pausing in consideration, he added to his previous statement. “Not that you care much, I expect.”

S'lyn was not a horrible leader, but there was a clear generational gap. That void seemed to have been widening in recent times, conflicting views causing even greater problems with J'fel's rise in rank. “Assuming that I were to accept..” he began slowly, hand brought to his face in an attempt to settle his thoughtful scowl, “How would we even begin to settle the discontent that this promotion would inspire?”

[Omnia Munda]

Sorry as J'fel didn't feel for what he'd said about S'lyn, the echo of I'dalyn's quick words - I'm inclined to wonder - brought a regret to the young weyrleader's heart just the same.

Again: Maybe this isn't such a good idea. The last thing he needed was a weyrlingmaster turning his first weyrlings - Jordeth's own babies - against him. No: J'fel wanted a weyrlingmaster who'd teach those young people and their dragons to respect and honor and maybe, at first, to be patient with their leaders.

And the identities of those leaders needed to be taught, too. This must not be overlooked.

Jordeth rumbled deeply but softly out on the ledge. He is shocked, repeated - agreed? - the laconic bronze. He tilted his head slowly toward the brown, the whirling of his eyes - always slow - picking up incrementally. But not you. This was not quite a rhetorical statement.

The bronzerider found his mouth unlatched, words ready to spill forth, when he realized I'dalyn was speaking again. He closed his lips and, on the punctuative word 'asses,' shaped those lips into a small, bemused smile, and held it that way until the brownrider'd asked him a question. But then it wasn't that question that J'fel answered.

"I care what our former weyrleader thinks," he said instead, his voice gentled while a single up-cocked brow was wry. "And what he says. But I won't choose my leaders based on his opinions alone. They have to serve my Weyr, my people." J'fel did not think he needed to clarify: Not his.

"But I'll tell you how I hope to handle the dissent. First you have to understand, I'dalyn - it's all envy, that discontent. The experienced who believe in doing things well will permit the inexperienced a chance to try. It's the experienced who believe that their experience entitles them to something who'll cause our troubles.

"Nevertheless, they'll think they know better than we do. So we hear them out. Ask them their thoughts from time to time. Show them we're not too good to hear the wisdom of our elders. Because we're not, of course; that's part of the wealth our Weyr has to offer us."

The young weyrleader stood from his chair. His hand came down into the brownrider's line of sight, offering to take the empty glass. "Let me get you another."

[anhydrous]

Daisulyth let his tail fall over the edge of the weyrledge, twitching slowly midair as he considered his brother’s simple words. Me? He measured, thoughts rolling lazily as he allowed the brevity of the moment to slip away. After a lengthy pause he finally made up his mind, tail-tip continuing its incessant flick back and forth. No, shocked isn’t the word. The nervous tick stopped for just a second, only long enough to deliver his next carefully considered words. Perhaps a bit wary.

This decision wasn’t his. I’dalyn would choose what he wished to do, and Daisulyth would try his best to help his rider. I know Mine better than anyone else, He said suddenly, ducking his head to rest it on his crossed forelimbs. He would do this job well. I’dalyn was considering this very fact from his position inside the weyr, respectfully listening to his leader’s words and graciously nodding at the prospect of more bourbon. Perhaps it was something in J'fel's speech or his dragon's reassurance, but he was beginning to consider this offer more seriously.

“You speak well,” the brownrider said in response, having seen the sense in his fellow’s words. The fact that everything seemed to fit together was what was scaring I’dalyn the most. He was beginning to run out of arguments, being forced to consider the possibility that he might actually accept. Inwardly I’dalyn’s thoughts raced, the endless possibilities playing themselves out on the scape of his mind. This was his chance to help fix what was wrong with the weyr, and he was trying everything to wriggle out of it. What was wrong with him? Daisulyth butted his consciousness lovingly, and I’dalyn’s thoughts began to slow into a more manageable pace. “Don’t think that I don’t appreciate this offer, J’fel,” He said with as much assurance as he could muster. “Really, I do.”

I’dalyn tried his best to look grateful, though unable to stop the slight downward tug of his lips. “I have faith in your judgment and have no qualms with the way you’ve been choosing to run things so far, but no man has ever trusted me with any sort of responsibility before.” There was no unhappiness in this, just truth. “It makes a man wonder if they’re really up to it,” he sighed awkwardly, mind buzzing in the relative silence of the room.

“But if you think I can do it,” he utter painfully, each word stinging that conscious part of his brain that was screaming in protest. “I would be a fool to refuse.”

[Omnia Munda]

Jordeth's reply was laconically bemused. Of course he will, replied the bronze, as though I'dalyn's fitness for the job could not be questioned: after all, the weyrleader said it was so.

J'fel took the brownrider's glass and took the chance it offered to turn away, back toward the bottle. From it he refilled both glasses, his head down to hide the smile that You speak well threatened to spread across his lips. He knew it was true, especially when he'd had a chance to rehearse. But hearing his voice work so smoothly, hearing such important words come from his own mouth - and his heart and soul! - never yet failed to thrill him.

He was turning around, his expression schooled and filled glasses in each hand, when I'dalyn's words started to sound like a lead-in to a decline. The young weyrleader's brows shot up, but he could see chances still to save this; so he just carried the bourbons over, setting one down before the brownrider. By then he had reason to smile again, and did so as he settled into his own seat.

"I know you can do it," said J'fel. Much as he liked to hear his own voice shaping important words, there was a thrill to be had from hearing someone else say it all themselves. And I'dalyn had really said it all - there was nothing for his weyrleader to add but that gently firm assurance of his faith.

And this. J'fel raised his glass, and while waiting for his new weyrlingmaster to do the same said, "To a weyrlingmaster. To his first class."