Flashback: To Change

[Omnia Munda]

J'fel caught his breath at last, and from precious oxygen drew the strength needed to disentangle his limbs from the slim arms and legs of Pelegaoth's intoxicating rider. He became a lean stretch of man beside her, his head swimming, heart pounding, lit with the sheen of sweat and energy; he was full of the dizzying scent of her and the thrill of her skin against his -

And then deprivation hit his brain at last and, for want of air, the young bronzerider passed out.

He was awake again in just minutes, but left his eyes shut now, staring into the endless darkness behind his eyelids. Jordeth. Jordeth, sang out his mind, and on the young man's now-relaxed face grew a steady smile. Oh, Jordeth, thank you. She's - they're - you're - incredible. Did you - of course you did. Oh, man.

His tongue parted his lips to moisten them; J'fel could feel the smile. So this was what it was like. This was what they'd talked about in those eternal lessons, trying to make it sound like some massively boring political chess match, all these bronzes sliding aside for the one who'd mate the gold. Unbelievable! Ridiculous! How dare they understate the thing so greatly? Why, this woman, she was beautiful, she was lively, she was -

And then it hit him like a sack of stone in the stomach. The Weyrwoman.

J'fel's eyes were open, yes, immediately. But even before he could get them to focus on the shapes before him Jordeth was there, answering his rider's summons of fulfillment and delight. I am. I did.

The man could feel the beast wheeling toward gravity, his catch in his embrace, almost ready to free her onto her own wings for the last drift to the ground. I've made you Weyrleader. And as if it had been his life's purpose, the greatest love token he could ever provide his rider, Jordeth assigned to these words the deepest and most potent of gratitudes.

It made J'fel's open eyes water, and he had to blink against the sensation, still struggling for focus, for a view of what his dragon seemed to have won.

[Tabula Rasa]

He'd passed out.

Aderes had done this dance many times before, though the feel of arms other than S'lyn's around her as she fell back into herself was something different. Something intriguing. In this moment, it was also deliciously satisfying.

She let him roll away, and she'd expected him to catch his breath. To crow his triumph, perhaps or, if he were a bit more clever, to panic. She hadn't expected his face to go from flushed to beet, nor had she anticipated those endearingly wide and guileless eyes to roll back into his pretty head.

"Oh," the weyrwoman sighed, rolling so that she might prop herself on her elbow. "Oh dear." She did not, by any stretch of the imagination, sound especially distressed.

She could feel Pelegaoth's contentment, but like so much of her dragon's emotions, it was had to distinguish from her own. They were sore and sated, though she suspected the throb of her very human shoulder blades had more to do with Pelegaoth's wings than with any way the now-limp young man had grabbed her. The soreness she felt elsewhere was harder to assign.

He'd looked young before, but in sleep? Shells, she wasn't sure if it would be more fitting to offer him wine or milk. For the moment, Aderes simply crept the sheet up over her body and waited, the very soul of patience, as her young paramour flickered back to smiling wakefulness.

And then those large eyes were blinking through tears.

She schooled her features into a look of gentle concern, despite the amusement that trilled behind the mask. It was very likely that the whispering wind-chime laughter dancing through her head belonged to the queen untwining from Jordeth and coasting to the weyr's bowl. Aderes was almost certain.

"Hello," she said, her cultured voice soft and gentle as his gaze steadied and found her own. A lover's voice, or, perhaps, a mother's. "I think you'd better have a drink. Are you all right?"

[Omnia Munda]

Jordeth lit lightly, still buoyant from his triumph. His slow-swirling gaze swung with the sway of his head and neck to take the measure of the bowl. Bronzes who'd failed claimed their ledges or nursed their pride near the lake, but he alone, he, Jordeth, had the queen. The last vestiges of shock began to fade into satisfaction.

Finally J'fel's eyes cleared and there she was: his amazing weyrwoman, Jordeth's mate, all hair of spun honey and wings like beaten gold. The tears dried on the rims of his eyelids and the bronzerider coughed, lifting a sudden hand in a curl before his mouth to prove he had some manners. The cough and the hand both, anyway, covered a laugh that might have turned into a whoop had it not been suppressed.

"I'm -" amazing - "Yes." He shoved himself up on an elbow, mirroring Aderes' position with little of the self-possession and none of the sheet, though the latter's lacking left his animal, natural grace without disguise. Wide blue eyes considered the weyrwoman's face for a long moment as the boy behind them tried to comprehend what she'd said a moment after the fact, and then he did grin.

And just as he felt himself grinning, J'fel reined the grin in. "It's Jordeth, is all. So -" pleased? but the bronze's rider hardly had time to try to figure his dragon out just now - "- happy." His shoulders executed a shrug, sleek and easy despite his bent pose; they possessed the grace that his words lacked.

He bent down his lovely head and lifted a hand over his hair from the back to the front, stirring the locks down over his brow; then he let that hand hang out onto the bedding and tilted his face up at the weyrwoman.

"You said a drink?" J'fel overturned the hand and let fingers wriggle supplicatively. "If you talk me to it," and here he dropped his voice a little as he was accustomed to doing with girls his age he wished to impress (or presumed he had just impressed), "I can get them for us."

[Tabula Rasa]

"Mmm," Aderes agreed softly, letting a little tease of contentment seep out with the soft sound. "They tend to be happy, after. It's a bit intoxicating, isn't it." There was a moment of consideration before the Weyrwoman thought to add, with a conspiratorial twitch from the corner of her mouth, "I suppose that's a bit of an understatement."

He moved with elegance he didn't know he had. Young and fit. Attractive in a way most men were not. The word 'beautiful' would not be incorrectly applied to this... this...

Pel, who is he?

Our Weyrleader.

The dragon was of no help. No matter. Whoever he was, he was made of good clay. When molded, he'd shape up into a fine Weyrleader, indeed. Fine, at least, by her own standards.

The young man in her bed had flopped down and turned the effect of those glorious eyes full on her. His voice had dipped to take on an intonation that had likely made many girls curl their toes against the bottoms of their shoes. Many young girls. Very young. Faranth.

"There is nothing," Aderes assured her fledgling Weyrleader, "I will not talk you to. You're very wise to begin with the simple tasks. There's a row of bottles along the wall behind you. The colored ones are red wine, the clear ones white, and the lower, more compact ones hold spirits of greater potency. Beneath the bottles are the appropriate glasses for each. I shall leave the choosing to you."

[Omnia Munda]

J'fel, for all his pretty eyes and smoky voice, couldn't help wanting to laugh from pleasure. His spine still tingled from the flying and, better yet, the fall. "Understatement," he agreed through an unironic grin, and fought the blinding but tangible memory of Aderes' limbs tangled with his so that he could speak further and not just grin like an idiot.

"I've never thought myself wise, my weyrwoman," said J'fel, letting his gaze flicker upward for a moment as though he dismissed her flattery; but his voice remained rich, an affectation older than his turns. "But I usually know when asking's better than assumption."

To prove he'd heard all she said, the young man leaned back on his elbow and turned his head to get a glimpse over his shoulder of the wall and the bottles to which Aderes referred. Then he collected himself up from the bed onto his feet, moving with a reluctance that was entirely unlike weariness or ache.

Even bending over the edge of the bed with a fist on the sheets, the other hand outstretched to presume a light brush of fingertips against Aderes' knuckles, it was apparent the youth could not be much taller than his weyrwoman.

"Be right back," he murmured, as though the wall and the bottles were so far off, and straightened - making it apparent that he might actually be shorter than she.

Jordeth, tend to our queen, requested J'fel as he turned from the weyrwoman and strode across her chamber to the wall where alcohol was promised. Not spirits - he could imagine no advantage in having either of them drunk, and suspected a woman like this, wondrous, worldly, wise, would not be the first of the pair of them passed out - and not white wine: too light. He wanted the illusion of headiness without the obligation, and chose a smoky red accordingly, followed by the wide-bowled glasses to match it.

I will tend her, agreed Jordeth, and turned his eyes now toward his queen. He was the quick study, the golden child from her clutch four turns prior, and he was fast learning this ritual's nuances as well as those of drills and games. She was his: he must make sure she knew it. Nonetheless he felt a deep, abiding adoration and respect for her, and of this he made an offering to Pelegaoth as he re-approached her. One wing raised slowly like a wagon canopy to reveal the smooth planes of his side, inviting, beneath.

But why do you worry so? asked the bronze, waiting to see if his mate would join him.

Because of S'lyn. We want her to remember she's carrying our b-

J'fel had to stop, because he was pouring wine from the bottle he'd opened the while, and if he didn't refocus his attention and tip up the bottle now, the glass would be more full than was proper. He let Jordeth get the gist of the idea from his silent recollection of the bronze's own egg.

"So," he said, letting his voice carry with a jovial flirtatiousness that he wanted desperately to feel, filling the second glass as he'd done the first. He corked the bottle and put it up, then turned with a glass per hand to come back to the bedside, smiling. "May I call you Aderes?"

[Tabula Rasa]

"I've never thought myself wise, my weyrwoman," said J'fel, letting his gaze flicker upward for a moment as though he dismissed her flattery; but his voice remained rich, an affectation older than his turns. "But I usually know when asking's better than assumption."

The Weyrwoman's breathing shallowed just slightly and her blinking slowed. One long finger tapped against the sheets as she tried to decide if she'd just been flattered or chastised. Her small smile remained carefully in place, her leisurely posture meticulously maintained. She waited for the boy to offer some other clue.

He murmured softly and brushed his fingertips across her knuckles, his reluctance nearly palpable. Aderes relaxed back into the plushness of the bed, exhaling a silent sigh as the Weyrleader turned to make a careful study of his choices. He could pick, of course. She hadn't lied about that. But his options were only the ones she had set out before him. Stretching slowly, the pale woman considered the play of his muscle and skin. The nudity she'd been too dazed to admire before. He was too short, true, but lying sideways one could almost overlook that.

Out in the bowl, the amber-dark queen had settled to the earth, sides rising and falling from her exertions. She padded to the lake, first and foremost, to swallow down a generous amount of water. Forked tongue flicking out to lick her maw tidy, she observed as Jordeth lounged in the sun and lifted a wing for her. Those who had failed, she knew, were still watching. Her former mate was among them. Pelegaoth gave her tail a long swish before she padded over to the young and shining bronze, sinking down and leaning up against the expanse of his side. They saw, from weyrs and crags. They understood, now, how it would be.

The wine was poured, and the young man with the endless eyes was speaking again. Was, most definitely, flirting this time. Aderes reached a hand out for her goblet, her smile growing as he offered her own name to her. "I should hope that you would," she agreed casually, running a finger around the rim of her cup.

Pel! His name!

There was a long pause, as if the golden dragon was trying to recall it herself. Jordeth.

His rider's name.

Now, how should I know that? With a tiny shiver of amusement that Aderes felt tickling up her own sides, her bondmate added, Shall I ask him?

Aderes didn't dignify that with a response. Jordeth. Jordeth's. Someone must have said something to her about this boy at some point. The weyrlings hadn't been tapped into wings so very long ago. Shells, he hadn't impressed so very long ago. Jordeth's. Jordeth and...

Her relief escaped in a tiny laugh that might, perhaps, be attributed to the morsel of humor the young Weyrleader had offered her. "If I may, in turn, call you J'fel."

[Omnia Munda]

Pelegaoth's hide against his reminded Jordeth of drinking a thundercloud, or at least of how he'd imagined that to feel. He allowed himself a silent moment to raise his head and tip his chin down toward her long neck, a thousand admirations for the smoked amber length of her conveyed in quiet while to his rider, instead, he conveyed his success. It was confirmation no less great than J'fel's knot would be, the first time he put it on.

The youth who would wear that knot surrendered the one glass to his weyrwoman with a slowness designed to make her fingers brush his, and smiling a smile long ago (by his ken) designed to charm women J'fel sank back onto the bed.

If there was a pause, a hesitation, he pretended not to notice it. Better to bluster through, to give her no choice but to accept him here; if she did, reasoned the boy Weyrleader, she would be hard pressed not to accept him everywhere else - and having a taste of this wonder, he felt no desire to let it go back into the hands of the man he'd displaced.

While Aderes decided, he guessed, whether or not he was welcome, J'fel entertained himself by taking a long look over the sheet-draped shape of her. Shells, she was a beauty, like a painting but alive, breathing, warm and smooth and soft to touch and - just now, laughing.

Not too quickly, the young man raised his gaze back to his weyrwoman's face. "Please do," he said, his grin ultimate giveaway that he'd hoped for such acceptance, perhaps even expected it. Then he leaned carefully into his elbow so the wine wouldn't slosh, pulled his legs up onto the bed and leaned closer. Keeping his eyes on her face grew more difficult but, manfully, J'fel managed.

His voice dipped again, reaching deep for the notes that won him kisses and more from weyr girls and, occasionally, from other kinds. "I'm afraid I wasn't taught anything proper and perfect to toast to in this situation," mused Aderes' weyrleader, the arch of his brows increasing by the syllable.

You were very cunning, murmured Jordeth in the bowl, lifting his head so his chin barely stroked the queen's neck, an easy enough gesture for her to defy gracefully if she wished. But if she did not, there was a droplet of lake-water at the corner of her jaw for him to drink, and with the tiniest of gestures the young bronze intended to do so. There is much I can learn from you.

He was apart from his rider in that Jordeth said such things without the least trace of humility.

[Tabula Rasa]

"Proper," the Weyrwoman supposed with another small laugh, "is less essential than perfect. Perhaps, to new beginnings? Change? The unexpected?" Aderes lifted her glass, but only a little. Enough to encourage a toast without actually making one herself.

She wondered if he was trying to be obvious about the way he was admiring her or if he simply didn't know how to hide it any better. Either way, being so openly and freely observed was heady enough that the blonde felt like she'd had several swallows of wine, already.

In the bowl, Pelegaoth was the most biddable of sated lovers. She permitted nuzzling and allowed, even, that flick of tongue to droplet.

Yes. Like her new suitor, the whipcord gold was not one for false modesty. Not when it was unnecessary.

[Omnia Munda]

Watching Aderes' face was not doing J'fel a world of good. She spoke; her lips moved. Rapt, he watched them. Had he - ? He thought he had. Oh, man.

And what she was saying! It sounded as though she'd hoped for this. Hoped for him! He drew a lung-filling breath, delirium from the smell of her and the thrill of becoming something so important, so great threatening to black him out again. J'fel let the air out, grinning with chin tipped down - coy - and breathed deeply again, steadied this time by oxygen.

He lifted his glass. He would use one of her words, the one he liked best of those the weyrwoman - my weyrwoman! the words had never had that possessive ring before - had provided.

"To change," chose J'fel, his deep-pressed purr almost a whisper, now; then he added, bending his head a little closer to hers, "and to a beautiful partnership."

Hearing through his rider's mind these words, the weyrleader's bronze shared with Pelegaoth something of a knowing bemusement and slid the side of his jaw back down along the length of her neck, making of his own an inviting loop upon which she might rest her head.

[Tabula Rasa]

Aderes ducked her chin down as if she might, just the littlest bit, be flattered. "To change," she agreed softly, "and to partnership." The beauty, it seemed, was left to the Weyrleader to define.

The sound of glass tapping glass was pure and crisp. A tiny, bright chime that sang through the air and seemed to hold its note for an instant longer than the two goblets touched. Aderes drew the glass down and took a long and hearty sip. Then she stretched, shifting, to set it on the desk beside her bed. If the motion caused that sheet across her body to slip, the weyrwoman didn't seem to notice.

She was too busy noticing J'fel, instead. With his head still bent, it was little effort to lift her own and settle wine-flavored lips to his. Little work to curl a hand around the back of his neck and encourage him to set his own drink aside and follow her back down amid blankets and pillows.

Out in the bowl, Pelegaoth settled her chin lightly on the offered loop of bronze neck. That's what it was there for, after all.