Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (I'dalyn)

[Omnia Munda]

Jordeth, you may as well send for I'dalyn.

There was something niggling in the back of the weyrleader's mind, but he brushed it away with a shake of his head and focused his attention on his bronze's efforts. Baristath's contact had been passing strange, even Jordeth knew that. But Jordeth had his orders and a dragon's blessedly simple perspective, and left his rider to contemplate the strange situation in the comfort of his weyr.

Daisulyth. Jordeth could be, when he wished, gentle. He was so now, and kept the wariness that would give away the cause of his gentility closely guarded. Mine would meet with yours. Would you join me upon my ledge, and bring yours to have a drink with J'fel within?

Within, J'fel was readying the drinks. Beers, stuff he'd at some point acquired the taste for - he could not quite remember nor place when that point had been. He had not, however, acquired the tendency to drink without cause, and this day had already seen him through two brandies. He dared not offer himself a third, and hoped the beer would be enough to steady him through yet another hint that his Weyr had gone abruptly mad.

As if there weren't problems enough.

I have requested them, Jordeth told his rider, and in answer J'fel threw back the drape that held the autumn chill at bay from the inner chambers of his weyr. One beer, unopened, hung from between two fingers of a hand hanging by his hip. He sipped slowly from the other, watching the sky contemplatively for signs of Daisulyth, or of apocalypse.

[anhydrous]

It was easier to exist when you were being distracted.

Daisulyth knew this very well, and had been keeping tabs on the information passing from dragon to dragon. While many were guarding their thoughts, many others let their conversations drift on the breeze. The anxious brown latched onto the stray words passing through Telgar, not trying to understand, just trying to listen.

I’dalyn was in no mood to talk, but he allowed his mount to rest his head ridiculously in his lap.
That was a comfort, at least.

Jordeth’s familiar voice did not strike the nervous tension, instead sliding beneath it and commanding order, as bronzes so frequently tended to do. The only difference here was a gentle understanding, to which Daisulyth responded tirelessly. If the Weyrleader wishes us, we will come.[/color] He stood, dipping one shoulder, and I’dalyn climbed wordlessly into place. They had been waiting for their call all day.

Telgar's former Weyrlingmaster had already had plenty of time to mull over his situation. He didn’t think of it now, his face a mask of neutrality as Daisulyth landed on his brother’s ledge. The brown had his emotions in check as well, struggling, but carefully calm. It wouldn’t do to have them think that they were mad.

Sliding down effortlessly and throwing a salute to the drinking Weyrleader, I’dalyn dipped his head in a nod and dropped his hand. He couldn’t help but raise one eyebrow at the beer than dangled from J’fel’s fingertips, but didn’t say anything of it. “My duty, Weyrleader,” He offered weakly.

[Omnia Munda]

Wishes you what, thought Jordeth, but did not share the thought with Daisulyth. Instead the weyrleader's dragon curled himself content upon his ledge, leaving ample room for the brown's landing and his rider's dismount. A low rumble cascaded through Jordeth's belly and made the stone beneath him tremble gently, a deep how-do to his guest.

"And duties to you, I'dalyn." J'fel waved the brownrider into his weyr with a supplicative hand: come on, come on. His expression was warm, his mouth wanting to smile but barely held back. "Have a sit," he invited, though a weyrleader's invitations so often were also commands. "I've got beer; you want a bottle? You'll never guess from where."

[anhydrous]

After a moment of settling, Daisulyth stilled himself. With the stillness came the creeping anxieties, one after the other blanketing his mind as he set his heavy head across his folded forearms. You and Yours are well?[/color] He asked out of habit, one eye trained on his host dutifully. Hearing a voice, even if it were his own, briefly cleared the prickly thoughts out of his head. Jordeth was not the most liberal with words, but he commanded attention. Daisulyth would be grateful for that while his rider was otherwise occupied.

Taking the prompt with a nod of his head, I’dalyn entered the weyr and accepted the beer with a gracious lifting of one corner of his mouth. It might be called a smile, but it was horrendously forced.

For a moment he groped in the air for a lighthearted answer, realizing that he wouldn’t even know where the best beer was brewed anymore. Everything had changed. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said honestly, taking the seat with a lopsided slump to his shoulders. “From the best, I’m assuming?” He eyed the unassuming bottle while waiting for an answer, unsure of how much appreciation he should show. J’fel had been casual before, and the alcohol suggested that much hadn’t changed… but still. It was difficult to tell where you stood when the knots you went to bed with were on someone else’s shoulders the next morning.

[Omnia Munda]

We are well, confirmed Jordeth, though the day has been long and promises no reprieve. That the brown and his rider were part of the day's length was an unspoken truth, permitted without cruelty or complaint. But we have had good news from some of it. What has the day brought you?

This question posed, Jordeth fell into silence, politely contemplating the other dragon while awaiting his response.

"I assume the same," J'fel laughed inside the weyr, either unaware of or unbothered by the more serious tack taken by his beast outside with I'dalyn's counterpart. "It was a gift from S'lyn. A whole crate."

The young man's swagger hadn't changed: it was unknowing, unassuming, born of the animal grace with which J'fel prowled through life, bigger than his body. He prowled now through his weyr, leaving I'dalyn to wait for him to grab up and bring over the beers, one in each hand. He swung one forward for the brownrider to take, then fell into a chair of his own, grinning. "From S'lyn! Can't complain, I guess, if those are the gifts I get from my forebears."

Behaving as an example, J'fel pried up the wire and stopper from his bottle and threw back a good swig. He'd either learned to drink the fizzy stuff since S'lyn brought it to him, or woke up this morning a natural lover of ales. In any case, he drank and drank well, and ran the back of his hand over his lips after. "You'll have to tell me what you think of it."

A beat. J'fel wiped his mouth again. "So I heard you dropped in on the weyrlings this morning?"

[anhydrous]

Hopefully the good outweighs the stresses,[/color] Daisulyth said in part, the upward inflection in his voice unmistakably optimistic. But when questioned of his own day, the brown treaded carefully. Our day has been puzzling, unfortunately.[/color] This vague specification suggested something other than the usual dragon memory lapses, but Daisulyth was not about to seem eager to share it. In fact, he’d rather not even think of it.

Inside the weyr, the casual exuberance that J’fel exuded was taken in warily. I’dalyn let himself crack a small smile once or twice, following in his weyrleader’s example with murmurs of assent and half-crafted laughs at the appropriate times.

He was about the take a drink from his bottle when J’fel chose to bring up the topic of their meeting, of which I’dalyn had been waiting with a particular sense of dread. How could he even begin to explain himself? The bottle that had been perched so close to his lips was removed, resting his elbows across his thighs and clutching the beer between them in loose hands.

“I did visit the weyrlings,” he assented plainly. There would be no denying that. “I’ve been checking on them every day since you appointed me to the weyrlingmaster position nearly half a turn ago, and saw no reason to suddenly stop doing my duty.” As far as I’dalyn was concerned, he had been doing his job. First and foremost it seemed important that J’fel realize that. He raised the beer to his mouth and took a drink, only briefly breaking eye contact with the weyrleader.

[Omnia Munda]

J'fel's brows shot high. "Appointed you," he said, not unkindly, and then paused to think. The thinking was clear on his face, making his features contemplatively arch, but it was quite obviously not the thinking of a man who doubted his memory. J'fel lifted a hand and cupped it across his chin, rubbing slowly. He was giving the idea consideration as though he'd never thought of it before, but now saw that it might have merit: I'dalyn, a weyrlingmaster, hmmmm.

After a moment, though, he of course put down his hand and gestured with the bottle in his other, casual, invitational, friendly. "So you've been helping H'gar?"

It was not quite an honest question. It was more like an offering - an opportunity, if I'dalyn saw the chance to take it.

It should prove out in time, replied Jordeth, of good and stress. He stretched himself out a little upon his ledge, careful to leave polite room for his guest to do the same should he so wish. Tell me what else puzzles you, he instructed, leaving aside the matter which their riders discussed already, inside. His tone was one of mild curiosity, but its intensity could not be ignored.

So much for not thinking of it.

[anhydrous]

The brownrider acutely saw his opportunity to twist away and possibly end up leaving J’fel’s weyr later without any harm to his reputation besides mild embarrassment. Perhaps foolishly, he did not choose such a path. Exhaling with the slightest shake of his head, I’dalyn cast his eyes down to the floor. “No,” he said unhappily, taking up the spade with which he could dig the hole to bury his credibility. “What I mean to say is that I am the weyrlingmaster,” he attempted with a frown. “At least, I was.” Wrinkles creased his forehead helplessly. There was nothing particularly lighthearted about his tone.

As casually as J’fel could lounge and smile, I’dalyn could not bring himself to match the demeanor that the weyrleader was providing any longer. This was serious, and the claims that he was making could easily ruin him.

Daisulyth had been listening, mostly to Jordeth, but keeping cautious tabs on the conversation inside the weyr as well. He worried for his rider, worried for their place, and worried that Jordeth would demand more information than he wished to share. Things have changed,[/color] he began cautiously, taking the invitation to relax.

As always he remained curled, limbs held close to his body in his customary pose. However, the rigid fold of his wings relaxed to drape over his sides in what he meant to be a gesture of trust. The other social cues might not have been so well received, particularly what exactly his brother meant him to speak of. It seems that we have been forgotten,[/color] He attempted meekly. How else could he explain such an impossibility?

[Omnia Munda]

Forgotten, echoed Jordeth, clearly startled. His wings even rustled, and he lifted himself up a little onto his elbows, haunches tense. Hardly. But things have changed. Today that is clear.

The weyrleader's bronze held his focus steady for a long moment upon I'dalyn's brown, then tipped his head and turned his gaze down toward the ledge where Pelegaoth often sunned. Or had often sunned, before things changed. Jordeth made no remark, said not a word of the empty stone that jutted out of the wall of the bowl below. Pelegaoth was here to be sure; the Weyr would know if ill had befallen her, or if even she had left for the day. But she was not sunning. And she was not watching, nor listening to, nor thinking of her bronze, her weyrleader's beast, her mate.

These things Jordeth considered, wordlessly, and permitted Daisulyth to eavesdrop upon this silent consideration if he had sensitivity enough to perceive it. The weyrleader's dragon was not troubled, per se. He was simply aware. Things had changed. Perhaps not being alone in this would reassure his clutchmate somewhat.

"The weyrlingmaster," echoed J'fel, and spread the palm of his hand over his chin so that the web between thumb and forefinger barely concealed his suddenly grim mouth. It could not, however, conceal the seriousness in his eyes or the fine lines appearing prematurely in his youthful brow.

"I - " don't remember that, he thought to say, but paused. It felt not quite true, though he could not remember - remembering it. He could only remember not remembering it. Which itself seemed like a strange significance. J'fel made a mental note to ask Jordeth about it. Perhaps, even, to ask Pelegaoth.

"I don't think it happened that way," the weyrleader settled for saying instead, behind his hand. Then he lowered that hand, both palms curled around the beer now, and added, "Not to say you couldn't. Or shouldn't. Might make a fine weyrlingmaster. Good rapport with the weyrlings. Closer to their age." Than H'gar, anyway! But J'fel did not smile. "But if you were the weyrlingmaster, it wasn't - here."

That, too, was not exactly right. But it was the best J'fel could do without explaining everything else he'd heard that day - and those were explanations he did not yet feel sure he wanted the whole Weyr to have, though he couldn't help the hunch that they'd get them just the same. If not from him, from the riders who'd returned.

[anhydrous]

Daisulyth recoiled slightly at Jordeth’s animated response, blinking to clear the curiousness of such a thing. It was uncharacteristic to say the least. He returned his clutchbrother’s stare silently, unnerved by the resolute gaze but willing himself not to show it. When Jordeth looked away Daisulyth followed his new objective, taking in the emptiness of Pelegaoth’s ledge somberly.

Though more strange, perhaps, was what the bronze chose to share. The unshielded observations passed between the two dragons, something vaguely akin to unease staining the absence of the queen’s lithe shape. Daisulyth found this more alarming that Jordeth did, but of course, that was to be expected. Perhaps unknowingly, the weyrleader’s bronze had brought up a topic of much concern. My mate has not spoken to me today,[/color] Daisulyth admitted. His wings rustled as he shifted uncomfortably.

It was very likely that Jordeth had suspected as much all along and was seeking a segway, but his brown clutchbrother didn’t think of such things. Instead thoughts of his Finneth swirled in his head, invariable anxiety prickling in the air.

It certainly wasn’t good to see J’fel with a somber expression. I’dalyn could remember few times that the bronzerider had regarded him so seriously, the corners of his mouth pulled down instead of up. He tried not to flinch under the stare, matching it as best he could. Waiting for J’fel’s words seemed to take an eternity, each phrase tumbling through his mind in silence.

Hope flickered when the weyrleader mentioned merit, but was dampened just as quickly. I’dalyn had already heard those sentiments when he had been asked to take the position. But now that was gone. It seemed unlikely that he would regain his title, but at this point he didn’t really care. He wanted answers. Peace of mind. The fact that J’fel thought that it ‘wasn’t here’ was not enough.

Mulling, the brownrider shook his head. It had happened. “You don’t remember,” he corrected with a frown, not rudely, but probably pointed enough to earn a disapproving stare.

The frustration that clawed at his memory was enough to drive a man to drink, which I’dalyn did. A series of long gulps steadied his thoughts, grasping the half-empty bottle tightly between his fists while he tried to get his foot out of his mouth. “The weyrlingstaff does not remember either. So how is it that some of my,” he paused, remembering too late that his rank ranked had been removed.

Swallowing air he corrected himself this time, head tilted slightly to one side apologetically. “How is it that some of the weyrlings remember me?” If it had been only his mind that was faulty, I’dalyn would have never bothered to push the issue. The fact that he was not alone was the only thing that kept him struggling for answers, his knuckles whitening as he clenched the bottle of his drink.

[Omnia Munda]

Your mate, replied Jordeth, unknowing. The words were empty; he had no image, no gold nor green, to apply to the concept. So far as he knew Daisulyth had never had a mate, though whether this was because the affections of greens were beneath Jordeth's attention or because the world had changed overnight was impossible to say. In any case, the segue - if indeed it had been one - fell short of smooth. Perhaps yours has changed, too, he allowed, as a sort of bland reassurance.

"I don't remember," agreed J'fel, at the appropriate interval. It was easier to say it when it was an echo of the other man's sentiment, this thing that was mostly true, logically true, obviously true and yet felt not exactlyright. Despite this relief, it was a flush of sympathy that flooded his face as his onetime classmate corrected himself midstride. It hurt a little - it made the weyrleader sad - to see the man so attached to this notion that had never been, and now be deprived of his delusion.

J'fel swallowed the sadness with beer as a chaser. As he resettled the bottle between his knees, he asked slowly, with great caution: "Which ones?"