Reputation (Sian's Touching)

Sian was a small man, and light on his feet, but when his dark eyes locked onto the gigantic form that appeared from the stands, there was no trace of intimidation in them, and for a moment, while he was too far away to see, utter hatred flashed there. If not for the sweet, bulky creature in front of him, Sian would have put the world out of Q'sis's misery then and there, and let the sands slowly decay the body. A lad, good, as if the mere fact of Sian's flat chest made him superior to an endless flow of simpering ladies.

Well, Sian had met several of those ladies, and they were good women one and all - and not in the way Q'sis had meant it, when he flung the words at Irohvyne like a label and a prison sentence. Sian was no better, and he tensed under the lazy scrutiny. Was that all it took to obtain such a reception? There were two apparent differences between himself and a woman, the chest and the slight bulge at the apex of his thighs. He'd never been able to grow much of a beard and was clean-shaven now; his hair was long, bound in its runnertail; most of the female Candidates dressed similarly. But apparently the secondary sexual characteristics, and something about his stance perhaps, made him...acceptable.

Irohvyne had turned Sian against this man with her words, but Q'sis was sized up in return, and found wanting. He was tall for a Trader, but he and Sian did share similar characteristics; they could have been related. Maybe they were; Sian didn't know the man's past, but the familiarity to those so despised only made him bristle even further, somewhere inside.

On the outside, he returned a cool smile. Reputation was everything, and he would not antagonise Q'sis today. "I am Sian, of Crescent Hold," he returned, and followed into the chaos of the eggs. The largest one, he noted. A lad. Good. Probably the tanrider hoped this one contained a king, a future leader of dragons and men, and Sian's thoughts flew away. A king to fly clutching females like the honking tan. A king to force him to copulate with helpless women...or Q'sis himself, and his fake smile turned sardonic.

He rested his slim hand against the smooth shell and asked, all pleasant innocence, "What do you think this one contains? A lovely tan like your own?" Let Q'sis take it in whatever way made him happiest. Ignorance, so he could lecture on how he would not have led a boy to a subqueen egg. Adoration, that Sian thought he could be like Q'sis someday. Simple curiosity, wondering his opinions on the clutch over which he presided. It was nothing but a challenge, a steel gauntlet to the face that Q'sis would never recognise for what it was. What did he think of his precious lady, and why did he hate all others?

There was a slight twinkle in Sian's eyes for a moment. Ah, blame the Candidatemasters - both of whom, for the dragon candidates, were women. Patiently, his fingers stroking along the shell, he said, "I have been taught that size might easily be an illusion, when it comes to dragon eggs. It is true that they often hint at the size, and thus the color, of the dragonet contained within, but some are born with thick shells and thus appear larger, and some the other way around. Then, of course, the eye might be deceived by...hope. I had thought it was more likely these beauties would lay another like themselves than such a rare prize as a bronze or iron."

It would be prying to inquire further into the workings of this man's dangerous mind, so he let the comment about Unath go, but filed it away for further study. His slim hand remained on the egg a moment longer; the lingering was more so that Q'sis should think he desired the king within as any good boy should, not because he did. In terms of his ambitions, a king would be the best thing, but Sian considered the Weyrs' system of sex-based leadership entirely beyond repair. He would not be forced into slavery by a dragon's urges, and he wondered if the little king (maybe) in the egg did sleep, or brushed against his mind and found the hatred of his kind there.

At last he stepped forward and touched the green egg. No more did he want a clutching female, sentenced to bring new riders into this lifestyle, to mate when she mated. Still, Q'sis might be entirely wrong about all of it; he made assumptions, and was so certain that Sian ferociously wished him mistaken. "I'll be where I belong," he said. "If you are correct about the sizes, this lady will come nowhere near me. Let's hope she's healthy...and not a murderer."

Would Q'sis hear the edge in his voice? He would not take it for accusation; he didn't know what shared Trader blood meant to Sian, whose rough fingers caressed the egg. He might have a soft job as a steward's assistant now, but he was no stranger to work or self-defense. Never would be.