Trouble Begetting Trouble... Again [Ruin!]

Little did the Trader know that the flits heralded the arrival of his blood-brother, both having led their larger bonded directly to the man who was—as far as Sebol was concerned—obviously hiding and up to no good. He rounded the corner (eyes taking in movement at the end of the long stone corridor) and strode into the storeroom hands on hips directly in the middle of Xiro’el’s explanation on how the firelizards could prod the pillies into submission by forcing them to curl up. Fantastic. For one long moment he stood there his eyes every conceivable meaning of the word disappointed and apparently happy just to gaze upon the man—for now.

Really his pausing was an attempt to quell the anger he felt, most of which was residual from his horrible day and the subsequent argument with Daymar. Of course he couldn’t just stand there forever, it wasn’t as if his blood-brother could tell why he had suddenly arrived—why in the sharding dust was the man even down here to begin with? Cold grey eyes latched onto the bucket in the man’s hands and then returned to the green eyes which were looking increasingly uncomfortable. ”We need to speak, but first—what are your intentions with that bucket?”

”And what, Xiro’el,” Sebol demanded. ”Leave her to shrivel and die if she can’t find her way out of the bucket? Or did you not think that far ahead because it simply doesn’t involve you?” Sighing softly he shook his head, one large hand coming up to palm his forehead. For the ex-Herder anger was best expressed as more words than the majority of people had ever heard him utter in their entire life—most of which would be sharp, direct, and not curbed with his typical empathetic knowledge of what a person needed to hear. He pulled no punches, but at the same time he would not degrade himself by turning into a hot-air filled bellows. He was better than that.

”You’re sharding better than this.” At least he hoped the man was—he had to be—somewhere. Deep inside where apparently no sharding light would touch, there had to be good. Honorable. Dutiful. Useful. ”I just went through the most amazing discussion with Daymar, and he is convinced, absolutely convinced that you’re trying to kill him!” By this point the large man had begun pacing a few feet away from the doorway—for all intents and purposes blocking off Xiro’el’s escape, though completely unaware that he was doing so: Everything was spilling out having come to a head previously.

”When are you going to stop and consider that one of these stupid childish pranks is likely to kill someone? Have you considered that? Maybe you’re so used to solving problems with your dagger that you’ve forgotten that not everyone has the making of a Holdless.” Scoffing angrily Sebolaren turned on his heel again. His voice had not risen at all; it had remained nearly monotonous save for choice words to emphasis his point—he didn’t even bother looking at the man save for brief flashes: The Trader would never meet his eyes anyway, what was the point. ”I understand that he’s attacked you, I understand that you find him cowardly, but you need to be the better man—this isn’t the answer.”

”Yes, I’m well aware that you’re both completely dim like a useless glow and incapable of realizing that neither of you wants the other dead but you are both simply acting in reaction to one another. Unfortunately Daymar refuses to listen to me, so I’m coming to you hoping you’ve got enough sense in your head not to continue on with these antics.” Pinching the bridge of his nose tightly between thumb and forefinger, the ex-Herder continued to stalk back and forth while attempting to ward off the exhaustion headache which was threatening to overtake him and render him speechless—literally—from blinding agony. Rare, but terrible, it seemed as if he was destined to have a more terrible night than anticipated.

”The dead tunnelsnakes for one. I was hoping they were simply an offering from one of the twins, but they’re being stuffed under his bed. Harassing the pillies for another—he believes you’re attempting to remove them because they’re his only protection: On the upside,” Sebol paused, hand lifted in the air as he offered a sardonic and entirely sarcastic smile. ”You’ve helped cement the bond between the grey pillie and Daymar.” Not much of an allowance, but at least it was something acting in favor of the Trader. Not much, but something.

”I really have absolutely no idea why you’re persisting with this. You are a Dragonrider and you have him absolutely convinced that you’re destroying Tigreath and liable to light your entire wing on fire—he’s half tempted to walk off simply because he feels if he Impresses it’s only to a life soon to be cut short by you! What else are you doing to the man? Honestly he’s convinced you pushed him into the lake and stripped his clothes off—but I know that one isn’t true.”

”Yes, I understand. Believe me, I’ve been accused just as much as you for the simple fact that I attempted to defend you.” Running one hand through his already mussed hair, Sebolaren sighed and continued. ”You’ve obviously gone too far with the flits if they’re doing things you haven’t even asked them to do, spying is one thing, but they’re going to step off of that line and cause real damage—fix it. No more tunnelsnakes.” Stars above knew Daymar would never forgive the man at this point anyway, but the less he had to hear about it, the happier he would be as a whole.

”Control Avsiran, I don’t know how you train him, how you spoil him, anything, but he was playing with the grey pillie earlier—not even an hour ago—which is probably the reason she was hunting you down. He was rolling her around, trying to chew on her. She’s going to grow a lot bigger and mark my words if you don’t control him he will end up crippled if not dead.” Certainly he was aware that the grey pillie did not offer mercy—why would he be hiding from her in the bowels of the Weyr? He hated it here more than he hated…well…anything.

”As for ruining Tigreath; that isn’t for me to say. I’m not even Impressed, I’m so far out of the circle I’m non-existent, but we both know that you’re going to ruin everything by running someday—we both know you have no honor or loyalty connected to this Weyr. I only ask that you don’t include Daymar in your attempts to prove how many rules you can break and how much trouble you can cause—I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t.” Pausing in his pacing he squared off, hands on hips, grey eyes hard on the Trader.

”I will try to speak with him again but I doubt it will do much good; he’s absolutely convinced you’ve been touching him, and his things, and ruining everything—confronting him set him off and he barely stopped at telling me to wed you. At any rate. I wash my hands of it after I speak with him—I’m not going to be in the middle of this mess further.” It was unfortunate that, at the end of those words, the door behind him swung inward and slammed shut.

”I will correct him when given opportunity, most of what he’s doing to Daymar has been out of my reach, as it has apparently been out of yours—not that Daymar will believe that. I also don’t believe you’re ruining her, she’s a dragon, and she isn’t some toy that can be broken. She hasn’t damaged herself or crippled herself—considering what she has interest in doing I’d consider that proof that you’re capable of controlling her. “ He gave a soft snort and shook his head, his voice softening in response to the emotions he could sense being buried in his blood-brother’s tone. ”You are not a burden. I do not regret the oath I made, nor do I regret associating with you. I know you’re a man who has not yet found his place, but unlike those who do not know you—I do not find you wanting even while you remain Holdless.”

Of course the door had then shut rendering their conversation over—he wasn’t going to press the Trader in such a sensitive situation; quite the opposite. Sebol was likely not much more comfortable with the idea of being stuck in here than the Trader was, but he didn’t fall victim to the same terror the man did; for whatever reason. Moving closer to the man, and thus stepping further into the glowlight, the ex-Herder called softly for his flit. Sigard was willing having expended very little of his energy chasing his brother around or the angry grey pillie—thankfully. The Blue landed on his outstretched hand from darkness as if the shadows themselves had detached and become a living creature, but as if to disprove this theory, Sebol wrapped one large finger around that muzzle—pulling the triangular head close to his face as he stared into those swirling eyes.

There was a plethora of people who could be called upon to find them, but the most likely would be those of the wherhold—more likely still would be Edison, or even Kalenna. Edison for his ownership of firelizards—certainly he’d be able to follow Sigard’s directions to this tunnel system and Kalenna for her sheer determination. Something told the ex-Herder that Kalesk would find them even if her head had been cut off: Just to prove she could and was Queen for a reason. Sending the firelizard was as simple as a flick of the wrist, and Sebol returned his attention to the Trader. ”Everything is fine. There are plenty of people available to let us out. You’re safe.”

”No, it doesn’t,” he agreed quietly, instead easing himself up onto a stack of boxes beside the Trader and eyeing him quietly through the dim lighting cast by the glowbasket. He sat like this for a moment, possibly longer, but he did finally speak when he saw the silence was taxing to the Trader. ”They don’t understand you. Tell me, how many of those born in stone walls do? You know I would have gladly joined you once, but I’ve lost everything since then. If this Weyr can give me a reason for being—a cause to fight that’s beyond my own selfishness—I will accept it.” A wane smile pulled at his lips as he stretched out a large hand to give his blood-brother a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

”People always fear what they don’t understand. Perhaps they see something they lack in you, perhaps they see bits of themselves in you, or perhaps they like you enough that they’re concerned because they don’t understand. True, Daymar cannot be counted within that group, but you’ve made other acquaintances besides me who haven’t attempted to shun you, yes?” Lowering his voice even more in an attempt to force the Trader into concentrating on something other than their current situation, Sebol shrugged his shoulders and gave another smile. ”I simply wanted to redirect your tricks away from possible destruction—I don’t want anyone to be hurt, or anything in the case of our animals.”

Sigard had not returned, and might not for some time depending on who he found and how hard it was for them to be lead to this spot. For now, at least, it was best to distract the Cyanweyrling as much as possible—hopefully Tigreath wasn’t above them somewhere attempting to claw her way through feet of stone: Would the Trader be able to control his dragon when he was filled with so much fear? He seemed a stubbourn enough man for it, if he could find it in himself.

Snaking his arm out he captured the Trader’s right hand within his own, his fingers flipping that slender palm upward to trace the faintest scar he could barely discern in the darkness with the pad of his thumb. ”I have selfishness. Who doesn’t? There are things I want only for myself—there were times I wondered why I did not Impress where others did. There are still days I whine about the things done to me even though I walked hand in hand with the men who branded me. I pity myself for losing my Craft, my father, my family—what little of it I had. I know selfishness, Tradermine, would you judge me so harshly? “ One brow arched into the shadows, his face outlined by the glowlight as he gave that hand a tug to recall the man’s attention to his face. ”If you would not, then why berate yourself for human impulses?”

”They lack what they do, or have what faults they possess. I am sure they will sit me down at length and discuss their concerns. Impression doesn’t seem to change a person save that they can be certain they will never be alone again. Of course I speak from the outside, but I watch you all not change. Instead you were supported, propelled, uplifted. However, if you were truly broken, or worthless—you would not have been chosen.” Pausing a moment to consider his next words, his head lolled sideways as he stared down at the bucket in which Avsiran was currently cowering.

”Is it such a horrible thing that you aren’t immediately ready to lay down your life and the life of the dragon who loves you unconditionally for the sake of a people who wouldn’t deign to look at you much less show you hospitality or thanks? The reason for being a Dragonrider is one that you must find, but it is in there somewhere—it always has been. Maybe you will leave, maybe you will transfer from Weyr to Weyr, maybe you’ll make this a home—that takes time. You still have plenty of it until you can even contemplate strapping up and disembarking.”

”Dalibor would go on without you, and the wings would probably be safer for your absence if you weren’t wholly adjusted to fighting Thread. You would be one to break ranks to avoid Thread and cause a destructive event that could lead to losing other dragons. My point isn’t what will be, or could be, it is why—all the questions, and reasons.” Once the man had reclaimed his hand, Sebol leaned back against the stone wall, arms crossing comfortably across his chest as he watched the Trader quietly. For now, at least, the man seemed consumed with the conversation, and his bitterness, rather than their particular predicament.

”What isn’t Tigreath? Has there existed a dragon who did not rise against Thread? I wonder what her reaction will be when Thread does fall.” Honestly, he was confused; what was he convinced would turn his dragon into something other than her true self? Was flying against Thread not dangerous work? Formations, Wings—they hadn’t even properly begun flight lessons yet. Somewhere he wondered if the man before him had developed an idea of being a Dragonrider based upon the personality of his dragon.

Curious eyes followed the Trader as he bent to scoop up his firelizard, and then he listened attentively to the words as they spilled from that silvertongue—far more troubled now than was typical. ”Dragons were bred in defense of Pern; to be chosen as a Rider is an honor—you’ll need to forgive those who grew up in those traditions. I would be disappointed only that you risked the safety of yourself and your dragon to Thread. All it would take would be a wingsail Threadscored and you could both be devoured alive. Also, as far as you’ve said, you still haven’t asked her what she wants—though I suppose I won’t complain: Perhaps she’ll have a better understanding of her purpose after Wing Drills and witnessing Threadfall. What, Tradermine, will you do if she wants to stay here? Or do you override her desires because you know better?”

”I’m not saying you are a coward, Xiro’el, I’m saying that you’re an unknown force during Threadfall. You are not ready to work as a cohesive unit against a threat which terrorizes a people for whom you have no sympathy. Who are you loyal to? The answer is Tigreath. You would give anything to save her above all else because of that loyalty. It is an objective statement—that is why they believe you are a hazard. As for ruining Tigreath; I would disagree with them. I have not seen her injured, or strained—she is well fed, cared for, and has yet to exhibit any signs of stress. Certainly if you had not been controlling her she would have found some way to wound herself, but she hasn’t even lost so much as a talon.”

Sebol did, however, hold up a hand to interject his own comment to Xiro’el’s rebuttal. ”Safer in a Wing than alone where you might not make it to the next cave, or where you’ll between in a panic and find your mind torn between the Weyr or a cavern you remember. However, all of that leads into what has basically smote the words from your mouth.” It had, too. Asking him what she wanted. The ex-Herder was certain the Trader had considered the notion with how still he had become when his blood-brother had asked. Perhaps somewhere inside he realized that Tigreath would make a choice that did not ally with his own. Twisting his back gently to work out the tightening muscles; Sebol leaned toward the man from his position on the boxes, not even minding that the man was no longer facing him.

”If she chooses what you do not want, will you accept it, or will you force her to away with you?”

Stretching his legs, Sebol slid off of the boxes upon which he’d been sitting and paced deeper into the storeroom away from the Trader, his fingertips filching a few of the glows from the nearest basket to take with him back into the recesses. It was a curious, but drawn out conversation he was having with the Trader, and it was obvious the man was becoming less inclined to answer as the discussion progressed—most likely because he didn’t want to deal with it at all. As he didn’t want to deal with most things. It was cowardice, but not in the typical sense of fear—more intrinsically it was denial: The Cyanweyrling had always denied everything intrinsic to himself save for his lust of freedom.

Fingertips dancing along various shelves and the canisters, crates, vials, and equipment held therein, he focused mostly on where to drive the conversation: Perhaps he had distracted the man enough from the tight stone walls that he wouldn’t remember, then again there wasn’t a reason to rely on ignorance in the face of obvious problems. ”What will you do with yourself once you are free, Xiro’el? Have you plans aside from traveling the open expanses of Pern? I can’t imagine you’ll resort to a wagon and runner with dragonwings at your disposal.” He certainly wouldn’t given the option, and he adored runners in every form.

”Would you ever come back? You’d be leaving people who genuinely cared for you and your dragon. Edison, Taavi, Reylia, Saia, Atenna,” The words trailed off into the darkness as he smiled—not that the man could see it. ”Me. Though I know you won’t believe it what with all the complaining I do that you’re getting me neck deep in trouble. Keeps me on my toes, though.” For as much bitterness as the Trader harbored within his heart, there were plenty of people who enjoyed his company, and would want to see him again. ”You’d need supplies as well. Besides—we could always go for a trip down to Southern to amuse ourselves on Rest Days—or even to help out with other Weyrs when I’m not on Wing duty.” There he went; making plans for the future that didn’t yet exist.

Sebolaren couldn’t help but feel a certain sort of pride that he’d thus far made enough of a good impression in the Cyanweyrling’s life at the Weyr that he was a welcome addition to the list. ”Some days I’m not entirely sure,” he spoke softly, not even signifying exactly which part he was referencing, nor elaborating on the words. He returned to a silence while the Trader spoke his part—silly to make plans so early: Sebol agreed with this, but the Cyanrider’s fixation on the word ‘we’ was curious. Sebol wasn’t certain if it was curious because of the fixation, or because he had used it.

Of course he had absolutely no intention of leaving his Weyr—they would need him, but there would be free days: betweening.There were always possibilities, and always ways to meet friends in safe places where Thread wouldn’t fall to ruin the fun. Sebol had simply wanted to remind the Trader of this fact—as bitter as the man may be, but his words were cut off in his mouth as he heard the telltale scrape of stone on stone heralding the door being unlocked and opened.

They were being set free. Xiro’el had managed not to completely lose it—was that in part due to him? Perhaps, but regardless Sebolaren was proud of the man. He had controlled his own impulses—something that was typically lacking beyond what anyone would accuse him of Tigreath. ”It appears we are free.”