Deliver Us (Azzy)

Halventh put one arm forward at a time, talons biting into the rock as he worked his hips back, tail flicking as he sank his ribs groundward and his lower spine up. His beaky jaws irised open in a breathy yawn that ended on an unintended growl. Every inch of his back glittered, fanning wings leaving glistening strings of oil in their wake. His eyes narrowed to slits, but the green whirled quick within as he glanced over to his observer, the older but incompletely adult Viridian Ambrith.

A human hand touched the dragon's outstretched wrist. L'xon's fingers could not close the entire girth of the limb anymore. Halventh untensed his claws from the earth, and L'xon turned his arm over to get at his wrist with an oil cloth. The Blue laid down on his stomach with a sigh, shifting his hindquarters to one side so he could extend his legs out fully before the Viridian.

Can you not tell I was showing off? he murmured. Halventh was always honest about his predilections. L'xon sat down with the captive limb hanging wrist to elbow over his lap and scrubbed at the conundrum of velvet-tough dragonhide.

Don't see why you have to wait for your oiling to do it. You're handsome without it.

Halventh's wings quivered, then he planted his muzzle against L'xon's yellow hair, sweet-scented snorts of appreciation billowing through the strands. L'xon used the opportunity to oil his dragonet's throat. Then he grabbed for another blue arm, grunting as he hauled it into place. Halventh propped himself on his newly oiled elbow, drooping his head against his hand as he regarded Ambrith.

He looks itchy, he purred. You know, my lovely creature, I am beginning to think dearest Ambrith is not watching for only my magnificence. With a few months on him, Halventh matched shoulders with the tallest draybeasts and filled with muscle where it might have counted were he permitted to fly, but he still lacked the fluid contours and strong delineations of a full-grown dragon. Sometimes he was aware of his lack.

I was thinking that too, L'xon replied helpfully. Halventh's wedge-shaped head rolled back toward him, nostrils wrinkling.

Why, it is almost as if we can hear each other's thoughts all the time, the Blue sniffed.

You make it sound so predictable! L'xon chided back, climbing to his feet. "Halventh, I am going to get another oil bucket. They're just inside the commons. I'll be right back!"

What ever are you doing? Halventh eyed the three-quarters-full bucket of oil right by his arm.

Going to find out why Ambrith is guarding us.

Oh! The dragonet betrayed his surprise in a blink, then laid his chin to the Bowl floor and went back to giving Ambrith his ooziest emerald gaze. Such a clever thing you are.

L'xon jogged into the Barracks, and once he was out of the sunlight he headed down the boys' hallway, to Day'ar's room. But the Viridian's rider was not about. Oh well. At least he'd have time to get back before his alibi ran out. He jogged back down the hall, glancing into his own room out of- well, a sense of propriety, perhaps.

The mirror slid along gravity's line, a pearly face that twisted toward L'xon as he peeked into the room, shocked by its own downfall. The handmade frame, scavenged from tabletops and chair seats that had no other use after last Autumn's fires burned away their matching components, could not protect the glass from its own weight slamming onto the stone floor. Dischordant music blossomed from the site of the inanimate murder, searing L'xon's ears while his eyes stayed fascinated with the dozens of individual shards that jetted out from under the frame, blown out by the impact in a wave of glittering silver.

Most of the pieces landed among the cloth-strewn stringbed of his dragon. Halventh was so possessed by his current sunbath that he had not quite caught on to L'xon's experience. Besides, the Blue had decided it was in his rider's nature, human nature, to have a heart that jumped and pattered about like a flit in a jar, ceaselessly excitable. From the beginning he had pegged L'xon as one of the calmer sorts, and it was nice to know he did not have to deal with the buzz of anxiety in the back of his brain all the time. It left more room for contemplation of his own bony rump and mantled, oily wings.

So Halventh remained unaware of the tragedy: it was his mirror cracked by the moment's misadventure. L'xon had just been the one to fetch it and frame it for him, so he would not cut himself holding the glass. L'xon's slack jaw lasted only as long as it took the Blueweyrling to survey the rest of the room, gaze sticking to his well-dusted coat before returning to the infinite glitter spread over his floor. On wherhide bootsoles he advanced, a crinkling sonata playing under his feet. He pulled a spare towel from Halventh's bed and knelt to start sweeping up the dangerous shards. Though he had the cloth over his palm, some of the broken pieces still poked through at him, and invisible flakes stung his fingers.

His impulse to make safe his Blue's nest overwhelmed even his desire to discover the culprit, but when he got close enough to the fallen mirror, an unfamiliar square poking out from beneath the frame recommended itself. The prankster- and he thought this prank about as funny as setting off wherry traps on a dragonet -had left a gift. L'xon frowned, staring down the wrapped parcel from his crouching point a few feet off. He looked down at his hands filled with glass, then tossed what he had in a towel and tied it up as a makeshift bag. He set the fabric container down and took a few more mirror-grinding steps to the frame he'd built, lifting it far enough to drag out the shard-strewn surprise. It was fairly light. If it had been a box packed with firestone and flint, the weight would have told him.

He noticed one of his water jugs had gotten over to the wall sometime in the ruckus, and without thinking it over too much he carried it back to his bedside and replaced it. Then he sat down on his bed with the raggedly covered present, running his hands down the sides. He turned it around and loosened the cover at one corner, but hesitated, then laid the package aside.

His soap-dusted coat took a belated tumble from its peg. L'xon only looked after the too-pale pile of leather on the floor for a time. But eventually, there was a sigh, and a rise from the bed. He crouched down to collect the mess, rubbing the spreadable soapsand motes between his fingers. A fairly intact handprint by the criminal had been planted on one sleeve. L'xon tugged the wherhide straight, then laid his own hand over the scuff. His long fingers eclipsed the vandal's reach a little, but otherwise they left similar signatures.

L'xon looked back at the water jug, finally attempting to put the scene together. But his eyes wanted to drift right of the jug while he thought, focusing on the darkness beneath his cot. The Blueweyrling gave a vigorous rub at the crooked bridge of his nose. No...

His face tilted so far to the right that his blond hair hung away from his head in a stubby yellow curtain. He squinted, lips parting, then blinked a few times and squinted again, leaning out of his crouch far enough that he had to set his hand on the floor to steady himself. His mouth worked around the suggestion of an untimely grin. He rubbed his other hand at his face, his chin this time, forehead lining in deep support of his eyebrows' upward cants.

"Day'ar."

"It's..." But L'xon swallowed back his first response to the other Weyrling's near-bawling. The incident with the Weyrbrats had cautioned him against leniency, especially where sharp objects were involved. "It's not okay," he amended. "It's alright to...feel what you feel. Be scared. But you need to have better control over what happens because of it." The Bluerider rubbed his fingers through his hair, but started to smile. "I accept your apology." A brief silence. L'xon rested both hands on the floor as he tried to get a better look at the man under his cot.

He had left his jacket behind in a dusty clump. "No one was bothering you, right? You would have told Ambrith...and we would have all heard about it then." L'xon's brown eyes were fixed earnestly on the crumpled silhouette of his friend. "What were you hiding from?" He held out his hand. "And, could you come out now?" His arm was steady for a second, then drooped as he recalled who he was talking to. "Uhm, you don't have to buy me anything. Or jump off anything, though the bridges around here are pretty low to the water. But I scrounged up everything from the Weyr, mostly. Except the jacket I guess. But it's not as if they're going to let me go cold or unwashed for very long."

L'xon chuckled. "We're dragonriders, or we want to be anyway. There's already provisions in place for all the mischief we get up to. It was an accident, or- or a series of accidents. They happen." He raised his shoulders in an accommodating shrug. "We're Weyrlings too," he added, self-inflicted modesty provoking a soft smile. "We're not known as the richest of Pernese. What you are talking about replacing...that would be a lot of Marks. Oh, and did you need something? You were in here before- before all this happened. And it wasn't just a prank."

Though he tried to declare the final fact without question, L'xon's voice shifted uncertainly. Ambrith had been watching. "So perhaps the Weyrlingmaster sent you, or you just had a question," he offered, eager to explain away that tiny, unsubstantiated doubt.

"It's best to let other people decide if your actions warrant justice," L'xon said, altering Day'ar's word use as much as the angle at which the other approached this problem. "And even then, sometimes circumstances are unfair, and you have the right to challenge your treatment." As Day'ar began preening with a diligence that would make Halventh blush, L'xon looked him over and then plucked one of the more genuine flecks the Viridianrider had missed from his shoulder. It was a grain of soapsand, and crumbled between his thumb and forefinger when he lifted it up for inspection. He lowered his hand, considering Day'ar's many offers. It would make the man feel better, he thought, if he fed the concept just a little.

The Blueweyrling nodded. "We are about the same size. I guess anything you have would fit me. ...a coat would be nice. Thank you." Day'ar had a mirror of his own, and "lots of coats." L'xon grasped Day's background as being substantially better bred than his own, but apparently he hadn't been keeping up with the modern life and times too closely, for the source of all these belongings escaped him. Sometimes the children of wealthy Craftsmen could be timid this way, and cheated out of everything they owned by strangers claiming offense. Usually it was a scam of the Holdless, and L'xon's jaw set at the situation's similarity.

But he did need the jacket. His eyes met Day'ar's in time to catch the unconscious flick toward the bed, and when the Viridianrider proceeded to ogle his shoes, L'xon's practiced mind filled in the unmentioned details. He left Day to his foot inspection and bent over the bed to retrieve the curious square. Now that he knew who it was from, L'xon undressed the package without a word.

A piece of blank sand-colored slate.

The Firefinder's mouth quirked to one side. He turned the slate around, took in a sharp breath. The part between his lips was so small the air whistled out as he exhaled. L'xon fell into silent observation of the painting for almost a minute, then he turned around, pink-cheeked. "Rennin was very honest about my nose," he announced gleefully, dark eyes wet at the corners. "She's dragonless still, though not for long, and so she isn't allowed here yet. So she asked you. That's about the whole tale, isn't it?" He wanted to hug the slate to his chest, but he continued to hold it gingerly at the corners so as not to smear the paint. "You and her, you are kind to me." There was more to it than everyday politeness. "I need to show Halventh- oh, he's seeing it already."

I like it, the dragon shared, though only with his rider. You must ask her how she contrived that shade of blue. It is my color. You should also commission more pictures. Of me. But perhaps you need not say anything...she will simply be walking along one day and spy me, then become inspired!

L'xon had to bite his lower lip as he inadvertently imagined Rennin just "walking along" without any creeping or skulking. When he regained control of his facial muscles, he bowed his head slightly to Day'ar. "Thank you so much!"

"Your own dragon said that?" L'xon asked, grinning over the top edge of the painting. He raised his chin. "I don't believe it." But this nonsense of obscuring Rennin would not sit as lightly. "You know who Rennin is, Day," the Blueweyrling said, voice firming up. "It's definitely her handiwork, and she deserves credit for it." Again and again, he had to question why Day'ar acted as he did. Why pretend Rennin had nothing to do with it?

It took him longer to puzzle up a few possibilities this time. Maybe she had asked Day'ar to erase her participation. Well, the Candidate had another thing coming if she thought she could gift him his moment of Impression all over again and not reap her due praise. But he would handle her later. L'xon headed over to where the mirror had rested, glass ringing beneath his boots. He moved the useless frame aside and leaned the portrait against the wall in its place.

The cloth cover he stretched out on the stone in front of the painting, in case it fell for some reason. "Rennin is the most wonderful girl I've ever met," he hummed as he smoothed out the wrinkles in the cover. Oh, but he had missed one: "Except my wife of course." The Blueweyrling swallowed, then got up and backed away from the cloth, turning on Day'ar again. "I need to finish up with Halventh now, if there's nothing else. And he's not upset at all, either. He doesn't need a mirror to tell him he's pretty." The blond grinned on behalf of his Blue's ego.

Tucking the back of one wrist into the other hand's palm, he examined the reddish dents on the undersides of his fingers. "I just want to say again: you're really nice for doing this even when it doesn't bring you any comfort. I don't mind you at all." He closed his fingers back up, and dropped both hands to his sides. "Since you know Rennin," and Lex was not allowing this to be less than a fact. "Maybe you can help me help her at the next Hatching. I think her chances aren't assisted much by her behavior. She hides in the back of the girls' area. Maybe the dragonets don't even notice her. But if we could just cheer her on, or speak to the Candidatemaster...she could be right at the front. A hatchling will surely come to her then. She's too important not to Impress."

L'xon quelled his first instinct, which was to dismiss the gray pillie entirely as an animal and a dangerous one. The insect was not like a dog, nor even a cat. Day'ar claimed to feel something from her, and the other one. Like a firelizard, maybe, though the Blueweyrling was coming to resent these imperfect bonds, mockeries of the proper love between a dragon and his rider. He realized that was not a very fair assessment, but it was a notion lodged in his gut, harder to shake than other sorts of thoughts.

"The Candidatemasters should know how to handle all types of people," he praised unevenly. In his own experience he knew them only as assigners of chores and teachers of lessons about Weyr life, not necessarily rehabilitators. L'xon supposed his own placid behavior had not made any case for needing extra help. But Rennin, marvelous as her strangeness was, could also be easily frightened. Tender.

But Day'ar might-- no, definitely did know her mind better. And if he thought the 'Masters could not assist... "Ask away, I guess," he offered, restraining his brows to the minorest of wrinkles over the Viridianweyrling's choice of consultant. He thought all of Starfall's plots centered around her own desires, or hurting others, but that was not polite to say. So Lex did not object. He smiled.

You could just tell him what you think.

There are ways civilized people go about these things. You will learn.

Hm. Halventh watched Ambrith glide around in the water. He was quite happy basking on the shore himself, though every time a human or dragon (and in one case an enterprising cat) came near he had to turn around to present himself to him or her. Otherwise he just oriented on Ambrith, nose a needy compass needle that tracked the Viridian so as to keep his best flank presented.

"Let's keep it in mind. At least the queens are nice enough to provide a warning sign for when there will be a clutch." L'xon chuckled. Three whole months before the eggs even dropped after a Flight, and longer still for them to hatch. "Thanks again, Day..." he leaned to one side, blinking as glass crunched ominously beneath his boot. "For everything. I'm going to go get some cleaning supplies." He might very well have to leave the Viridianweyrling to his work after that. Attempts to assist would be construed as further burdens to be repaid.