The End of It All [Kila]

[Nia]

She'd only just woken up, and Avalle already felt miserable.

Beyond miserable. She didn't even want to open her eyes. The memory of the Flight was painfully solid in her head, and all she wanted was to stay asleep and not bother facing the world at all. She wanted to cry but the tears wouldn't fall and they probably wouldn't. Avalle had long since taught herself not to cry at every little thing that upset her, even though she'd be very much justified in this case. However, asleep or not, she would never show the man next to her any sort of weakness. It was still her Weyr and she was still in charge. It wasn't D'lios', and it never would be. She would make sure of it.

Could she, though? The brunette turned over in the bed, avoiding the man still asleep (hopefully) next to her. No matter how she tried to explain it, and the fact that she and Callistath were not in the right mindset, the blame would ultimately fall on her. Who would respect her now? She'd already been fretting enough about not living up to Fajra and Kalith, now she never would. No one would ever look up to her after this. She was ruined, she was a bad as Roha. They'd all hate her, and they were right to.

That was a train of thought that brought her close to tears. Her Gold dragon, still entwined with Perbiath, was also waking up, but Avalle pushed her dragon away. She didn't want to deal with anything Callistath had to say to her. They hadn't listened to each other during the flight and they'd brought their own downfall upon themselves. It was both their fault, but Avalle was blaming Callistath and Callistath was blaming her rider. Neither wanted to say anything to each other, so they didn't.

The lack of comfort from her dragon only made Avalle feel worse.

She finally sat up and looked over at D'lios, thoughts whirling in her head. She could just suffocate him right now. Smother him with one of his own Hold's pillows. Get rid of the problem before it ruined her. She felt her anger flare and then die down again, crushed by another bought of self-defeating thoughts. She couldn't do it. It wasn't as though she could exile herself, and perhaps some people would even praise her for killing the man, but most would probably just call her crazy for it. She wouldn't be Senior Weyrwoman anymore, that's for sure. In fact, she likely wouldn't be a Weyrwoman at all. The thought of being disgraced like that made her want to vomit. Murdering him, as satisfying as it would be, was out of the question.

It was hard to do, but Avalle took a few deep breaths and managed to calm herself. First thing she was going to do was probably punch D'lios in the face, at the very least, and then she was going to go between a couple times. She couldn't even muster up the anger to hit the Lord Holder-turned-Weyrleader, however. As much as she wanted to, she just felt far too, well, down. She felt sluggish and depressed. There was anger there, of course, but right now she couldn't feel much of it. She felt numb, mostly. Was this really happening?

Avalle-

[/i] Callistath finally spoke up, but Avalle shoved the Gold away. No, she was still mad. She didn't want to listen to anything Callistath had to tell her. She was going to act as unrefined as she wanted to, and she was going to be as angry as she wanted to be. Even if she felt too numb to really be anything.

"Get up," she growled, her voice coming out too soft and broken and not as angry as she intended. "I said, get up," she tried again, sound much angrier and snappish this time. She moved herself to the side of the bed and gathered her clothes. She threw her shirt on as quickly as possible, wanting to cover herself up as quickly as possible. If anything, she was going to keep her control over D'lios. She was still Weyrwoman. Ultimately, the Weyr was her's. D'lios was not going to win another flight, unless he somehow managed to prove himself. She doubted it, though. It would take some matter of improvement on his part for her to gain her honor back after it'd been so beaten down. No matter how he behaved or what he did, he could never look good in her eyes.

Avalle got up and continued dressing, keeping her back to the Lord Holder as she composed her face. Control. If she was angry, she lost. Keeping the anger down was nearly impossible, especially now that she was going to have to talk to him. In the end, her temperment hadn't improved all that much from when she was a Candidate. But now there was no Callistath to help her, or talk her down, or give her reminders to control her temper. She already felt the anger bubbling up through the numbness, the urge to jump on top of him and beat him within an inch of his life growing stronger by the minute.

She still didn't face him, but she was so angry she was starting to shake.

How dare you, she thought, but didn't vocalize it, as much as she wanted to. Her mouth wouldn't move. She felt frozen at the edge of the bed. She couldn't visualize the world moving beyond that point.[/blockquote][/size]

[Kila]

D'lios woke when Avalle stirred, disoriented only momentarily by
his abnormally shabby surroundings. The flight and its aftermath came
back to him in an instant and his lips curved into a smile even while
his eyes were still closed. We won, he thought, the implications
arousing him almost as much as the Weyrwoman had last night.
Weyrleader. He gloated over the title in his head, rolling it
around as though it were a savory wine on his pallet. He couldn't say it
was more than he had dared to dream, for his aspirations were mighty and
his dreams hampered by no earthly bounds, but he had scarcely thought it
would ever be a reality. He was now the master of both earth and air,
the leader of nearly two thirds of the entire Western Continent. The joy
he felt at the prospect was so overwhelming that for a moment he thought
his chest would burst.

It was Avalle however that burst his bubble. "I said get up," she
snapped at him, her irritable command intruding on his thoughts of
glory. D'lios opened his eyes to find her sitting next to him on the
edge of the bed. She glared for a moment before turning away to gather
her clothes and quickly dress. The farmers who owned the dwelling had
had the decency and intelligence to leave again if they had returned
from the Gather before the Weyrleaders woke, so it was only D'lios there
to see her naked. There was no need for bashfulness how much of her he
had seen the night before, but he recognized it easily as frustration
and anger. He could easily guess how Avalle was feeling, which would
doubtlessly distress her even further.

D'lios propped himself up on an elbow and watched as she hurriedly
pulled on her shirt. He was unconcerned as to the whereabouts of his own
clothes. "A good morning to you to, Avalle," he said merrily,
unperturbed by her rudeness. "A fine way to spoil a beautiful
evening." He reached out to touch her arm- harmless pillow play. He
suspected he would be scorned, but he was willing to try things the
easy, gentle way first. He would treat her like a princess if she would
let him. It would be easier for all of them in the long run.

Perbiath came to consciousness as everyone around him woke. He was
simultaneously aware of being warm and intertwined with his beautiful
golden queen and the searing, ugly pain that wracked the left side of
his body. One of their wings covered it and he did not make an attempt
to move it aside to see to see the damage. He turned to Callistath and
crooned sweetly, his eyes the brightest color of emerald green.
Callistath, he said reverently, brushing her tail
with his own. The movement stung his flank, but he ignored it. No amount
of pain could overwhelm the happiness that he felt from the Gold's
embrace and lingering acceptance. Are you well? he
asked, concerned. Neither of them had been in good shape by the time she
chose him as her victor. They had landed well considering, but there was
no knowing what he had missed in the heat of the moment.

[Nia]

His words did not help her temper, and Avalle found herself fighting to keep under control. Callistath was trying her best to pretend to sleep, but her Rider's distress caused her to become distressed as well. She didn't reach out to help Avalle's temper or the hot, angry tears that threatened to fall. D'lios' smug sounding voice just made her so... upset. She was upset. It was difficult to keep up the face of maturity and control that she'd built up for Turns. She felt like she was on the urge of a serious breakdown here, and he just sounded so nonchalant about the whole thing. Did he not understand? Did he not get it? That what he'd done was so, so wrong?

The playful words and his playful touch made her jerk away. Her entire world was crashing around her, and it was all his fault. There was even a part of her inside her head that was telling her to go easy on him. It'll be easier for you, the voice whispered. If you react with anger he'll only react the same way. She knew this. Avalle knew that. She wasn't stupid. But she felt stuck, and trapped like a cornered animal. The future was a complete blank in her mind. What was she going to do? They were all going to blame her. No one would ever listen to or try to understand her reasons. She was Senior Weyrwoman, she should have known better. They wouldn't get it. It was her fault, and she would get all the blame while D'lios could sit atop of her Weyr and proclaim himself ruler.

"No," she said outloud, not in response to anything but her own thoughts. She stopped, after that. No more words would come out.

Callistath felt her Rider's distress, but she felt Perbiath's kind words more than anything. Was she well? The answer was, of course, no. The Gold felt guilty and hurt from Avalle's actions. The flight had not been a good one. It had been painful, and Callistath didn't feel good about her choice. There was nothing satisfying about the Brown entwined with her, and just thinking about the winner of the flight brought her anxiety that she tried to keep from her self-destructing rider.

I am fine,

[/i] she replied, keeping a polite distance from the one chosen as her mate. Perbiath himself was sweet and kind. It was not his fault that the Lord Holder had been the one most compatable with his mind, and it wasn't his fault that he'd been born from renegade dragons. He was the most innocent here out of all of them, and Callistath was reluctant to scorn him. How is your side?[/i] she asked, as while Callistath's mental state had been the only thing affected, Perbiath's side had been covered in ichor when she chose him. First and foremost she had to make sure he was okay. It was her duty as Senior Queen, at the very least.

She tried, but Callistath couldn't fully hide how anxious she truly felt from Avalle. Without the Gold's helpful calmness, Avalle's anger only grew stronger the more she let her thoughts run wild. She'd never be respected. No one would ever accept her as their leader. She'd been thrown in to this without wanting it, she wasn't prepared for it, and now this. Avalle cursed the poison even more, for causing this entire thing. If it hadn't been for the poison, none of this ever would have happened.

Flipping back and forth from depression and anger, she finally settled on anger and spun around violently to face D'lios. No. She was putting her foot down. It was her Weyr. Her decision. He couldn't tell her what to do. Her fist clenched and she swung it towards D'lios' stupid, handsome face, all her rational thoughts of telling him to surrender his Lord Holdership or step down from Weyrleadership gone from her mind. No. She just wanted him to feel the same pain she was feeling, and to wipe that ugly smug expression off of his face with the only way she could think of right now. With her fists.[/blockquote][/size]

[Kila]

D'lios could guess at how Avalle was feeling, but since he was
not in fact privy to her thoughts the way that Callistath was there was
no way he could predict or comprehend the enormous turmoil that was
going on inside her as she sat at the edge of their bed. He understood
Fajra's cool, calculating ways more than Avalle's emotional ones. He
admired Fajra as much as he was infuriated by her, but she was not
important anymore, merely a player forcibly dropped from the game.
Avalle on the other hand, well, he had gotten more out of her than he
had Fajra in almost no time at all. He liked her very much for that,
however much she disliked him.

He was not surprised when she would not meet his eyes, nor when she
flinched violently away from his touch. He was not surprised by her
vehement rejection to the entire situation, voiced very clearly in one
loud NO. He was more than surprised, however, when she spun around and
brought her fist to his face with as much force as her fair form could
muster. D'lios saw the punch coming. His playful mood vanished and
brought up his hands as fast as he could in a defensive gesture, but he
did not react quickly enough. Her knuckles impacted with his jaw,
pushing his face towards the head of the bead and making a softly, ugly
thud.

D'lios caught her wrist in his hand before she could yank it away or haul
it back for another hit. He held it firmly trapped while he regained his
composure. Pain was his first sensation, blossoming up the side of his
face and beginning a dull throb in his head. The strongest, however, was
shock. People did not say no to the Lord Holder, argue with him, or even
look at him funny for that matter, so to be physically assaulted was
almost more than he could compute for a moment. He had not taken such a
direct attack to his person since he was a child and his father had
disciplined him many many turns ago.

When the shock began to fade anger leapt up to take its place. He turned
back to Avalle slowly, putting pressure on the wrist he held captive.
"That will not happen again." His voice was low and even, but his
eyes smoldered with anger. He twisted his hold and jerked her towards
him, easily pulling her down to his level since she was off balance from
throwing the punch. "Can we agree?" he breathed, his face
hovering and inch from hers. After a moments standoff he thrust his
injured face forward and kissed her, if only because she would
hate it. He released her and threw back the tangled furs when he was
done. His pride felt slightly less wounded after putting her in her
place.

Stepping out of the bed easily, he located and pulled on his
long-forgotten pants. Only then did he raise a hand to feel his jaw
tenderly. The budding bruise and tousled hair made him look rugged, his
composure largely undamaged. "You pack an impressive punch," he
said dryly, resisting the urge to wince at the pain. "Admirable, but
most unladlylike. Unfitting behavior for a Weyrwoman, I think. I don't
recall Fajra getting into any brawls, though I'm certain she wanted
to." The time for talking was now or never, and it was sure not to
be a pretty thing. D'lios could already foresee all of the backlash that
was even now coming his way. But it didn't matter: he could use their
own rules against them. Perbaith's uncanny agility had won the
Weyrleadership for and presented the only real hitch. The rest could be
pinned on the Weyrwoman, who had allowed it all to happen. Each thing
she did dug her deeper into her hellish pit; even the bruise on his face
spoke words against her. A grin played at his lips despite the pain it
caused. He waited for her response, knowing she was near her limit.
"What, Avalle? Want to hit me again?" he asked while she stewed.
"This would be a whole lot easier if we faced it together." If
she would be his little princess. She must have known she was a fool not
to agree, but D'lios could tell already that it would never happen.

And they thought he was unreasonable.

Perbiath was faring better but he could tell that something was amiss.
Callistath lay next him and spoke kind words, but she was rigid. Polite
and distant. He did not address it though; he was not yet ready to break
his illusion of happiness. I am glad you are well, he
said with relief. When she inquired after his own health he hesitated.
It is no pain that I cannot bear. Reluctantly he lifted
his wing, revealing his mangled hide. The gashes had stopped oozing but
they were puffy and inflamed. The ichor that coated his hide had crusted
and congealed, making for an overall nauseating picture. Perbiath
covered it back up quickly. Mine will call a healer, he
said, sounding sheepish instead of nonchalant.

It was then that His received his "good morning." Perbiath jumped when
his consciousness exploded with pain, shock, and then rage.
Mine! are you okay? he called, uncoiling from Callistath
slightly as he raised himself up to look in D'lios's direction. The
Weyrleader did not answer, but Perbaith knew he was not. The pain
remained, but his lifemate calmed himself quickly. Perbaith looked to
the Gold with wide, alarmed eyes. They are fighting. He
knew that they didn't like His and he had anticipated a shouting match,
but he was taken aback by the blow. This was not how things were
supposed to be happening.

[Nia]

He grabbed her fist and Avalle froze, her rage and the fact that she'd actually hit him freezing. Her thoughts even froze, and Avalle couldn't do anything but remain frozen where she sat, her fist in his, breathing heavily with exhileration and anger. The punch had hit, and the Lord Holder had a bruise slowly forming on his face. She was finally able to realize the audacity of what she'd done, and she didn't regret it. She was going down anyway. She might as well drag him down with her and make him regret ever letting Perbiath chase. Seeing him in so much pain satisfied her, and if he hadn't grabbed her fist she probably would have continued to punch him.

However, he had grabbed her, and the shock of it made her freeze. She didn't even try to pull her hand away from his, and stared at him in almost frenzied anger as he spoke. He was mad. Why should she care? It was her Weyr, and she was now in charge of him too, more than she had been before. Weyrwoman and Weyrleader, partners? Give her a sharding break. It was her's. Not his. His words meant nothing to her. But she listened anyway, feeling her anger drain out of her at the force of his words.

It was her turn to recoil in shock as D'lios kissed her, released her hand, and threw back the furs. She remained frozen for a moment, her face colored red in dual embarrassment and anger, not sure how to react. So she didn't, she just remained where she was, letting her arm fall back to her side as she listened to what else he had to say. None of it really registered, though she did visibly cringe at being compared to Fajra. That was a low blow. It made her anger ingnite further, but his next sentence almost made her deflate. She wanted to hit him again. She really, truly did. But she was already in a deep enough hole, she didn't need to make it worse. No words would come to her for a response. Face it together. With him? No. She wouldn't allow it. She could never allow it. But Avalle didn't have any words to say to him. What was her pride worth? She was already going to be scorned by everyone else. She'd never be Fajra. She was never meant to be Fajra. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. It should still be Fajra....

She inhaled, a shaky inhale, but it was a movement and it allowed her brain to start working again. "If you really intended to face it together, you would resign either your Lord Holdership or your Weyrleadership," she finally said, throwing his offer back at him. What did he take her for, a fool? He wasn't out for anyone but himself, and she was never going to let him forget that. "You may have won the flight, but you don't know the first thing about running a Weyr. Tell me," she intended to sound cold, but her voice shook with anger and despair, "how do you intend to lead the Weyr through Threadfall if you have barely any experience with being in a Wing, let alone leading one?" Her voice rose slowly over the course of the sentence, her emotions showing plainly on her sleeve once again. She turned back to pull her own pants on, fully clothed. She was going to have to have Callistath call for Durian or Sol or even Animatora to come get her so they could go between as soon as possible. Avalle turned back to face D'lios again, having calmed enough to point out the obvious flaws in D'lios' leadership plan. He couldn't lead the Weyr. He was inept. Surely, he had to realize this and understand why she was so enraged about it.

Callistath tried to ignore Her's anger and despair as she inspected Perbiath's side. He looked hurt, and she felt bad for him. Well, she felt bad for him in many ways, not that she would ever show this. She wasn't entirely upset with Perbiath. He was a Brown, a dragon under Dalibor, and it was his right to chase Queens.

Perbiath's fear and alarm didn't register in Callistath. She'd known what Avalle was going to do, and she felt guilty for not being able to stop Her's from behaving so irrationally. She'd allowed Her's to regress all the way back to the way she'd been before Impressing, and it almost hurt. I know,

[/i] Callistath replied, sadness in her tone that she hadn't wanted to reveal to Perbiath. There is not much we can do for them,[/i] she continued, uncoiling herself and rising to her feet. Callistath wasn't sure how D'lios was treating Perbiath, but surely it was better than how Avalle felt.

Let us go back. We need to get you to a healer as soon as possible,[/i] Callistath instead turned her attention back to the Brown who had been her latest mate. His side did not look good, and they needed to treat it as soon as possible. Perbiath, at least, had to be in the right shape to fight Thread. It would speak volumes if their new Weyrleader's dragon was incapacitated for a while. Callistath knew this, even if it didn't register in Avalle's mind. If it'd been up to Callistath, they would have just treated the new Weyrleaders with an icey politeness until it was time to actually deal with them. But Avalle had let her anger get in the way, and now a calm discussion was out of the question.[/blockquote][/size]

[Kila]

D'lios ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it back and
trying to comb the wildness out of it with his fingers. He listened to
Avalle bleat angrily at him, standing tall and impassive as he continued
to calmly right his appearance. "Think about that, my dear. How would
me giving up something be us working together? That would be us working
very far apart, which it is quite apparent that you would prefer. I'm
afraid that is out of the question, however." He leant down and
picked up his shirt from the ground. It had been a fine thing when he
had put it on the previous morning, but between the Weyrwoman and his
hunt for her it was quite ruined. He tossed it aside with a frown,
taking a moment to think before responding to Avalle's angry retort. She
was positively shaking with emotion.

"It is true that I am not fit to lead a wing in threadfall, you do
have me there Avalle. I am an excellent delegator, however. You may keep
O'sho as the leader of his wing, or we can appoint a younger Kingrider
with similar experience." Yes, he liked that idea even more. Before
that wretched O'sho knew it he would have plummeted from everything to
nothing. "I have not fought in thread," he continued, "But I
have lead. My whole life. What makes you think I cannot run a Weyr?"
His eyes pierced her, demanding an answer. "It's what I was bred for.
What knowledge I lack I will learn and others will supplement. Do we not
now have two Jr. Weyrwomen and a Jr. Weyrleader?"

"You surprise me, to be truthful, Avalle. Your main objection is that I
am not qualified, not that I will be holding the two positions." He
raised a hand, stopping her from trying to interrupt otherwise. "As
to that, you needn't worry, my dear. I can do both, and I can do both
well. My time will be divided, true, but if anyone is to suffer it will
not be Western or Dalibor, it will be me." He approached her
suggestively, all dark eyes and secretive smiles. "You know you
cannot make me go, so why waste your breath? Your choice and your rules
put me here and here I shall remain." They could all scream as much
as they wanted, but he was untouchable. A lesser man might have allowed
himself to be bullied out, but not D'lios.

Perbiath was distressed by his lifemate's anger and his Queen's sadness.
Why was it all so wrong? He looked to D'lios for reassurance and found
the man possessed of his usual confidence. That's
right, he thought to himself, We have not done
anything wrong. Callistath's talk of leaving spared him further
analysis of the situation. Go back? To the Weyr?
Yes, of course. That was his place now. The idea excited him more than
he could say. He wanted to remain wrapped up with the beautiful Gold,
but he knew that his wounds required immediate attention. Perbaith knew
that he would have to be strong to defend his victory, so he grudgingly
agreed.

Yes, I suppose we should go. He relinquished his
hold on her wistfully and tried to rise to his feet. Perbiath snapped
closed his jaws and hissed with pain when he put weight on his back leg.
He raised his wing to inspect the wound as the ichor began to ooze
again. Had Callistath's other suitors sustained such injuries, he
wondered at random. He had been too caught up in the flight to see if
they had landed safely, but he had seen many of them crash and fall.
They at least were not sabotaged, he thought,
pushing them from his mind. If he could get into the air and quickly
between to Dalibor then he thought that he could bear the pain.
Dragon healers were in large supply at the Weyr, thank Farnath, so his
journey would be a short one. He turned his injured flank away from
Callistath and turned his grimace into a grin, putting on a brave face.
Very well.