Calm Under The Waves {Graduation!}

[Admin]

The ocean makes my swelling heart feel small,
With the sounds it makes,
You won't hear it if I call,
I let go, I let go.

A little over a turn and a half ago from one shining early summer evening, twenty-three dragonets had broken free of their shells on the sands of Dalibor. They had been the first clutch of the young Weyr. Three of them had been lost in their training, but the rest of them lived. Twenty young riders and their finally grown dragons had all managed to pass their exams, by different margins. Some of them had proudly succeeded up to high standards. Others hadn't quite so much. The constant metaphorical and literal exams that came with passing time went on along after them and with them. Thread grew nearer, and they would grow up to fight it with a little experience more than their training. They would be ready. They had weathered the tides of tribulations and tests. Finally, one fateful evening had come. It was their evening more than the hatching.

The dining hall was decked out in its finest. The weyrlings were graduating! The Wavewalkers were graduating! It was a joyous occasion. Clean cloths decked out the tables. Food and fine wine, out of Benden, was carried by weaving drudges and laid out across the tables in a fashion that suggested not all of it was supposed to be touched until later. It wasn't an ornate occasion. It simply had a force to it. The dining hall would never be the great hall of a northern lord. Some fruits were missing. The colors were simple, white, gray, and some blue. There were no flowers, and it was even summer. However, it was noticeable, all the work put into the event. Everything was clean and scrubbed. The room shone with a rough type of brilliance. Not a necessary detail had been forgotten, not that anyone should have expected much else for the occasion.

Fajra stood near her seat at the high table, surveying the hall with her sharp gaze. She had actually gotten sleep the night before, which had done her good, not that she let the difference show. A brooding Kalith, away on the sands, was set in a good mood by the occasion. It was, after all, her children and her weyr. Of course, she couldn't attend, with her new clutch on the sands. The Weyrwoman was there, so definitely there, shoulders back and presence firm. Her eyes glided over the dragons assembling outside. It was a celebration for them too. People were arriving. The gathering wasn't meant to be large or open, but the weyrlings turning riders and the important members of the Weyr were expected to show up. Surprisingly, she hadn't actually organized the entire things for once, but she knew how things were going down, for the most part.

Finally, activity begin to pick up as people mingled. For a time, she let it go, giving them a few moments. She didn't participate. She kept away, blaming an off mood on Kalith. When things lulled out a steady hum in her mind, an insistent and bothersome noise to her ears, she stepped forward, so she was up against the table she stood behind. The simple green dress she wore, which felt distinctly odd after days spent mainly in the hatching cavern in attire less formal than her normal day fare, brushed against the edge of the wood. Her fingers closed around her cup with the ease of a few times of practice and she picked it up. Tapping one nail against it to produce a clear ring, she gathered attention to her. Calm and patient, she didn't rush. She held her control, over the situation and the moment. She waited for silence before she begin to speak.

"Seventeen of you have decided to stay here. The last of your number are going away, to bring honor to us here in other Weyrs;" she begin, with an icy voice. It wasn't formal. It was cut. However, she paused, and a small smile touched her face. She softened, not significantly, but enough so her manner became more relaxed. She didn't do tight formality the best. Somewhere in the middle was where her comfort zone lay and where she played best. "It has been more than eighteen long months. You have learned to think and feel again. You have learned to fly, flame, and jump across endless distances;" she told them, making sure they all knew just how far they had come. With some pride in her voice, she spoke well. For once, it wasn't simple authority. She actually showed some eloquence to her emphasis and voice.

"Now, it's finally all over. It shouldn't have been easy, but you shouldn't expect it to get easier. It isn't going to be easy here." No rainbows and ponies. No brilliant shimmery dream of the future. There was a brutal honesty, but she was still smiling and she still spoke with pride. Dalibor was home to her. Dalibor was her pride. "However, welcome to the few and the honored, dragonriders. Congratulations on graduating, Wavewalkers!" The speech hadn't been long, and it was over. She raised her glass into the air for a toast. The glows throughout the room caught it and sparkled through the red wine within so that it glinted. After she held it in the air for a moment, she lowered it and took a sip. After the taste faded off her tongue, with her speech done, she stepped away from the table to finally join in with the small body of guests.

The redhead glided about with her best elegance for a few moments, exchanging curt nods with most attempts to greet or acknowledge her. A handful of turns the senior of the majority the attenders, she kept her distance. She supervised. She felt no need to socialize. In the back of her mind, there was work to be done. However, the party was just beginning. Other announcements would be made, by O'sho. She couldn't leave. She wouldn't have anyway. She was responsible and in charge, as she usual was. The only proper social reaction she gave easily was to only one particularly honored member of the honored guests. "Congratulations, Jr. Weyrwoman Avalle;" she told the short brunette quietly as she stepped past. Her eyes only briefly met the younger girl's since she didn't tarry or stop. A proud though little grin still quirked her face.

Off to the side, a harper struck up on a violin, unaccompanied and playing softly beneath all the talking. She played with skill, a winding but joyful tune, something in celebration that was a dance or a fanfare or a march. On a small rest, the slightest hitch in the beat, she let out a sigh. Paget failed to see the point, though she was behaving and dutifully playing. She didn't know any of the graduating weyrlings. She didn't know half of the stupid but quite important things that went on the Weyr. Yet, in the end, on she played. She was a harper. It was her job. She hit a high note, but she played it even softer, just hitching it along with a slight change to the next phrase to match. She lacked interest in getting herself noticed. Her nose itched. She let out another puff of air with her playing in exasperation. It was going to be a long party for her.

There's a breeze in the air,
There's a boat anchored out here,
There's a calm under the waves,
As I choose to sink.

[Kila]

O’sho sat at his place next to Fajra at the high table, looking out over the hall and its inhabitants. Everyone was in a jubilant mood- and why shouldn’t they be? The Wavewalkers were graduating! Dalibor’s very own, the newest generation of riders, were being recognized this night for all they had achieved to get to this point and for all that they were going to achieve in the future. These were the young men and women who had first been searched and brought to Pern’s hopeful, fledgling Weyr as candidates. As children. No matter the number of turns they had to their name, they were adults now. They had grown, learned, and gained ever more power and responsibility. The structured, parenting hand that had guided them this far, most in the form of their Weyrlingmaster F’del and a few stand-ins in his stead, was being removed. Where the guidance had been necessary and helpful before, it would now hold them back. Freedom had its potential to corrupt (O’sho had no doubt that there would be plenty of drinking and sex and such within a very short time) but it also allowed them to reach the stars and beyond. There were several in this class who were eager to push themselves and see how far they could reach.

Daidoroth rumbled proudly from where he sat diligently above the entrance to the Hatching Cavern. Even though the eggs had hardened and were less vulnerable than before, he kept up a vigil as active as Kalith. In the Bowl the Wavewalker dragonets- no, dragons- dropped of their riders. They had not been dragonets for a long time, though they would forever be his children. His first children, here and with Kalith. He saw through the Weyrleader’s eyes and saw the young Riders inside as well, just as O’sho looked through dragon eyes to see the lifemates of the Wavewalkers indoors. Both were exceedingly proud on this day and it shone through them wordlessly. While Fajra was calm and cool as always, even through her speech, though she broke into some small smiles, O’sho was the picturesque warm father figure. Though he needn’t have spoken to convey what he so genuinely felt, he was happily obliged to give some words to Dalibor’s first graduating class.

”My friends, could I have your attention, please?” he said, rising. It seemed the correct and formal thing to do to tap a glass, the beautifully eerie ring that it produced never failed to herald a speech of some sort, if nothing because had become custom after turns and turns of repetition. O’sho, however, summoned all eyes to the high table with his voice alone. It was a request rather than a command, but he did his duties in a way that people wanted to hear what he had to say to them rather than that they felt they were required. For those that didn’t care to hear what he spoke? They would have to make a lot of noise on their own, for almost everyone else was quiet.

”Thank you.” He smiled down on all of them, looking around and making eye contact with each person as he spoke. His words and gestures were sincere, and his face plainly showed it. ”How proud I am of all of you tonight. I will freely confess, though, that this is not a novel feeling. When Kalith first clutched the eggs that contained your lifemates I was proud. When these brave little dragonets broke free of their shells and found among you those that were perfect for them and you discovered that which was perfect for you, I was proud. As you’ve grown and as you’ve overcome each lesson and obstacle that has been placed in front of you, I have been very proud indeed. You are a fine group of people and an unparalled class of Riders. Pern is much the better for now having you to defend it.” His heart swelled as they cheered with excitement in his break of words, happy with themselves and with each other. ”Remember, you are an important part of something larger than just yourselves. Before you came here you were alone in a certain sort of way. Impressing the fine dragons that you did should have opened your eyes to how much of yourself you can share. You a part of Dalibor Weyr, or will be a part of some other Weyr if that if where you choose to go, and it is the individual parts that make up a whole. Together, you are very strong.”

“And now, so you might get a feel of what you are a part of and what you have become, I will announce the new Wing formations.” He paused and gave a wink to the older Riders. ”You folk are still in here too, don’t worry.” There was a small ripple of appreciative laughter. ”We will now have two Upper Wings,” he said, his voice rising. ”I will lead the Dawn Wing. B’rak and U’ar, you are my Wingseconds. N’ryl, Kyrillion, O’ris, S’bet, Laura, R’ori, R’ish, Edwa, and T’ne- you and Yours will fly with me. The second Upper Wing is the Dusk Wing, which will be lead by H’loric. His Wingseconds are L’ven and L’can.” Already one of their class had been named a Wingsecond in one of the Upper Wings, with several other as Wingriders. The enthusiasm in the room was almost palpable. ”The Dusk Wing Wingriders will be F’let, Z’len, Sol, Sarue, T’zar, A’mor, C’len, Chelo, and Theirs. Our Middle Wing is the Midnight Wing and will be lead by R’nan. K’ber, Durian- you are his Wingseconds. Midnight Wingriders are S’rial, F’del, P’nay, B’nyur, G’can, Meta, Pratyba, and Theirs. We will also have two Lower Wings. One will be composed mostly of our Queens and the other of our Jr. Weyrlings. The Horizon Wing will be led by our very own Weyrwoman-“ from across the room he spared her a good-natured, tender glance that did not linger- ”who will have as her Wingseconds our Jr. Weyrwoman Avalle and Armania. Arsana, Savrent, Nimara, Animatora, and Thiers will fly with them. Lastly, the Skyline Wing will be composed of the Freedom Fighters and lead by their Weyrlingmaster, W’al. D’lios and V’lin are his Wingseconds and N’tal, Teslana, C’elin, K’lay, A’tra, and Theirs fly with them.”

O’sho only really had the responsibility of announcing the Wings, but he could not resist the niceties that had preceded it. That done, however, he had no other reason to keep everyone from their festivities. ”Thank you for your time, and from the bottom of my heart, congratulations to you all. Please, enjoy.” With that he was done and slipped from behind the table and into the crowd that was already alive again. With little trouble he located Fajra and offered his arm. The harpers were playing a lovely tune. ”May I have this dance, m’lady?” he implored, his face creasing into a familiar smile.

[Admin]

I break, you don't,
I was always set to self destruct though,
The fire, the fire,
It cracks and barks like primal music.

Outside, a certain iron dragon was sitting, watching over all the proceedings with a resolved air of patience. He wasn't a very large iron dragon, but he was healthily built creature. He hardly looked as if he'd only just completed his weyrlinghood. Detritath surveyed the occasion with his usual cool air. He kept an emotional distance from the others. Gneith was somewhere around, as was Valleth, he was sure, with all probability, given the celebratory occasion, but he made sure not to seek them out. He focused inside, keeping a mental company with his rider. All the guests within were far more interesting than his siblings. He had grown more detached from most of them with age. They were colleagues now, absent friends and acquaintances. The only brotherhood he held with them was that of simply being another dragon. He only had love for Gneith.

While his dragon comfortably sat outside and enjoyed seeing what was happening through his mind, K'ber wasn't quite as comfortable with the party. Though his iron gave him some confidence, he simply lacked positive experience or interest in the crowded social environment with which he was presented. He stood firm and fast, guided by the eyes within his mind. He wouldn't let the dragon who had, over a turn and a half ago, chosen him to be his rider down. He rode a King. He could handle himself. Despite all the confidence, fake and real, born of growing experience and not, he didn't speak to anyone. He simply existed, standing to the side, by a wall, watching what was happening. He avoided the wine that was being served like the plague. Alcohol and him didn't mix. He had a solid memory by that point to drive that point home in his mind.

The Weyrwoman stepped up and gave a little speech. He listened attentively. A smile slowly split across his face, a little one that was more fluid and goofy than the one he could distantly see that Fajra was wearing. They had graduated! Pride began to weasel its way into his mind and heart. He relaxed, even as worries ebbed into his mind. He was going to have to be responsible. He was a finally dragonrider, a real dragonrider and an ironrider at that. What in the world was he going to do? The worries ebbed away again and he remained as at ease as he had been. Detritath was there, ever present in his mind. They were never truly separate. They never had been since the moment of Impression. They lived together, only capable as one. Without each other, they would shrivel up, in capable in the complexities of the world. They each had their parts.

And their part was apparently being wingseconds. The Weyrleader had stepped up and made a speech of his own, which included detailing reorganized wings. The Midnight wing, a mid-level wing, under K'nan, with Durian and Mesreath. They were wingseconds. K'ber stared, quite openly, not that anyone was looking at him, standing off by his wall. We did just as well as Valleth and his rider, and I am a King, just as he is, and you are my rider; Detritath reminded him, providing the logic and leaving out the point since he knew he didn't have to explain out every little thought he had to his rider. They understood each other. K'ber, nodding to himself, straightened on habit when his iron spoke to him. Slowly, a smile returned to his face, one far bigger than the little one he had worn before from pride. They were wingseconds!

Fajra paused and turned as O'sho began his speech. Respectfully silent, she watched him as he went on and on about his feelings. He had more to her to say, and she knew that, but he was taking his time about. Oddly, though, her patience held. She watched him with a begrudging tolerance, despite the prowling but proud Kalith, intertwined in her mind, despite the exhaustion of her life and duties and choices. It was so very him, to be all emotional. They made a perfect pair. She was so very aware of that. That was why she tolerated him. He was assured as who he was. She assured at what she did. When he glanced over as he spoke of her, she ignored him. She knew that he looked at her. They could talk without speaking. However, she didn't let her features alter in the slightest simply because she knew he had spared her one glance.

When he finished speaking, she turned away, slipping on through the crowd of the little party. However, then, there he was, standing beside her and offering his arm. She paused, simply staring at him, at the kind creases of his older face. He said it so nicely, imploring her to accept. It would be rude not to accept the invitationq, but social niceties weren't her specialty. It wasn't as if she often tried to play the diplomat. It wouldn't kill her in anyway to say no and slip away. Yet, part of her argued that it would be nice, that he was nice and it wouldn't be so bad. She considered it for a minute, wavering and teetering on the edge of what to say as she stood before him with pursed lips. She could walk away. She could simply tell him she had better things to do with her time. All of those sounded mean, but how was she supposed to turn down his offer?

"Fine;" she said in a clipped tone, finally agreeing to dance with him. She folded her arms for a moment, taking doing that to shrugging up her shoulders like a spoiled child. Then she uncrossed them and slipped her fingers around his offered arm. Her hold lacked the typical, proper daintiness that led to a graceful picture of a royal woman and her princely escort. She held on firmly, fingers tense and rigid. She didn't dig into the flesh, so no pain was caused, but it wasn't designed to be a comfortable gesture. Despite that, she seemed comfortable around him, for the most part, in her own odd way. She considered avoiding him, gave plenty of pause, and didn't give him anything with ease, but she could be comfortable with him when it came down to it. After two turns as weyrleaders together, she could deal with him existing.

"But I have to slip away soon. With the new wing arrangements, I have messages to organize." It was a lie, a half truth. She, for once, had everything organized so she had basically nothing to do at that time. She wanted an excuse, a reason that she would have to go away later. She had compromised, to herself and him. She never compromised, but she had. She had agreed to dance, but she would leave later. She had agreed to something frivolous for a sort time with him. Maybe he would know she was lying. She was a good liar, though she didn't do it often. Her expression didn't falter in the slightest, but maybe he would know, simply because he would. She didn't care. It made her feel better to say it. With her part done, she pulled him away, towards the space that had been cleared for dances, putting her firm grip on his arm to good use.

The sea between us,
Only amplifies the sound waves,
Every hum and echo,
And crash paints my cave.