Sickness and Sick Beds
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In the afternoon of Day 26, month 12, turn 25--Rhae's father Anthon, who has been been in questionable health for a few turns now, passed on. He took to the fever early and his already weakened condition had no chance to recover. Rhae is very sick herself. The loss of her father has been devastating and thus her recovery has stalled.
Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr
Two sets of double doors, one from the the inner caverns and a recently built set from the dragon infirmary, lead into the unnaturally hushed human infirmary. Despite fastidious cleaning, the scent of redwort and numbweed has long since soaked into every smooth-carved surface, along with other, subtler medicinal smells. Pristinely made cots are lined up against the walls; most of them are left open to view, but some in the back are surrounded by curtains for delicate procedures or critical patients.
About halfway between the two entrances is the counter for the healers on duty; it guards the entrance to the storage rooms just beyond, their shelves and cabinets lined with meticulously labeled bottles, boxes, jars, and even vats of supplies. The Weyrhealer's office is also here, along with another side room for mixing up medicines and the like.
Obvious exits:
Dragon Infirmary Inner Caverns Offices
It's evening and the infirmary is bustling with activity as healers move from cot to cot, attending sick exiles. Rhaelyn is in a cot, a tray set over her, but the food untouched. Clear broth and some fruit going to waste. She looks drained of color, almost blending into the white linens, caught between a break in her coughing she is awake, gazing off into the distance, miserable.
It was Wroth, who at times is a gossiper, who first informed E'dre that the exiles were coming down with illness. As is usual with the pair, they argued over what that meant to them. The brown, apparently, knew that E'dre was not fond of illness and so insisted that his rider go and find out if their new 'friends' were sick. After a check with the guards at the barracks, the brownrider was informed that Rhaelyn and her father were brough to the infirmary. "If I die, it's your fault," E'dre grumbles at Wroth as the brown lumbers towards the infirmary. Leaving Wroth outside in the snow, E'dre enters and talks quietly with a healer. He's got a mask on and has instructions not to get to close, but soon he is at Rhaelyn's bedside. "Hey," - said lamely!, "How are you feeling?"
Rhaelyn isn't paying much attention, just laying there. Being still is her best bet against another series of coughs. It's not until E'dre speaks that she turns her head and focuses her watery eyes on him. "Oh...h-hey." Her lips twist and tighten in a grim smirk, "Not dead yet."
Hands remain clasped behind his back, as E'dre rocks back on his heels. "Good, keep on the not dying part," he jokes, eyes crinkling to indicate his smile behind the mask. "But you do look awful. Are they giving you meds?" He looks over his shoulder at a healer attending to another coughing invalid. "Place gives me the creeps," he admits back to the girl, shoulders moving in a shudder.
Rhaelyn's brows draw over her eyes, confused about meds and her shoulders roll slightly to indicate 'I don't know' silently. "I thought you wanted us dead." She whispers softly and brokenly, "Then you can collect the treasure you think we have." Her lower lip quivers with emotion and she tips her face away. As for this place? She's shuddering about it too!
"Did I ever give you the indication I wanted the treasure?" E'dre counters, brows drawing down in confusion. There's a little hurt in his gaze. "I thought you knew I considered you a.. well," he hesitates, looks down at his feet, then back up at her. "Wroth and I, well, we sort of liked you and your father. You know. Friends? That's why.., well, nevermind. If you want me to go.." He's taking steps backwards.
Rhaelyn regrets her harshness as she hears the hurt in E'dre's voice and turns her head to look at him again. A weak hand brushes away the moisture that's spilled down one cheek, not crying. Nope. "I...no, not you." She admits brokenly, "I was so excited to see this new place, and now...now....?" The same hand reaches to try to stop him from going, but she doesn't have any strength.
E'dre stops his backward steps. "It's okay..., I know you're just tired and sick." He reaches for a stool that has been tucked beneath the table beside Rhaelyn and seats himself. He's got gloves on, as instructed, and reaches for that hand to give a gentle squeeze. The brownrider isn't sure how to handle the tears, so he just holds her hand.
Rhaelyn isn't good with the emotion either, she's silent for awhile between sniffles and a few unhealthy sounding coughs before settling down again into silence. "Thank you." She says when she has collected herself, "For not...going." There's more silence, growing more comfortable and then she asks, "your...Wroth liked father and I too?"
E'dre nods his head, leaving his hand warm and firm in hers. "Yes, he actually was the one that told me people were getting sick. We've.. well, I haven't been the most social person in the last turn or so." He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug, "Wroth found out and made me see if you two were in here." He looks towards the door, head tilting. "He says that you and your father were the only non-annoying ones. Someone peed on him, you know, as we lifted in the air," this he says with another wrinkled-eye smile. "Where is your father?"
There's a little shake of her head, Rhae's fever bright eyes very shinny, "I don't understand how he can do that. I don't hear him at all." With the tone that she should, would't the dragon like to comunicate with her too? Perhaps the beast isn't all bad though, if what the rider says it true. "I..." the question about her father makes her wilt into the bedding, "He's gone."
E'dre doesn't reply right away, from the grimace on his face it would seem that he's struggling with something. What the girl may not know, is that Wroth's communication is in his mind and when the brown gets upset - he yells. It takes the brownrider time to calm the brown, shake his head, squeeze Rhaelyn's hand and simply and quietly say, "We're so very sorry."
Rhaelyn isn't familiar enough with dragons and riders yet to read when a rider has that 'listening' look. Instead she takes E'dre's expression to be a deeper emotion and she returns the squeeze he gives her, softer though. "He really loved the jacket. He wore it...all the time." Muffled sniffles and, "He said...you were not like the dragon men who carried out family to the island...."
E'dre heaves a sigh and lifts his other hand to rub briefly at his eyes and and brow before he drops it back into his lap. His shoulders are slumped now and he looks to her. "I'm glad. I'm glad that my being nice to him made a difference. I didn't know him, really, but he seemed like a wonderful person. I - well, I don't know what else to say."
Rhaelyn nods, her un-held hand dashing at her eyes in frustration, she really shouldn't be bawling like a big baby. The tray is pushed away, offering the un-touched stuff to E'dre. "I'm sorry some exiles were mean to you and your seamon...uh...dragon."
"Wroth," E'dre replies, and he shakes his head at the offered food. "No, thanks. I'm not hungry." He shifts his seat and then reaches into his pants pocket to produce a hanky which he then passes her way. "And people are always different with us, you know. Even those that are familiar with dragons. It's just their nature."
"Wroth," Rhaelyn echoes, offering a little smile from behind the hanky as she applies it to her cheeks. The information about dragons is taken in with interest, "I'm glad we're not the only ones, but I hope I will learn to be comfortable...."
E'dre focuses on the shift in subject. "You do. When I first came to the Weyr from Igen, I tried not to think about the large creatures all around me. I just focused on the day, and then I had one pick /me/ to stand on the Sands. I honestly never thought I'd end up riding one." He moves to remove his hand from hers, but will keep it there if she indicates she still wants it. "Wroth was the ugliest, nastiest, little thing. He's mellowed over the turns. But there's nothing like that bond."
Rhaelyn doesn't latch onto the hand, so he he wants to draw back, she'll certainly let him, but there's a last little squeeze of thanks for his support. Now the topic has her distracted well enough, "What is that? I mean, you make it sound special, we we always stood on the sands at the beach." The next question is very puzzled as well, "Why did you pick him if he was so icky? Were you not high enough rank? Not blooded?" Rank and blood is everything to her people afterall.
"What do you mean by blooded?" E'dre queries, brow furrowing in thought. Rank he understands, at least. "And the Sands - it's where the queen, the big gold dragon, lays her clutch. They are kept there until they are hardened and ready to hatch. Other dragons pick the people that would be most suited for a dragon and when the little hatchlings come out of their shells, they have us to pick from." He adds, "When you're better, I'll show you the sands if you like." He shakes his head and rolls his eyes upward, "Wroth wants me to let you know that he picked /me/ because he knew I needed him."
Rhaelyn is proud even in her weakened state, "Blooded, you know, bloodlines that go back to Lords and ladies. My grandparents were from White Bluff hold. I am a direct line to them through my...my father." Her nose crinkles, "It has a lot of meaning back on the island...means I had a better pick of husbands, have better things." Her expression clouds at the story of dragon hatchings, "I think I would rather pick one myself. I would pick an egg-laying one."
"Sometimes girls argue that they'd like the queen, but when they get picked by a green - or blue, or sometimes a brown - they'd never change it," E'dre answers, "I truly never let myself think about a color when I was dealing with being a candidate. It was one day at a time. I never thought I'd get picked, much less by a brown. But we suit each other." He adjusts the mask on his face, "As the saying goes, 'Dragons know best' or something like that." He considers her statement, adds, "I'm a cotholder's son, but here on the mainland, if you want to change your place you can at least become a craftsman. My niece had no choice in who she married. So, I guess you aren't all that different from us."
In the afternoon of Day 26, month 12, turn 25--Rhae's father Anthon, who has been been in questionable health for a few turns now, passed on. He took to the fever early and his already weakened condition had no chance to recover. Rhae is very sick herself. The loss of her father has been devastating and thus her recovery has stalled.
Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr
Two sets of double doors, one from the the inner caverns and a recently built set from the dragon infirmary, lead into the unnaturally hushed human infirmary. Despite fastidious cleaning, the scent of redwort and numbweed has long since soaked into every smooth-carved surface, along with other, subtler medicinal smells. Pristinely made cots are lined up against the walls; most of them are left open to view, but some in the back are surrounded by curtains for delicate procedures or critical patients.
About halfway between the two entrances is the counter for the healers on duty; it guards the entrance to the storage rooms just beyond, their shelves and cabinets lined with meticulously labeled bottles, boxes, jars, and even vats of supplies. The Weyrhealer's office is also here, along with another side room for mixing up medicines and the like.
Obvious exits:
Dragon Infirmary Inner Caverns Offices
It's evening and the infirmary is bustling with activity as healers move from cot to cot, attending sick exiles. Rhaelyn is in a cot, a tray set over her, but the food untouched. Clear broth and some fruit going to waste. She looks drained of color, almost blending into the white linens, caught between a break in her coughing she is awake, gazing off into the distance, miserable.
It was Wroth, who at times is a gossiper, who first informed E'dre that the exiles were coming down with illness. As is usual with the pair, they argued over what that meant to them. The brown, apparently, knew that E'dre was not fond of illness and so insisted that his rider go and find out if their new 'friends' were sick. After a check with the guards at the barracks, the brownrider was informed that Rhaelyn and her father were brough to the infirmary. "If I die, it's your fault," E'dre grumbles at Wroth as the brown lumbers towards the infirmary. Leaving Wroth outside in the snow, E'dre enters and talks quietly with a healer. He's got a mask on and has instructions not to get to close, but soon he is at Rhaelyn's bedside. "Hey," - said lamely!, "How are you feeling?"
Rhaelyn isn't paying much attention, just laying there. Being still is her best bet against another series of coughs. It's not until E'dre speaks that she turns her head and focuses her watery eyes on him. "Oh...h-hey." Her lips twist and tighten in a grim smirk, "Not dead yet."
Hands remain clasped behind his back, as E'dre rocks back on his heels. "Good, keep on the not dying part," he jokes, eyes crinkling to indicate his smile behind the mask. "But you do look awful. Are they giving you meds?" He looks over his shoulder at a healer attending to another coughing invalid. "Place gives me the creeps," he admits back to the girl, shoulders moving in a shudder.
Rhaelyn's brows draw over her eyes, confused about meds and her shoulders roll slightly to indicate 'I don't know' silently. "I thought you wanted us dead." She whispers softly and brokenly, "Then you can collect the treasure you think we have." Her lower lip quivers with emotion and she tips her face away. As for this place? She's shuddering about it too!
"Did I ever give you the indication I wanted the treasure?" E'dre counters, brows drawing down in confusion. There's a little hurt in his gaze. "I thought you knew I considered you a.. well," he hesitates, looks down at his feet, then back up at her. "Wroth and I, well, we sort of liked you and your father. You know. Friends? That's why.., well, nevermind. If you want me to go.." He's taking steps backwards.
Rhaelyn regrets her harshness as she hears the hurt in E'dre's voice and turns her head to look at him again. A weak hand brushes away the moisture that's spilled down one cheek, not crying. Nope. "I...no, not you." She admits brokenly, "I was so excited to see this new place, and now...now....?" The same hand reaches to try to stop him from going, but she doesn't have any strength.
E'dre stops his backward steps. "It's okay..., I know you're just tired and sick." He reaches for a stool that has been tucked beneath the table beside Rhaelyn and seats himself. He's got gloves on, as instructed, and reaches for that hand to give a gentle squeeze. The brownrider isn't sure how to handle the tears, so he just holds her hand.
Rhaelyn isn't good with the emotion either, she's silent for awhile between sniffles and a few unhealthy sounding coughs before settling down again into silence. "Thank you." She says when she has collected herself, "For not...going." There's more silence, growing more comfortable and then she asks, "your...Wroth liked father and I too?"
E'dre nods his head, leaving his hand warm and firm in hers. "Yes, he actually was the one that told me people were getting sick. We've.. well, I haven't been the most social person in the last turn or so." He lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug, "Wroth found out and made me see if you two were in here." He looks towards the door, head tilting. "He says that you and your father were the only non-annoying ones. Someone peed on him, you know, as we lifted in the air," this he says with another wrinkled-eye smile. "Where is your father?"
There's a little shake of her head, Rhae's fever bright eyes very shinny, "I don't understand how he can do that. I don't hear him at all." With the tone that she should, would't the dragon like to comunicate with her too? Perhaps the beast isn't all bad though, if what the rider says it true. "I..." the question about her father makes her wilt into the bedding, "He's gone."
E'dre doesn't reply right away, from the grimace on his face it would seem that he's struggling with something. What the girl may not know, is that Wroth's communication is in his mind and when the brown gets upset - he yells. It takes the brownrider time to calm the brown, shake his head, squeeze Rhaelyn's hand and simply and quietly say, "We're so very sorry."
Rhaelyn isn't familiar enough with dragons and riders yet to read when a rider has that 'listening' look. Instead she takes E'dre's expression to be a deeper emotion and she returns the squeeze he gives her, softer though. "He really loved the jacket. He wore it...all the time." Muffled sniffles and, "He said...you were not like the dragon men who carried out family to the island...."
E'dre heaves a sigh and lifts his other hand to rub briefly at his eyes and and brow before he drops it back into his lap. His shoulders are slumped now and he looks to her. "I'm glad. I'm glad that my being nice to him made a difference. I didn't know him, really, but he seemed like a wonderful person. I - well, I don't know what else to say."
Rhaelyn nods, her un-held hand dashing at her eyes in frustration, she really shouldn't be bawling like a big baby. The tray is pushed away, offering the un-touched stuff to E'dre. "I'm sorry some exiles were mean to you and your seamon...uh...dragon."
"Wroth," E'dre replies, and he shakes his head at the offered food. "No, thanks. I'm not hungry." He shifts his seat and then reaches into his pants pocket to produce a hanky which he then passes her way. "And people are always different with us, you know. Even those that are familiar with dragons. It's just their nature."
"Wroth," Rhaelyn echoes, offering a little smile from behind the hanky as she applies it to her cheeks. The information about dragons is taken in with interest, "I'm glad we're not the only ones, but I hope I will learn to be comfortable...."
E'dre focuses on the shift in subject. "You do. When I first came to the Weyr from Igen, I tried not to think about the large creatures all around me. I just focused on the day, and then I had one pick /me/ to stand on the Sands. I honestly never thought I'd end up riding one." He moves to remove his hand from hers, but will keep it there if she indicates she still wants it. "Wroth was the ugliest, nastiest, little thing. He's mellowed over the turns. But there's nothing like that bond."
Rhaelyn doesn't latch onto the hand, so he he wants to draw back, she'll certainly let him, but there's a last little squeeze of thanks for his support. Now the topic has her distracted well enough, "What is that? I mean, you make it sound special, we we always stood on the sands at the beach." The next question is very puzzled as well, "Why did you pick him if he was so icky? Were you not high enough rank? Not blooded?" Rank and blood is everything to her people afterall.
"What do you mean by blooded?" E'dre queries, brow furrowing in thought. Rank he understands, at least. "And the Sands - it's where the queen, the big gold dragon, lays her clutch. They are kept there until they are hardened and ready to hatch. Other dragons pick the people that would be most suited for a dragon and when the little hatchlings come out of their shells, they have us to pick from." He adds, "When you're better, I'll show you the sands if you like." He shakes his head and rolls his eyes upward, "Wroth wants me to let you know that he picked /me/ because he knew I needed him."
Rhaelyn is proud even in her weakened state, "Blooded, you know, bloodlines that go back to Lords and ladies. My grandparents were from White Bluff hold. I am a direct line to them through my...my father." Her nose crinkles, "It has a lot of meaning back on the island...means I had a better pick of husbands, have better things." Her expression clouds at the story of dragon hatchings, "I think I would rather pick one myself. I would pick an egg-laying one."
"Sometimes girls argue that they'd like the queen, but when they get picked by a green - or blue, or sometimes a brown - they'd never change it," E'dre answers, "I truly never let myself think about a color when I was dealing with being a candidate. It was one day at a time. I never thought I'd get picked, much less by a brown. But we suit each other." He adjusts the mask on his face, "As the saying goes, 'Dragons know best' or something like that." He considers her statement, adds, "I'm a cotholder's son, but here on the mainland, if you want to change your place you can at least become a craftsman. My niece had no choice in who she married. So, I guess you aren't all that different from us."