[Log] Priorities
Who: E'sere, G'thon
When: Day 16, Month 2, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Where: North Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: E'sere and G'thon speak of E'sere's impending transfer.
North Weyr
This is the sanctuary of High Reaches' senior Weyrwoman. It's been decorated in shades of blue and green with the occasional splash of sunny yellow for contrast. As with the Weyrleader's weyr, it's divided into sections according to work, leisure and rest. The desk and scroll-shelves take up a corner of the weyr with the sitting area in the opposite corner, brightened with hand-woven rugs done in a square key pattern. The bed is small but filled with soft quilts and sheeting.
To the right is the archway that leads out onto the ledge occupied by the Weyr's senior gold. It's large enough for her and for a number of slightly smaller visitors. Directly opposite the entrance tunnel is a smaller tunnel hidden behind a thick curtain. The air is warmer around that curtain, hinting at the tunnel's destination.
Contents:
G'thon
Obvious Exits:
Northern Sky (NS) Hatching Sands (HS) Out (O)
The snow has driven a lot of the Weyr indoors and, outside in the Weyrleaders' office, one might expect to find either the new Weyrleader, his Weyrwoman, their probably unwilling juniors, or any quantity of the above. But no: they have all gone their separate ways just now, to tend to whatever business or plans they might be scheming. That leaves the office empty and silence stretches up each tunnel that leads away from it, including the one to the senior's weyr. Inside, however, there -is- someone: the prior weyrleader, cacheted away in the office-purpose corner of the large weyr. He has laid out before him a pair of hides, an inkwell and a stylus, as if he's there to review business and add his signature. In short, as if only his living arrangements have changed. There is even, on a tray near the entrance, service for tea.
Heedless of the snow, E'sere trudges across the short distance between where Morelenth drops him off and the queens' ledges before ducking inside. He takes a moment just past the doorway to compose himself, brushing the snow from his shoulders and hair and sweeping the slowly melting stuff back outside with one toe. Then, once he's satisfied, shirt tugged straight, a hand raked through his hair, he steps forward again, heading through the office carefully to the senior's weyr. At its doorway he again pauses, glancing inside to G'thon before rapping his knuckles lightly against the stone wall to gain the man's attention before querying, "Sir?"
G'thon looks up. He is dry, warm, strangely secure - or so it seems, anyway; he has no trouble, certainly, in fashioning his characteristically one-sided little smile with which to welcome the bronzerider rapping at his Weyrwoman's chamber door. "Wingleader," he replies, with obvious gladness in his eyes, and plants a hand against the desk beside one of those hides to help himself up to his feet. Then that hand raises and sweeps out a welcome: "Come in. Can I get you some tea?"
Venturing further in at G'thon's invitation, E'sere offers the elder man a small smile, not quite matched in gladness to the other man's. When he pauses again, the bronzerider glances back at the tray of tea before answering. "Ah. Please, sir. If you don't mind?" he decides slowly. "I hope I'm not disturbing you right now, sir, but in light of... things, I wanted to come speak with you." He moves closer, out of the doorway, while he speaks, watching G'thon.
"Let me get you a cup." G'thon slips around from behind the desk and with a dismissive flail of one pale, long hand discards all notions of being interrupted. He crosses toward the tea tray, but stops a few paces from it to observe, as though just now noticing, E'sere's position out of the entryway. "I have nothing now but time, you know. I'd love to talk. Would you like to have a seat?"
E'sere nods, moving to settle himself in one of the room's chair carefully, more perching on the edge than really making himself comfortable. Back to G'thon then, he remarks, "Yes, sir, I understand." He's silent a second, while G'thon moves around behind him. Then: "When Issa and I were at Igen, we spoke to the Weyrleader G'mal. He... told me of the arrangements that had been made regarding myself," the wingleader admits, glancing back over his shoulder to the former Weyrleader then.
"... Did he?" Punctuated by a soft clatter of ceramic, the tiny drop of cup into saucer, the old man's words are actually earnest in their surprise, as off-guard and sudden as his warm welcome and smiling manner have been carefully poised and prepared. The teapot is tipped in his grasp, not quite sloped enough to be pouring yet, and it shakes a little before he manages to set it down on the tray. "Then I do apologize, E'sere. I had meant for that news to come from me, at the very least. I delayed only because things - changed. And J'cor - " A slight shadow crosses G'thon's countenance. He shrugs, looks down, retakes the teapot into his hand. "It was not what I had expected," he remarks, not entirely jovially, and pours two cups of tea.
"I would have appreciated that," agrees E'sere, a faint hint of reproach in his voice for that mistake. "I was--surprised, to say the least. By more than just that. I--didn't anticipate much of what occurred in that meeting. The junior weyrwoman's plans to transfer, the flight, my own... situation." A tight smile in answer to G'thon's latter words. "You'll understand, sir, I'm not quite mollified by that fact. Still, I told the Weyrleader I'd come. I expect to be gone within a couple of sevendays, once I've packed and been able to say my good-byes."
"Ah," says G'thon, assembling once more a slight smile. It is rueful, but this seems to be all the sign of regret he can muster. A little lump of sweetener is dumped into one of the cups; then he takes up the unchanged one and asks, "Sweetener? Milk?" before holding the cup-and-saucer preparation out as if he expects E'sere to take it. And bold as brass, he passes entirely on the opportunity to say anything whatsoever about Yevide, about their schemes, about her flight. No, he only really troubles himself to remark upon: "Igen's Weyrleader is a good leader. His wings have acquitted themselves admirably time and again. Still, I think you have a few tricks to teach them."
"Neither, sir," E'sere answers the question absently, obviously not giving that particular issue much thought as he half-stands to take the cup and saucer. "So I've heard--the other Igenites seem to speak highly of him. He seems... Mm." He glances downward idly, frowning at his drink and swirling it slowly. "Still, it will be a change for me. Igen as as different from the Reaches as it comes, I think, and I've never lived anywhere else."
Relieved of the second cup, G'thon takes up the first and heads for a seat across the little sitting area from the one E'sere half-stood from. But the former weyrleader does not sit down. "It will indeed." And he smiles, still apparently completely unaware of any wrong or harm he might have done - aside, of course, from that unexpected Igenite interloper now occupying what was prior his weyr. "This sort of thing is up to greater men than I, now, of course - but I like to think the stay might not be permanent. A few turns along, perhaps Nabol comes back with his tail between his legs - " G'thon shrugs lightly, once, and lifts his cup to blow over the surface of the hot liquid within.
E'sere, without taking a sip of the drink, nods slowly. "I expect they will, at some point; they've chosen a hard road for themselves," he agrees. "And--" the wingleader begins, before breaking off that line of thought. Instead, he starts over. "More so than the actual transfer, it's the... manner of it that bothered me," E'sere admits. "I wouldn't have been surprised to find that this--new man fashioning himself Weyrleader had negotiated my removal. I was surprised that you did it."
"Oh?" G'thon says this between puffs of breath to cool his drink, then sips. His eyelids lower, obscuring for a time his thoughts, his emotions. When he lowers his cup, however, he raises his gaze and, though he keeps that line of sight steady upon the other man, G'thon slowly lowers into a chair. It seems as though he shrinks into it, even, his stature reduced by the conversation and the responsibility it implies. "You must understand I didn't realize, at the time, Lexine was going to Telgar." Never mind that it's Lexine's absence which - remotely, pitifully - excuses Yevide's transfer.
E'sere nods slowly, lifting his drink to his lips to sip slowly and lower it again. "Mother--S'lien--" he begins, but doesn't finish, only shaking his head to truncate that thought as well. In its place, he remarks, "I've known you my entire life--I can hardly remember a time when you weren't Weyrleader to Mother's Weyrwoman. You've been almost a father to me--certainly my mentor since I impressed. But." He offers G'thon a small, tight smile as he toys with the cup in his hands. "I understand the need for priorities."
Finally, there is the pang of guilt. It has nothing to do with Lexine - no, G'thon seems to have turned his back on her as easily as she turned hers on him. The Telgar Weyrleader's name; the titles Weyrwoman and Weyrleader - they bring out nothing on the old man's face and, in fact, he manages a significant sip of tea while those words float by. But the taste of his favorite beverage, well-sweetened and savored, goes sour in his mouth and the prior weyrleader is obliged to swallow audibly to get it down. He takes a breath as if he's been starved for breath, then lets it out as if he had no purpose for the air. Another, and then: "I'm sorry to lose that, E'sere." His voice is quiet indeed. "But I think I lost it a turn's time ago."
"I'm sorry, too," E'sere agrees simply, eyes still on his hardly-touched cup of tea. For several seconds, he's silent before he finally stands, moving to set the cup and saucer down on a nearby table. "I should go. I've lots to pack still," he decides, glancing back at G'thon then.
G'thon merely watches. There's nothing sudden about the change in his posture, in his demeanor - but his shoulders seem rounder now, his head half-bowed. "Yes," he agrees, softly, then glances down at his cup. He remains that way long enough for the other man to be able to make quite a start for the door - then he looks up and says, "E'sere." Sudden, sharp - it might even be so slightly pleading. "How long - " A pause. His cup has rattled in its saucer. It only takes a moment for G'thon to force his hand still and silent the ceramic clatter. "How long will you be, before you go?"
E'sere pauses, glancing over G'thon again and pursing his lips. "A sevenday, maybe two," he answers after a moment, thoughtfully. "I'd like to have my wing well in order when I leave, though I'm sure my wingsecond can handle the interim well enough until a more permanent solution is arranged."
The former weyrleader sinks back into his chair and nods once, singly. His shoulders straighten and some of his characteristic grace seems to creep back into his stature. "A sevenday or two," he repeats, and it sounds a little as if this span of time offers G'thon some slight relief. "Thank you, E'sere."
"Yes, sir," E'sere says, nodding once. He lingers then, watching the older man with a frown and knitted brows before he finally offers, "Good-bye, sir," and turns to slip out.