Vignette: A thoughtful night
Comment: This takes place the night after Dara's first full day with R'vain in their new agreement. Hit with insomnia, she thinks about the day, her relationship with R'vain, and the revelations he made that day.
Warning: As usual, there are adult themes and concepts here. Mild, but present.
She hurt.
It was a good pain, but it was all-encompassing. Her first day with R'vain in their new arrangement was a lot harder than she had expected it to be, and she had a renewed respect for the weyrlings.
Of course, they hadn't exhausted themselves the night before, or the night after. No small amount of those pleasant tingles and twinges were caused in this room, not down with the weyrlings. A mistaken phrase, a jibe at him where there should not have been one, had earned her some of those twinges.
The rest had just been for the fun of it.
She looked over at the man sleeping next to her, and the smile that her face held was fond. In his sleep, there was a gentleness about him. His breathing was slow and calm, and he was as good as dead in his slumber. Nothing short of direct effort, and no small amount of that, was likely to rouse him. The fond smile turned smug; she took pride in being able to send him out so deeply.
A lovely end to a lovely day, and it would have been perfect - if only that end hadn't been hours ago. And yet here she was, awake and thinking. Ever thinking, ever considering. Sleep hovered at the edge of her consciousness - and with it, the nightmares.
That was why she was awake, because she could feel them there. They waited and lurked, and she knew tonight would be bad. That the nightmares - barely remembered most of the time, a chaotic haze of silvery pain and anguish - waited to prey upon her. And tonight their presence was suffocating. It would be bad.
"If you stand again there's goin' t'be a queen out there, and when she comes you'll offer her all you got." He had said. "There's a few things I'm tryin' t'make you into that ain't just for my personal appreciation, y'know. I got hopes. I know it ain't my choice, but there's nothin' sayin' I can't fit you out th'best I can for the chance."
And even thinking of those words, that open declaration of the intent she'd long seen and feared, was enough to steal her breath. He could be sitting on her chest, and she would be more able to breath than the weight of those words on her. And while she couldn't breath, a mix of fire and ice seized her, overwhelmed her.
Ice that held her, froze her to the marrow. The ice of her fears, the terror that she fought off with every step of every day. He could never see that again, not like he had once. Not anymore. In that fear, the things he couldn't know. How much he scared her. How much he made her unable to think. How much she wanted to be his... And how much she wanted him to be hers.
And most of all, the fear she hid from the world, that even as she accepted it more and more, that she knew he could never know, never understand, never accept. Not that he would want children, not with her anyway. But it was a flaw, a fatal flaw, because how could a gold, a mother to the bone, ever choose someone who couldn't share that? Golds chose women, and she was not really that.
And surrounding the ice that was her skeleton was the fire. The reckless, consuming flame that coursed through and around her. His touch, his smell, his presence. The flick of his tongue across his teeth. Across her teeth. Across other things entirely. The joy of his choosing her - Dara! - as the one he wanted. She wasn't biddable. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't just his pawn.
She knew. She knew why he wanted her, and what he planned. She said she didn't, but how could she not? He was training her. He wanted her to Impress, to take the next gold that hatched and make it hers. He trained her so that she would be the best, the most suitable, the most /ready/ for the challenges that woman would face.
But he trained her, also, to be his. To obey him, to listen to his words, his orders. To turn to him, confide in him, let him shoulder her burdens. And for now, she would let him. She would let him think that she was his. That his mark on her was binding, core to her.
But she knew. She knew the day would come, long down the line, when that gold would rise. She knew that he hoped the day would come that she would be senior. And she knew that he hoped, by then, their dragons would be as bound as he thought she was.
But she wouldn't make that choice based on that. Her dragon would have freedom, and would make the best choice. And when R'vain stood by her side, it would be because, while he was busy making her into the perfect goldrider, she would be doing her best to return the favor. With her, he had focus, he had determination.
She stood and looked around, shivering a bit in the cool air outside the furs. Weyrs were so drafty! She looked at his domain, his sanctum that he shared with her. It was still a mess - she hadn't had time yet to properly fix that. But that had to change. She'd find it all, and find it often. She knew he drank, away from her. She wasn't stupid. But that would change.
A Weyrleader couldn't be a drunk and do a good job. And if he wanted her to strive that hard, if he wanted her to be the linchpin of his hopes and plans, then she would. But she wouldn't make it easy on him. It would all go. She would come while he was training, and clean, as he had agreed. And he would find his home dry.
Tomorrow. She told herself that would wait until tomorrow, or the next day. There was no rush. Now... Now she had another goal in mind. Were his eyes open, he knew he would appreciate her form. He'd make a crude comment, of course, he always did. But she saw past those, past the fire, and saw the admiration beneath. In the barely existent light, she would have been an alluring vision for him.
But he slept, for a good part of the night yet. And she needed to, soon, if she was to get through the morning. It wouldn't do to perform less than perfect on their first goodbye!
She moved to the chest. The perfect spot of cleanliness in his weyr, the place that was hers. She had noted immediately how clean it was kept around it; he avoided it, gave her that space even when she wasn't here, and it showed. She knelt, and it opened on silent hinges. In their fire, there had been no call to lock it. And indeed, the necklace had gone into it, a distraction at the time.
She found it now. Pearls winked at her in the feeble light, and she ran her fingers over the smooth orbs with a renewed sense of wonder. He chose her. And when she lifted it, when it was secure around her neck, the lid was closed as silently as it had opened.
She moved back to the bed and crawled in. Cold from being outside, she curled comfortable against him. How hot he was, even in sleep! Her skin, where it touched his, felt like fire. And those fires, and the opposing cold that she wore on her neck, kept the dreams away. She was his, for tonight, and so for tonight the terror couldn't own her. Her breathing settled until it matched his with long, slow breaths, and she slept the night peacefully through, content in her choices and knowledges.
Warning: As usual, there are adult themes and concepts here. Mild, but present.
She hurt.
It was a good pain, but it was all-encompassing. Her first day with R'vain in their new arrangement was a lot harder than she had expected it to be, and she had a renewed respect for the weyrlings.
Of course, they hadn't exhausted themselves the night before, or the night after. No small amount of those pleasant tingles and twinges were caused in this room, not down with the weyrlings. A mistaken phrase, a jibe at him where there should not have been one, had earned her some of those twinges.
The rest had just been for the fun of it.
She looked over at the man sleeping next to her, and the smile that her face held was fond. In his sleep, there was a gentleness about him. His breathing was slow and calm, and he was as good as dead in his slumber. Nothing short of direct effort, and no small amount of that, was likely to rouse him. The fond smile turned smug; she took pride in being able to send him out so deeply.
A lovely end to a lovely day, and it would have been perfect - if only that end hadn't been hours ago. And yet here she was, awake and thinking. Ever thinking, ever considering. Sleep hovered at the edge of her consciousness - and with it, the nightmares.
That was why she was awake, because she could feel them there. They waited and lurked, and she knew tonight would be bad. That the nightmares - barely remembered most of the time, a chaotic haze of silvery pain and anguish - waited to prey upon her. And tonight their presence was suffocating. It would be bad.
"If you stand again there's goin' t'be a queen out there, and when she comes you'll offer her all you got." He had said. "There's a few things I'm tryin' t'make you into that ain't just for my personal appreciation, y'know. I got hopes. I know it ain't my choice, but there's nothin' sayin' I can't fit you out th'best I can for the chance."
And even thinking of those words, that open declaration of the intent she'd long seen and feared, was enough to steal her breath. He could be sitting on her chest, and she would be more able to breath than the weight of those words on her. And while she couldn't breath, a mix of fire and ice seized her, overwhelmed her.
Ice that held her, froze her to the marrow. The ice of her fears, the terror that she fought off with every step of every day. He could never see that again, not like he had once. Not anymore. In that fear, the things he couldn't know. How much he scared her. How much he made her unable to think. How much she wanted to be his... And how much she wanted him to be hers.
And most of all, the fear she hid from the world, that even as she accepted it more and more, that she knew he could never know, never understand, never accept. Not that he would want children, not with her anyway. But it was a flaw, a fatal flaw, because how could a gold, a mother to the bone, ever choose someone who couldn't share that? Golds chose women, and she was not really that.
And surrounding the ice that was her skeleton was the fire. The reckless, consuming flame that coursed through and around her. His touch, his smell, his presence. The flick of his tongue across his teeth. Across her teeth. Across other things entirely. The joy of his choosing her - Dara! - as the one he wanted. She wasn't biddable. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't just his pawn.
She knew. She knew why he wanted her, and what he planned. She said she didn't, but how could she not? He was training her. He wanted her to Impress, to take the next gold that hatched and make it hers. He trained her so that she would be the best, the most suitable, the most /ready/ for the challenges that woman would face.
But he trained her, also, to be his. To obey him, to listen to his words, his orders. To turn to him, confide in him, let him shoulder her burdens. And for now, she would let him. She would let him think that she was his. That his mark on her was binding, core to her.
But she knew. She knew the day would come, long down the line, when that gold would rise. She knew that he hoped the day would come that she would be senior. And she knew that he hoped, by then, their dragons would be as bound as he thought she was.
But she wouldn't make that choice based on that. Her dragon would have freedom, and would make the best choice. And when R'vain stood by her side, it would be because, while he was busy making her into the perfect goldrider, she would be doing her best to return the favor. With her, he had focus, he had determination.
She stood and looked around, shivering a bit in the cool air outside the furs. Weyrs were so drafty! She looked at his domain, his sanctum that he shared with her. It was still a mess - she hadn't had time yet to properly fix that. But that had to change. She'd find it all, and find it often. She knew he drank, away from her. She wasn't stupid. But that would change.
A Weyrleader couldn't be a drunk and do a good job. And if he wanted her to strive that hard, if he wanted her to be the linchpin of his hopes and plans, then she would. But she wouldn't make it easy on him. It would all go. She would come while he was training, and clean, as he had agreed. And he would find his home dry.
Tomorrow. She told herself that would wait until tomorrow, or the next day. There was no rush. Now... Now she had another goal in mind. Were his eyes open, he knew he would appreciate her form. He'd make a crude comment, of course, he always did. But she saw past those, past the fire, and saw the admiration beneath. In the barely existent light, she would have been an alluring vision for him.
But he slept, for a good part of the night yet. And she needed to, soon, if she was to get through the morning. It wouldn't do to perform less than perfect on their first goodbye!
She moved to the chest. The perfect spot of cleanliness in his weyr, the place that was hers. She had noted immediately how clean it was kept around it; he avoided it, gave her that space even when she wasn't here, and it showed. She knelt, and it opened on silent hinges. In their fire, there had been no call to lock it. And indeed, the necklace had gone into it, a distraction at the time.
She found it now. Pearls winked at her in the feeble light, and she ran her fingers over the smooth orbs with a renewed sense of wonder. He chose her. And when she lifted it, when it was secure around her neck, the lid was closed as silently as it had opened.
She moved back to the bed and crawled in. Cold from being outside, she curled comfortable against him. How hot he was, even in sleep! Her skin, where it touched his, felt like fire. And those fires, and the opposing cold that she wore on her neck, kept the dreams away. She was his, for tonight, and so for tonight the terror couldn't own her. Her breathing settled until it matched his with long, slow breaths, and she slept the night peacefully through, content in her choices and knowledges.