The reluctant student
Who: G'thon and D'ven
When: Day 18 or 19, month 8, turn two of the seventh Pass
Where: G'thon and Miniyal's quarters
What: D'ven seeks... advice? confirmation? a good sharp figurative smack in the head? Gans obliges.
Late morning in the residential areas are quiet hours, most days, and this day is no exception. With the gather done and the business of Conclave concluded, but not yet time enough gone by for any excessively surprising fallout to occur, the Weyr is actually fairly quiet throughout; the hallway on which G'thon's quarters are situated is just exceptionally so. The sconce below the plaque on the wall that bears his (birth) name has gone dim from too-irregular replacement of glows, but his door is still easy enough to find. It is, after all, hanging a foot and a half open, and if one comes down the hall from the cavernsward end, one might catch a glimpse of the man inside as he paces, slowly, a book spread open in one palm and a cup - fragile, small, and with contents all too guessable - in the other. His mouth is moving, but there's nothing of what he says to be heard; he merely marks the words, as though practicing a recitation.
Beware of bronzeriders baring gifts. One such comes this way even now, D'ven having found some free time in between drills and the small amount of paperwork Br'ce allows him near. In one hand is a bottle of sweet brandy from his own collection. He does indeed catch a glimpse of G'thon, and pauses for a moment before knocking firmly on the door.
"Come." It fits in neatly between his unvoiced words, and G'thon imbues it with all the carriage his rich, mellow voice - the voice he once commanded dragonriders with - can offer. He drops silent just as easily to finish out the phrase he'd been practicing, and from this little distance, through the wide gap of the open door, it may be observed that he also practices expression with his dictation. When the thought is completed he closes the book with a curl of his hand and glances up, adjusting his countenance to provide warm, curious welcome. "Wingsecond." Again, just as before, though this time seconded with a warp of the old man's one-sided smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Sir." D'ven returns the greeting, with an easy smile that comes so naturally to him. "Well, I've heard quite a bit about you from a mutual friend, so it was a slight disappointment when we didn't get to talk much at the Gather. I thought I might remedy that in less hectic surroundings." He holds out the bottle then. "And I come bearing a gift, to sweeten the fact I'm asking you to put up with me." The smile changes to a slightly rakish grin,
G'thon strides easily, evenly to his new guest by way of his little table (on that, he sets down both book and teacup); once near D'ven he puts out his hands - his palms are long and pale, fingers slender, even bony - to receive the bottle. "There is most certainly no need. - Still: this looks very nice indeed; I certainly would not dream of turning it down!" A glance at the bottle, of course, and a glance up at the giver, hazel eyes a little wryly bright. "Would you like to sit down? I can open it and have us each a taste - if you don't consider it too early, of course." The former weyrleader's tone is absolutely proper, gentle and lightweight, just a tease to allow D'ven to gracefully decline should he wish it. But a silver brow slides up, as if there could be irony in the jest.
"It's never too early." D'ven replies with a soft laugh, apparently appreciating both the jest and the irony it contains. "And thank you, I'd love to." So saying, he slides into whicever chair is indicated. "I trust I find you well?"
There are not so many chairs to choose from, but the two that edge the table where G'thon left cup and book may be taken, else the divan. The former weyrleader seems less than invested in choosing for his guest; his actions are instead to carry the bottle with some attention to its made and the hue of the liquid within over to the bookcase, from which he takes down a corker. "I am very well, indeed. And you, wingleader?" The bottle is unstoppered and little glasses found, then brandy poured. G'thon loosely corks the bottle and sets his implements aside so he may carry toward his guest both snifters, full.
There are not so many chairs to choose from, but the two that edge the table where G'thon left cup and book may be taken, else the divan. The former weyrleader seems less than invested in choosing for his guest; his actions are instead to carry the bottle with some attention to its made and the hue of the liquid within over to the bookcase, from which he takes down a corker. "I am very well, indeed. And you, wingsecond?" The bottle is unstoppered and little glasses found, then brandy poured. G'thon loosely corks the bottle and sets his implements aside so he may carry toward his guest both snifters, full.
"Please, call me D'ven. Unless you'd prefer not to." D'ven replies as he takes one of the seats at the table, seeming slightly uncomfortable with the use of his title in this enviroment. "And I'm quite well, thanks. Things are looking up, and I'm back to my old self." There's a glance at the book. "I trust I havn't interrupted anything that cannot wait?"
"D'ven, then." Which leaves G'thon briefly off-pace, and he pauses with his brandy in one hand before deciding - apparently - to let the issue of his name wait for another time. A smile, one-sided, and he slips into his own seat. "Of course not. I'd have said something," he replies, droll, lifting the little glass he holds as a sort of dismissal of the very idea and, a little bit, a pantomime-only toast to his guest. "Good to hear. But I must ask - " And here, more of that dry bemusement. "- your old self as we knew you when you studied here, or is this some other self I would find less familiar?"
D'ven has the good grace to look ever so slightly embaressed at the question, though it's answered with a nostalgic smile. "I'm much the same man I ever was. Always have been, always will be." Perhaps he believes it, but it isn't true. He looks a little bit older, and still a little ragged around the edges.
"I assume that this - " Another lift of the snifter. "Is yours, then." He withdraws the glass and puts it to his lips without further apparent thought; of course, it is the least of little sips he takes, a trial to get the real taste of the stuff, to roll it around a moment on the tongue and let it warm so it can release the full heft of its flavor before he swallows it. G'thon is fairly expert at the expression of a pleased palate, and acquires such an expression now, brows raised. "I should say I know so, now."
At the compliment, D'ven smiles with evident pleasure. "You're too kind." He murmurs. "But yes, it is indeed mine. It's so nice to be able to share it with someone who appreciates such things." D'ven is, for all his bluff boisterousness, quite passionate about his craft.
"It's so nice to have someone who can create such things so ready to hand," retorts G'thon, drily, his smile lighting his eyes enough that it might be termed a grin. He sets the snifter down then and leans back in his chair, crossing legs at the knees, elbows and palms shaping themselves to the curves of the seat-arms. "I cannot help from guessing that something more than the desire to share your good work with me brought you here, D'ven. Would it be too brash of me to inquire...?"
"Well, as I say, I've been told I ought to meet you for some time, and then we got so little time to talk at the gather..." D'ven replies, before pausing for a moment. He's not about to treat G'thon as stupid after such a question. "And quite frankly, life's just a little complicated right now. And you're one of the few people I know who isn't in some way involved in my complications already."
"I believe all of our lives have been complicated, if not in the broad sense, then in the comparative sense, for some time now. Thankfully," and here G'thon manages a little more smile, and to lean forward to take the brandy, "I feel that at last things are beginning to settle down and simplify. So I have a little breathing room to take in some extra thoughts, D'ven, if you have them." He leans back again, holding the brandy in his hands, one crossed into the palm of the other to make a cradle.
D'ven smiles gratefully. "Thank you, but I'm not really looking to share the complications right now." He explains. "More just...spend time away from them, in pleasant company." He seems quite relaxed. "And yes, I suppose on a broad scale things are settling down and simplifying. But I also get the feeling they may yet get more complicated in certain ways."
"Perhaps. There will be order, at least. Harper will see to that, as long as there's the chance of a trial, and as long as it proceeds." G'thon's smile wanes, though the warmth remains in his eyes; thoughtfully solemn, he adds, "If we are fortunate, that order will persist after."
"Oh, I think order will likely persist. At least, I hope so." D'ven murmurs softly. "But...there are other complications besides those of disorder and lawlessness. Though perhaps connected. I get the feeling that now things are being reigned in it all gets decidedly...political." The word is said like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
The former weyrleader spares the least wrinkling of his nose for the word, though his smile expands slightly, regaining ground it had lost. "Have you some fear, D'ven, that politics will be chasing you down sometime soon?"
D'ven laughs quietly, though there's little humor in it. "Even now, there are people who are trying to get me up into my neck in it. Asking me difficult questions, making me think about situations with no beneficial outcome and asking me what I'd do." There's a wry grin. "I've been able to escape it for turns. And now it seems to be catching up with me."
"Well, I will spare you such business, if you wish it," replies G'thon, a dry chortle threatening to spill over into his words. "You may ever come here and keep my company and if we discuss politics at all, D'ven, they shall strictly be those of driest history, and only the very best parts of it. But I must confess some curiousity - " He raises a hand, palm forward, leaving the other alone to cradle his brandy. "- and of course, you need not answer if you wish." He overturns his hand on these words and lets it drop, an airy gesture of dismissal. "What -have- you been asked, of late? Is there more anxiety in three-cee? I would do anything I could to put right what's been wrong there."
"Thank you, I appreciate that greatly." D'ven replies with a genuinely grateful smile, before shaking his head. "No, Three-Cee is coming along nicely. But, with things calming and hopefully coming to an end...people are starting to look to the future. And Teraneth gives them a fair amount to think about. I imagine most of my fellows are in a similar situation." There's a pause, and then a sigh. "It's been pointed out to me that a very uncomfortable situation may be developing in regards to our...forgotten friends. And that's been weighing heavily on my mind."
"Ah, the Instigators." What D'ven, apparently, will not name, G'thon will with no more emphasis than another dry smile and the lift and fall of a hand. "Yes, I believe we shall all have some matter to deal with there in due time. It would have been, I think, wise for someone with means," which would not, since he says this so specifically, be himself, "to check up on Nenuith and see if her rider may be coaxed into return. But the time for that action may be behind us now. Those in positions," again, not he, "to try to act on such things would be best served by putting their minds together on those matters, and maybe spare smaller things that try them now to smaller men." And here the old man pauses, gets a voiceless shape of the syllable 'ah' on his lips, and bends his head a little, abashed. "I will go on, if you left me, you know. It is the privilege - or the distraction - of one who once led. Will you tell me, then, why you breathe this bother in the same breath as your thoughts about Teraneth's capacity in chase?"
D'ven laughs softly. "Believe me, I have no problem with you going on." For one thing, it makes it less likely he will do so instead. "And certainly. Because I don't want any of these problems. Any of it, really. I just want to go on with my life. But, as has been pointed out to me, these things are not mine to choose." There's a pause. "So it behooves me, for my own benefit and that of everyone else, to make sure I am prepared should it come to pass. For all that I'll rant and rave about the idea."
G'thon looks at the other man then for quite some time, replacing the hand that had gestured with its palm curved beneath the knuckles of the other, both together cradling the brandy. The smile remains, partly, high on the right side and absent on the left - but it seems a bit as though the former weyrleader only continues to smile because he has forgotten to do otherwise. In time he says, gently, slowly, "Those things are, actually, yours to choose, D'ven. Watch the queens and should you think one likely, take Teraneth elsewhere, and avoid what responsibility you would not delight in." His hand shifts so his thumb can tap, slowly, against the glass. "You are not so easily led as to think you have no options, I think. If my place here is to provide you some kind of advisement or insight, I would not wish to feel I had a reluctant student."
"Yes, you're right. I could merely remove us to another Weyr for the duration." D'ven agrees with a slow nod. "And I don't think I will ever truly delight in responsibility. But doing so would...it's hard to explain. It would feel somewhat like I was breaking a trust Pern placed in me when I Impressed, if I was to remove myself from the potential pool." He shrugs, such feelings still quite new to him and unfamiliar to his lips.
G'thon smirks; there's no other word for it. "I see," he replies, droll. "So you will not say you wish to learn, nor to serve, but here you are anyway. Might I ask why?"
D'ven considers the question for a few moments. "Because I have been called to do both, and might yet be called to do greater service than I currently perform. At which point...two things occur to me. We are neither in an Interval, or in a stable, prosperous, Weyr. Should I find myself called, attempting to learn as I went would be disasterous."
"'Called.'" G'thon echoes the word, then uncrosses his legs and bends forward from his repose to surrender the brandy to the table. "D'ven, I was not called. Nor was J'cor. We made decisions, or perhaps he might argue a decision was made for him, but the decisions were quite earthly, I assure you." The former weyrleader dips his head a bit so he has the benefit of looking somewhat up at the other man, but the dancing twinkle has left his eyes and leaves only the bright, keen light of solemn lecture. "If you become a weyrleader," not specifically the Reaches', that construction allows, "It will be as the result of specific, intentional actions, and I do believe some of them will be on your part. If you -wish- to lead this Weyr, but express such doubt for other reasons, then there may be some small insight or perspective I may offer. If you loathe the idea but accept it as your possible duty, then discard your worries; they will never come to fruition."
D'ven pays intent attention to the lecture, seeming calmed by it. "That...is quite possibly what I needed to hear. I'm not sure I agree with it all, but a different point of view given by someone who didn't have their mind already made up as to where I'd be best is certainly appreciated. I've been getting an entirely one sided story for quite a while, I suspect."
G'thon recovers his drink and slips back into the embrace of his chair, smiling his half-smile. "D'ven, I have very much enjoyed our talk, and you have been most kind in bringing me some of your labor's fruit - " A lift of the brandy, of course. "- and in letting an old man go on. Something you've said, however, reminds me I must make an amendment to my notes for my second week's work. I would like to continue our conversation - " He lifts a hand now, instead of the glass. "Perhaps you would stop by again?"
Standing slowly, D'ven returns the half-smile, the hand taken and shook. "Of course, thank you for the invitation. I'd like that." There's a pause, before he starts heading toward the door. "I shall definetly stop by again."
G'thon rises midst the handshake, smoothly, managing the clasp of hands and the holding of brandy while getting up without issue. "Thank you," he replies, a little emphasis on the pronoun. "I look forward to it."
When: Day 18 or 19, month 8, turn two of the seventh Pass
Where: G'thon and Miniyal's quarters
What: D'ven seeks... advice? confirmation? a good sharp figurative smack in the head? Gans obliges.
Late morning in the residential areas are quiet hours, most days, and this day is no exception. With the gather done and the business of Conclave concluded, but not yet time enough gone by for any excessively surprising fallout to occur, the Weyr is actually fairly quiet throughout; the hallway on which G'thon's quarters are situated is just exceptionally so. The sconce below the plaque on the wall that bears his (birth) name has gone dim from too-irregular replacement of glows, but his door is still easy enough to find. It is, after all, hanging a foot and a half open, and if one comes down the hall from the cavernsward end, one might catch a glimpse of the man inside as he paces, slowly, a book spread open in one palm and a cup - fragile, small, and with contents all too guessable - in the other. His mouth is moving, but there's nothing of what he says to be heard; he merely marks the words, as though practicing a recitation.
Beware of bronzeriders baring gifts. One such comes this way even now, D'ven having found some free time in between drills and the small amount of paperwork Br'ce allows him near. In one hand is a bottle of sweet brandy from his own collection. He does indeed catch a glimpse of G'thon, and pauses for a moment before knocking firmly on the door.
"Come." It fits in neatly between his unvoiced words, and G'thon imbues it with all the carriage his rich, mellow voice - the voice he once commanded dragonriders with - can offer. He drops silent just as easily to finish out the phrase he'd been practicing, and from this little distance, through the wide gap of the open door, it may be observed that he also practices expression with his dictation. When the thought is completed he closes the book with a curl of his hand and glances up, adjusting his countenance to provide warm, curious welcome. "Wingsecond." Again, just as before, though this time seconded with a warp of the old man's one-sided smile. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Sir." D'ven returns the greeting, with an easy smile that comes so naturally to him. "Well, I've heard quite a bit about you from a mutual friend, so it was a slight disappointment when we didn't get to talk much at the Gather. I thought I might remedy that in less hectic surroundings." He holds out the bottle then. "And I come bearing a gift, to sweeten the fact I'm asking you to put up with me." The smile changes to a slightly rakish grin,
G'thon strides easily, evenly to his new guest by way of his little table (on that, he sets down both book and teacup); once near D'ven he puts out his hands - his palms are long and pale, fingers slender, even bony - to receive the bottle. "There is most certainly no need. - Still: this looks very nice indeed; I certainly would not dream of turning it down!" A glance at the bottle, of course, and a glance up at the giver, hazel eyes a little wryly bright. "Would you like to sit down? I can open it and have us each a taste - if you don't consider it too early, of course." The former weyrleader's tone is absolutely proper, gentle and lightweight, just a tease to allow D'ven to gracefully decline should he wish it. But a silver brow slides up, as if there could be irony in the jest.
"It's never too early." D'ven replies with a soft laugh, apparently appreciating both the jest and the irony it contains. "And thank you, I'd love to." So saying, he slides into whicever chair is indicated. "I trust I find you well?"
There are not so many chairs to choose from, but the two that edge the table where G'thon left cup and book may be taken, else the divan. The former weyrleader seems less than invested in choosing for his guest; his actions are instead to carry the bottle with some attention to its made and the hue of the liquid within over to the bookcase, from which he takes down a corker. "I am very well, indeed. And you, wingleader?" The bottle is unstoppered and little glasses found, then brandy poured. G'thon loosely corks the bottle and sets his implements aside so he may carry toward his guest both snifters, full.
There are not so many chairs to choose from, but the two that edge the table where G'thon left cup and book may be taken, else the divan. The former weyrleader seems less than invested in choosing for his guest; his actions are instead to carry the bottle with some attention to its made and the hue of the liquid within over to the bookcase, from which he takes down a corker. "I am very well, indeed. And you, wingsecond?" The bottle is unstoppered and little glasses found, then brandy poured. G'thon loosely corks the bottle and sets his implements aside so he may carry toward his guest both snifters, full.
"Please, call me D'ven. Unless you'd prefer not to." D'ven replies as he takes one of the seats at the table, seeming slightly uncomfortable with the use of his title in this enviroment. "And I'm quite well, thanks. Things are looking up, and I'm back to my old self." There's a glance at the book. "I trust I havn't interrupted anything that cannot wait?"
"D'ven, then." Which leaves G'thon briefly off-pace, and he pauses with his brandy in one hand before deciding - apparently - to let the issue of his name wait for another time. A smile, one-sided, and he slips into his own seat. "Of course not. I'd have said something," he replies, droll, lifting the little glass he holds as a sort of dismissal of the very idea and, a little bit, a pantomime-only toast to his guest. "Good to hear. But I must ask - " And here, more of that dry bemusement. "- your old self as we knew you when you studied here, or is this some other self I would find less familiar?"
D'ven has the good grace to look ever so slightly embaressed at the question, though it's answered with a nostalgic smile. "I'm much the same man I ever was. Always have been, always will be." Perhaps he believes it, but it isn't true. He looks a little bit older, and still a little ragged around the edges.
"I assume that this - " Another lift of the snifter. "Is yours, then." He withdraws the glass and puts it to his lips without further apparent thought; of course, it is the least of little sips he takes, a trial to get the real taste of the stuff, to roll it around a moment on the tongue and let it warm so it can release the full heft of its flavor before he swallows it. G'thon is fairly expert at the expression of a pleased palate, and acquires such an expression now, brows raised. "I should say I know so, now."
At the compliment, D'ven smiles with evident pleasure. "You're too kind." He murmurs. "But yes, it is indeed mine. It's so nice to be able to share it with someone who appreciates such things." D'ven is, for all his bluff boisterousness, quite passionate about his craft.
"It's so nice to have someone who can create such things so ready to hand," retorts G'thon, drily, his smile lighting his eyes enough that it might be termed a grin. He sets the snifter down then and leans back in his chair, crossing legs at the knees, elbows and palms shaping themselves to the curves of the seat-arms. "I cannot help from guessing that something more than the desire to share your good work with me brought you here, D'ven. Would it be too brash of me to inquire...?"
"Well, as I say, I've been told I ought to meet you for some time, and then we got so little time to talk at the gather..." D'ven replies, before pausing for a moment. He's not about to treat G'thon as stupid after such a question. "And quite frankly, life's just a little complicated right now. And you're one of the few people I know who isn't in some way involved in my complications already."
"I believe all of our lives have been complicated, if not in the broad sense, then in the comparative sense, for some time now. Thankfully," and here G'thon manages a little more smile, and to lean forward to take the brandy, "I feel that at last things are beginning to settle down and simplify. So I have a little breathing room to take in some extra thoughts, D'ven, if you have them." He leans back again, holding the brandy in his hands, one crossed into the palm of the other to make a cradle.
D'ven smiles gratefully. "Thank you, but I'm not really looking to share the complications right now." He explains. "More just...spend time away from them, in pleasant company." He seems quite relaxed. "And yes, I suppose on a broad scale things are settling down and simplifying. But I also get the feeling they may yet get more complicated in certain ways."
"Perhaps. There will be order, at least. Harper will see to that, as long as there's the chance of a trial, and as long as it proceeds." G'thon's smile wanes, though the warmth remains in his eyes; thoughtfully solemn, he adds, "If we are fortunate, that order will persist after."
"Oh, I think order will likely persist. At least, I hope so." D'ven murmurs softly. "But...there are other complications besides those of disorder and lawlessness. Though perhaps connected. I get the feeling that now things are being reigned in it all gets decidedly...political." The word is said like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
The former weyrleader spares the least wrinkling of his nose for the word, though his smile expands slightly, regaining ground it had lost. "Have you some fear, D'ven, that politics will be chasing you down sometime soon?"
D'ven laughs quietly, though there's little humor in it. "Even now, there are people who are trying to get me up into my neck in it. Asking me difficult questions, making me think about situations with no beneficial outcome and asking me what I'd do." There's a wry grin. "I've been able to escape it for turns. And now it seems to be catching up with me."
"Well, I will spare you such business, if you wish it," replies G'thon, a dry chortle threatening to spill over into his words. "You may ever come here and keep my company and if we discuss politics at all, D'ven, they shall strictly be those of driest history, and only the very best parts of it. But I must confess some curiousity - " He raises a hand, palm forward, leaving the other alone to cradle his brandy. "- and of course, you need not answer if you wish." He overturns his hand on these words and lets it drop, an airy gesture of dismissal. "What -have- you been asked, of late? Is there more anxiety in three-cee? I would do anything I could to put right what's been wrong there."
"Thank you, I appreciate that greatly." D'ven replies with a genuinely grateful smile, before shaking his head. "No, Three-Cee is coming along nicely. But, with things calming and hopefully coming to an end...people are starting to look to the future. And Teraneth gives them a fair amount to think about. I imagine most of my fellows are in a similar situation." There's a pause, and then a sigh. "It's been pointed out to me that a very uncomfortable situation may be developing in regards to our...forgotten friends. And that's been weighing heavily on my mind."
"Ah, the Instigators." What D'ven, apparently, will not name, G'thon will with no more emphasis than another dry smile and the lift and fall of a hand. "Yes, I believe we shall all have some matter to deal with there in due time. It would have been, I think, wise for someone with means," which would not, since he says this so specifically, be himself, "to check up on Nenuith and see if her rider may be coaxed into return. But the time for that action may be behind us now. Those in positions," again, not he, "to try to act on such things would be best served by putting their minds together on those matters, and maybe spare smaller things that try them now to smaller men." And here the old man pauses, gets a voiceless shape of the syllable 'ah' on his lips, and bends his head a little, abashed. "I will go on, if you left me, you know. It is the privilege - or the distraction - of one who once led. Will you tell me, then, why you breathe this bother in the same breath as your thoughts about Teraneth's capacity in chase?"
D'ven laughs softly. "Believe me, I have no problem with you going on." For one thing, it makes it less likely he will do so instead. "And certainly. Because I don't want any of these problems. Any of it, really. I just want to go on with my life. But, as has been pointed out to me, these things are not mine to choose." There's a pause. "So it behooves me, for my own benefit and that of everyone else, to make sure I am prepared should it come to pass. For all that I'll rant and rave about the idea."
G'thon looks at the other man then for quite some time, replacing the hand that had gestured with its palm curved beneath the knuckles of the other, both together cradling the brandy. The smile remains, partly, high on the right side and absent on the left - but it seems a bit as though the former weyrleader only continues to smile because he has forgotten to do otherwise. In time he says, gently, slowly, "Those things are, actually, yours to choose, D'ven. Watch the queens and should you think one likely, take Teraneth elsewhere, and avoid what responsibility you would not delight in." His hand shifts so his thumb can tap, slowly, against the glass. "You are not so easily led as to think you have no options, I think. If my place here is to provide you some kind of advisement or insight, I would not wish to feel I had a reluctant student."
"Yes, you're right. I could merely remove us to another Weyr for the duration." D'ven agrees with a slow nod. "And I don't think I will ever truly delight in responsibility. But doing so would...it's hard to explain. It would feel somewhat like I was breaking a trust Pern placed in me when I Impressed, if I was to remove myself from the potential pool." He shrugs, such feelings still quite new to him and unfamiliar to his lips.
G'thon smirks; there's no other word for it. "I see," he replies, droll. "So you will not say you wish to learn, nor to serve, but here you are anyway. Might I ask why?"
D'ven considers the question for a few moments. "Because I have been called to do both, and might yet be called to do greater service than I currently perform. At which point...two things occur to me. We are neither in an Interval, or in a stable, prosperous, Weyr. Should I find myself called, attempting to learn as I went would be disasterous."
"'Called.'" G'thon echoes the word, then uncrosses his legs and bends forward from his repose to surrender the brandy to the table. "D'ven, I was not called. Nor was J'cor. We made decisions, or perhaps he might argue a decision was made for him, but the decisions were quite earthly, I assure you." The former weyrleader dips his head a bit so he has the benefit of looking somewhat up at the other man, but the dancing twinkle has left his eyes and leaves only the bright, keen light of solemn lecture. "If you become a weyrleader," not specifically the Reaches', that construction allows, "It will be as the result of specific, intentional actions, and I do believe some of them will be on your part. If you -wish- to lead this Weyr, but express such doubt for other reasons, then there may be some small insight or perspective I may offer. If you loathe the idea but accept it as your possible duty, then discard your worries; they will never come to fruition."
D'ven pays intent attention to the lecture, seeming calmed by it. "That...is quite possibly what I needed to hear. I'm not sure I agree with it all, but a different point of view given by someone who didn't have their mind already made up as to where I'd be best is certainly appreciated. I've been getting an entirely one sided story for quite a while, I suspect."
G'thon recovers his drink and slips back into the embrace of his chair, smiling his half-smile. "D'ven, I have very much enjoyed our talk, and you have been most kind in bringing me some of your labor's fruit - " A lift of the brandy, of course. "- and in letting an old man go on. Something you've said, however, reminds me I must make an amendment to my notes for my second week's work. I would like to continue our conversation - " He lifts a hand now, instead of the glass. "Perhaps you would stop by again?"
Standing slowly, D'ven returns the half-smile, the hand taken and shook. "Of course, thank you for the invitation. I'd like that." There's a pause, before he starts heading toward the door. "I shall definetly stop by again."
G'thon rises midst the handshake, smoothly, managing the clasp of hands and the holding of brandy while getting up without issue. "Thank you," he replies, a little emphasis on the pronoun. "I look forward to it."