I Do Not Yet Love You
IC Date: Day 1, Month 9, Turn 3, 7th Pass
Players: H'kon, Vanya, Arekoth
Location: Southern Bowl, Lake Shore
Synopsis: Simply put -- "What we have here is a failure to communicate."
Southern Bowl,
Afternoon
The bowl floor is a broad expanse of gravel and dust, packed flat over decades of dragonweight landing on it. Kept free of vegetation, the only color variation across the vast hollow of the bowl are the dragons, in good weather often found sunning on low ledges or sprawled along the floor itself. The well-worn, charcoal-grey walls of the bowl are nearly vertical, far too steep for even the most adventurous climber to attempt. The rim of the bowl, marked by a rainbow of perching dragons at all times of the day, is topped with massive stone spires that stretch upwards into the blue vault of the sky. There are seven in all, great black fingers of stone that seem, from where you stand, to touch the clouds.
Here the lake dominates the bowl floor, wind-scattered waves lapping at the gravel shore. A few scrawny shrubs to the southeast mark the fenced-in enclosure of the feeding grounds, bordered on its southwestern edge by the lake itself. Following the wall here will lead to the entrance to the weyrling complex and, past that, the stairs that lead to the guest weyr. On the other side of the lake is a vast, yawning tunnel curving upwards slightly, connecting to the long road leading away from High Reaches Weyr. Adjoining the exit is the high arch of the infirmary entrance. Autumn seems made for windy days such as this one. It's cool and crisp, and there are plenty of brilliantly shaded leaves to be picked up and spun about.
Never one to sit at ease when Thread is falling and he isn't there, H'kon has been forced out of his weyr by his brown, and so finds himself seated at the shore of the lake. A riding jacket sits over his shoulders, left open, and he has his back to the wind. Before him, a pair of needles twitch with a special velocity, a tell-tale sign of the man's current dissatisfaction with his situation. Arekoth looks far more at ease, the fiery brown stroking through the water in those prancing motions of his, occasionally dipping his snout and tossing his head, to attempt a spray of droplets toward his rider. These warrant only grimaces, of course, and not so much at the temperature of the water (though autumn indeed has lent a cooler feel to the lake), but at the dragon's audacity in attempting to cheer up his rider.
And after Vanya has helped the Infirmary get ready for returning riders (hopefully with only minor injuries!), it's time to take a bit of a break. Basket in hand, she wanders down toward the lake, pausing only to chat with friends or watch the skies. The cooler weather has her wearing a light cloak over her dress, the hood left back. When she sees the brown swimming, she stops, eyes scanning the shoreline until they fall on H'kon's familiar figure. There's a moment of hesitation from her; after all, their past few meetings haven't been all that much fun, nor have they really come to any conclusions. In fact, she's rather avoided him altogether, pleading work that's keeping her busy. But, there's no work today, and with some resolve, Vanya continues to the lake. Once she's there, she turns her steps toward the rider, nodding and saying, "Afternoon, H'kon."
H'kon has made no specific attempt to find Vanya either, since that first pleading of work following their rather unresolved walk back to the Weyr. Arekoth is the first to notice the healer, prompting his rider to look up as he offers a trilled greeting. H'kon, for his part, has nowhere easily accessible to flee, and so remains seated. And looks back down to those needles, knitting with renewed vigour. The project appears to be a mitten. "Vanya," is greeted, without any obvious animosity. He can't quite keep his eyes from flicking back up to her, though they return to his work quickly enough. The man's posture changes, jaw setting, shoulders squaring, and surely if the silence he seems to opt for is allowed to go on for too long, he'll look up to her again.
Vanya looks out across the lake, smiling in Arekoth's direction. "He's looking handsome as ever," she comments, figuring such a neutral subject as Arekoth might at least break the silence. She studies the brown for a moment or two longer, then looks back to his rider. "What're you making, if I might ask?" Her gaze drops onto the knitting, watching still, but not offering any further comment. Her basket is set down on a nearby rock, a skin removed and uncapped. She takes a long pull, the scent being that of fruit juice, nothing alcoholic. Once that's finished, she regards the rider again, but doesn't really say much of anything else.
H'kon's face twitches into that awkwardly side-pulled smile at the mention of Arekoth, and he looks past the healer and to his ilfemate. "I'm sure he's glad to hear you say it," is murmured. The movement of needles and fingers hasn't stopped, nor does it slow up until the project itself is asked after. "Mitts. The first. Winter will be here soon enough." The wool being used is the same colour as was used in the toque he'd made for his sister earlier on, but no verbal hints as to the mitts' final purpose is offered. After a moment of productivity, following the completion of one stitch, H'kon does pause, peering up to the healer. Expression is near its most guarded, though the tilt of his head seems almost expectant. "You..." And that thought doesn't finish.
There is a rather resigned expression on Vanya's face now. She's fairly used to H'kon starting to say something and then not finishing it. Truth be told, it's one of the things he does that infuriates and frustrates her most. Her eyes close, and she stands there with her hand still on the skin for a moment, apparently trying to figure out what to say. "You know, it's a hard decision to make," she finally says. "Should I allow myself to be drawn into something that could possibly go wrong by asking what it was you were going to say, or should I just let it go? I'm never certain. We both know we should talk, come to some kind of resolution, but you don't talk enough, and I talk too much. This just isn't ... it's not working, is it, H'kon?" she asks, her tone of voice weary. "All it's doing is making us feel awkward around one another."
The next smile to pull at the rider's face is clearly not sincerely felt, but rather more like the grimace one might give to having an injury prodded - half pained, half frustrated. The corner of his lower lip works its way between his teeth, and for a moment H'kon looks to his knitting, gathering his thoughts. When he does speak, his own voice comes evenly enough, if pitched a bit deeper than its norm. "I have tried to give you time." Eyes on the healer again, now. "It seems simple enough. If you want me, you need only say so. If you do not, the same is true." There's a hint of apology, his gaze diverted to the woman's feet, his shoulders hunching forward. "It will help me say... whatever it is, if I know whether I -should- try to speak to you on... deeper matters." A firm nod to follow this up. Arekoth has moved in to where he can easily stand, and is showing a specific attention to the scene before him. Of course.
Vanya moves over to one of the smaller rocks, using it as a seat. "Thing is, H'kon," she says, voice quiet, "I don't want a serious relationship right now. My life is too ... too complicated for me to form a deep attachment. I like you, and I like being with you -- but I don't love you. I don't even know if I /can/ love anyone again. The thought of it --" She shakes her head. "-- frightens me. I don't want to make someone else miserable. I'm just not ready to ... I need time to ..." She shakes her head again. "I'm afraid to care that deeply for someone again." There it is. Truth. Bottom line. "So, maybe ... maybe things should ... maybe we shouldn't go any further." There's uncertainty in her tone. "I can't explain it any better. I just ... I'm just afraid of being too seriously involved with someone."
It's about halfway through her attempted explanation that H'kon makes a point of turning his head away from Vanya. His face has ceased any real movement, expression (if it can really so be called) frozen with dark brows low over pale eyes, and mouth formed into a line, but for when he speaks. Even then, there's not too much motion, and his words are slighty mumbled as a result. "Well, I do not yet love you. And I know you are afraid. And I did not mean weyrmating, just... I had thought, only-" break. Pause. "No. That is one of those which should not be said. You are right. This should end. I should not have suggested otherwise." And, true to form for a fidgetter, he can't quite support sitting still. So the rider gets to his feet, offering a slight growl in answer to a rumble from his lifemate.
There's nothing more Vanya can really say. Her eyes close again, and remain so for a long time. It's not until she hears that rumble from Arekoth that she opens them and turns to look at the brown. "I'm sorry," she says, then. Softly. Hollow. "I'm so very sorry. I really thought I'd -- we'd -- I don't know where things went wrong. I thought I explained things that one night, up in your weyr. I didn't think I'd done anything to make you think things had changed." Her lips press together for a moment, then she adds, "I guess I should have just slept with you and never wanted to get to know you, too."
A near imperceptible bob of his head is enough to have Arekoth crawling out of the lake. There are times when even the brown won't risk contradicting his rider. As Vanya starts speaking again, there's a faintly exasperated look turned back to her, bordering on annoyance, almost. "Maybe you simply ask more than you know. Or perhaps the fault is mine. Perhaps I am not suited to putting this amount of effort into nothing." It's said almost with a dry humour - H'kon manages to keep anything accusing from his tone. "These things are not so easy for me." The corner of his mouth does twitch as this personal failing - really, what else can it be? - is brought up. And then he's looking to that mitt-in-progress, working to stow it more adequately in preparation for travel.
Vanya looks over at H'kon as Arekoth moves out of the lake. "I've never asked more of you than I thought you were willing to give," she protests. "You told me you wanted me to talk, to tell you things, to express my feelings. You said you liked that of me. All I ever asked of you was to return the favor, but --" She stops, takes a breath. "No, you're right. I had no need to know anything about you. There was no need in me wanting to see what kind of man you were, or what kind of thoughts you had on things." She rises from the rock, turns to the basket. "These things are no easier for me, H'kon. We just aren't ..." She stops, shakes her head. "No, there's no use in rehashing all this again. You have your ways, I have mine, and they're just not compatible. It would have been better had things remained business between us." She picks up the basket, brushing off the back of her skirt. "I will, of course, continue working with Arekoth as long as you wish. I see continued improvement in his leg." Her posture is erect and there's a business-like quality in her voice. "And, I have no ill feelings toward you. Things just did not ... work."
"No." H'kon is willing to interrupt here, apparently not afraid to rehash, if her explanation proves unacceptable to him. "This is not a matter of compatibility - not between how we are." He can't keep that defensive grimace-turned-smile from his face as he squints at the woman. "If there had been no E'sere, then this may have progressed further. You would not have asked for distance. I would have been able to give you what you wanted without risking what you did not." A hesitation now, his left cheek twitching as the smile threatens to emphasise itself. "I did not know how to help you with that. What I tried, failed. And I do not believe that help is what you wanted, anyway. And... sharing without attachment, it doesn't work." A flicker of fearful concern, and then he's bunching that wool and mitt into one hand, and heading toward Arekoth's straps, not far away. "I will continue to appreciate what work you are willing to do with Arekoth," is added, almost an afterthought.
Vanya winces at the mention of E'sere's name. "If there had been no --" she begins, but stops. "But there /was/ an E'sere, and look what loving him cost me." She whirls around. "Because of him, I've lost my posting, and what little respect I'd earned from people here. I've seen the way they look at me, and I've heard the gossip. I don't dare spend time with any man or else they have a field day with me." She wraps her arms around her midsection, holding herself. "I doubt myself now. I'm uncertain and unsure. I try to move on, to put it all behind me, but every time I think I'm over it, something happens. I worked so hard to get past him, but I just don't know how. I don't even know what you want from me, H'kon. I thought you just wanted someone to sleep with, to enjoy being with. I didn't know you wanted something more from me. If I had, I'd have ... never ... Oh, Faranth, I would have never started to like you!" There're tears in those last words, and she whirls back around, grabbing her basket, obviously planning to leave.
Vanya's outburst has H'kon looking outright terrified, and hurrying toward his dragon with the straps. Arekoth, alas, makes a point of evading his rider. And moving right back toward the lake. H'kon utters a swear strong enough to prove beyond a doubt that he's spent time on fishing boats, and, dropping the straps - and the knitting - to the ground, winds up stomping back to Vanya. His temper is roused. A sharp frown creases his face. "And do /I/ look at you like that? Do /I/ gossip?" By this point he's alongside the healer, neck made wider by tensed muscles, and those hands - undeniably possessing more strength than Vanya's - have grabbed her arms, turning her to face him. A second time for the leaving of bruises on skin, though this time, the reason is rather different. "And I /told/ you." He isn't yelling, but the words are intense - more so than they've been before, of his own volition, when speaking to her. "From the begining, you knew you were treated differently. I brought you to my weyr. I told you of my family, and of myself." His stance is wide, strong, and he clearly means to hold the woman fast. Not for the first time in their interaction, the welfare of the basket is disregarded entirely. "If you like me, then just -try- for me in return." And then, but for the grip on her arms, calm. "And if you do not, then say it once more, and I will not ask this of you again." Finality.
Vanya's instinct is to struggle once she's grabbed. Her forehead creases in a frown, and she opens her mouth to protest. That protest dies before it begins, however, when H'kon begins to speak. "I never said you did," she tells him when it's her turn to speak. "I never even hinted you did!" She gives one of her arms a jerk, trying to free it from that firm grasp, but it doesn't budge. "I /have/ been trying. I've told you that. I've tried to talk to you when things get hard, or when I need a little bit of ... of assurance. Of encouragement. I need ... I don't know, I just need something that gives me some hope." She shakes her head. "I know what you said, H'kon. You've told me how different I am from others, but sometimes it helps if ... if it was said in a tone that's more ... softer, maybe a little more ... that makes me /feel/ special." Another jerk of her arm. "Why does everything have to be so intense? Like it's an earth-shattering thing? Why can't we just laugh together instead of everything being so serious?"
"Then you care more for the words or opinions of someone you do not even know than for mine," H'kon finishes. He still holds her, though it's more something forgotten. And his head shakes. "Until recently, I have tried not to make you /feel/ anything. Because that is what I understood you wanted. Vanya, when we laugh together and say soft things, do you not feel us drifting closer? That... I've no intention of tricking you into feeling something for me. Faranth, if... you just wouldn't set these limits... I was only trying to respect them." Bewildered, now.
Vanya looks at H'kon, her eyes studying his face. "I didn't think I set all that many limits, H'kon," she finally says, her own voice sounding a tad bewildered. "I never lied to you. I was even up front, and told you I had another lover because I didn't want to hurt you. What other conditions did I set? -- other than telling you I wasn't in love with you. I /do/ like you, H'kon. I think you're a fine man, or else I've had never been with you after that first time." She shakes her head. "I don't know what else to tell you. I like being with you, but I like being with D'ven, too. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't pretend that I'd never sleep with him again." She moves her arms, wincing a little. "Please, H'kon, you're hurting me..."
That face remains puzzled as she speaks, and his head sets to shaking, slowly. "And you didn't want love, and you wanted a degree of distance. What did you think - sharing more of ourselves, always asking after more - what would happen then? And when you cried to me, and asked me not to make you-" and then he's blinking down to his hands, an ashamed surprise on his face as fingers are stretched out fully and arms pulled back, Vanya effectively released. "Sorry. I didn't notice... sorry." A step back. "I went too far. I did not mean to." Though his hands have set to rubbing at each other, chances are good the last applies to the whole thing overally. "I will appreciate the work you do with Arekoth." And the dragon is shot a glare, no anger hidden this time. And H'kon is turning to gather those fallen things.
Vanya shivers as she's released, her hands automatically coming up to rub at her arms. She watches as H'kon turns away. "I'm sorry." It's softly said again. "I didn't think that talking about ourselves was going to make you feel like we were getting serious. To me, it was just talking, just conversing. You would mention your family, and my curiosity got the best of me, so I asked. I didn't know you'd think because I asked, I --" She stops. Really, there's no use in talking. "I'm sorry, H'kon. I thought you wanted the same thing I did. Someone to spend time with, no strings attached. No ... serious relationship, just companionship and friendship. That's all. I didn't mean to mislead you." And then she's turning to her basket again. "I won't keep you any longer. Threadfall will be over soon, and I'll be needed at the Infirmary." There's a pause. "No, I actually hope I'm /not/ needed at the Infirmary, but I'll be there in case I am." There's the sound of her footsteps on the gravel, moving slowly, and passing H'kon to pass near Arekoth. The brown is given a tremulous smile, and her hand reaches out to stroke his neck. "I'll see you in the baths tomorrow," she tells him, the caress fond but not lingering.
H'kon doesn't look around to face her, simply giving a snort. "Now you see it... At first, it wasn't more. And I am sorry, as well." He has no desire to awit for a stubborn lifemate to get out of the water, but rather, arms laden with straps and knitting, heads at a swift march toward the northeast bowl bowl. Arekoth is left, dripping on the shore, to offer a croon to Vanya. More sympathy than his rider is willing to give at the moment, fault of those defensive tendencies. But Arekoth is in no rush, and, as H'kon stalks away from the lake and toward the caverns of the Weyr, he lowers his snout to nudge at the healer. And an eyeridge is, as always, made available for the petting.
Never let it be said Vanya cannot take a hint, and she gives a soft laugh as those eye-ridges are presented to her. That she's blinking rapidly might not be noticed by a dragon, but she is, and her nose is slightly reddish. It's not cold enough for that redness to be blamed on the weather, either. Her hands stroke the dragon's hide, and then she leans her forehead against that warm draconic body. "I wish I could give him what he wants, Arekoth," she says, voice soft and thick. "I ... I'm not ready, yet. I need ... I don't know what I need, but I didn't mean to hurt him. I didn't, I swear, Arekoth." Her whispers are almost frantic. "Take care of him, please. I'll ... I'll see you tomorrow in the baths." It's not really possible to hug a dragon, but perhaps her hands convey that sensation before she turns and runs toward the lower caverns. All too soon the bowl will be filled with dragons and riders returning from Threadfall. Hopefully, all of them will be healthy and she won't be needed. Until then, she will wait in the safety of her room.
Players: H'kon, Vanya, Arekoth
Location: Southern Bowl, Lake Shore
Synopsis: Simply put -- "What we have here is a failure to communicate."
Southern Bowl,
Afternoon
The bowl floor is a broad expanse of gravel and dust, packed flat over decades of dragonweight landing on it. Kept free of vegetation, the only color variation across the vast hollow of the bowl are the dragons, in good weather often found sunning on low ledges or sprawled along the floor itself. The well-worn, charcoal-grey walls of the bowl are nearly vertical, far too steep for even the most adventurous climber to attempt. The rim of the bowl, marked by a rainbow of perching dragons at all times of the day, is topped with massive stone spires that stretch upwards into the blue vault of the sky. There are seven in all, great black fingers of stone that seem, from where you stand, to touch the clouds.
Here the lake dominates the bowl floor, wind-scattered waves lapping at the gravel shore. A few scrawny shrubs to the southeast mark the fenced-in enclosure of the feeding grounds, bordered on its southwestern edge by the lake itself. Following the wall here will lead to the entrance to the weyrling complex and, past that, the stairs that lead to the guest weyr. On the other side of the lake is a vast, yawning tunnel curving upwards slightly, connecting to the long road leading away from High Reaches Weyr. Adjoining the exit is the high arch of the infirmary entrance. Autumn seems made for windy days such as this one. It's cool and crisp, and there are plenty of brilliantly shaded leaves to be picked up and spun about.
Never one to sit at ease when Thread is falling and he isn't there, H'kon has been forced out of his weyr by his brown, and so finds himself seated at the shore of the lake. A riding jacket sits over his shoulders, left open, and he has his back to the wind. Before him, a pair of needles twitch with a special velocity, a tell-tale sign of the man's current dissatisfaction with his situation. Arekoth looks far more at ease, the fiery brown stroking through the water in those prancing motions of his, occasionally dipping his snout and tossing his head, to attempt a spray of droplets toward his rider. These warrant only grimaces, of course, and not so much at the temperature of the water (though autumn indeed has lent a cooler feel to the lake), but at the dragon's audacity in attempting to cheer up his rider.
And after Vanya has helped the Infirmary get ready for returning riders (hopefully with only minor injuries!), it's time to take a bit of a break. Basket in hand, she wanders down toward the lake, pausing only to chat with friends or watch the skies. The cooler weather has her wearing a light cloak over her dress, the hood left back. When she sees the brown swimming, she stops, eyes scanning the shoreline until they fall on H'kon's familiar figure. There's a moment of hesitation from her; after all, their past few meetings haven't been all that much fun, nor have they really come to any conclusions. In fact, she's rather avoided him altogether, pleading work that's keeping her busy. But, there's no work today, and with some resolve, Vanya continues to the lake. Once she's there, she turns her steps toward the rider, nodding and saying, "Afternoon, H'kon."
H'kon has made no specific attempt to find Vanya either, since that first pleading of work following their rather unresolved walk back to the Weyr. Arekoth is the first to notice the healer, prompting his rider to look up as he offers a trilled greeting. H'kon, for his part, has nowhere easily accessible to flee, and so remains seated. And looks back down to those needles, knitting with renewed vigour. The project appears to be a mitten. "Vanya," is greeted, without any obvious animosity. He can't quite keep his eyes from flicking back up to her, though they return to his work quickly enough. The man's posture changes, jaw setting, shoulders squaring, and surely if the silence he seems to opt for is allowed to go on for too long, he'll look up to her again.
Vanya looks out across the lake, smiling in Arekoth's direction. "He's looking handsome as ever," she comments, figuring such a neutral subject as Arekoth might at least break the silence. She studies the brown for a moment or two longer, then looks back to his rider. "What're you making, if I might ask?" Her gaze drops onto the knitting, watching still, but not offering any further comment. Her basket is set down on a nearby rock, a skin removed and uncapped. She takes a long pull, the scent being that of fruit juice, nothing alcoholic. Once that's finished, she regards the rider again, but doesn't really say much of anything else.
H'kon's face twitches into that awkwardly side-pulled smile at the mention of Arekoth, and he looks past the healer and to his ilfemate. "I'm sure he's glad to hear you say it," is murmured. The movement of needles and fingers hasn't stopped, nor does it slow up until the project itself is asked after. "Mitts. The first. Winter will be here soon enough." The wool being used is the same colour as was used in the toque he'd made for his sister earlier on, but no verbal hints as to the mitts' final purpose is offered. After a moment of productivity, following the completion of one stitch, H'kon does pause, peering up to the healer. Expression is near its most guarded, though the tilt of his head seems almost expectant. "You..." And that thought doesn't finish.
There is a rather resigned expression on Vanya's face now. She's fairly used to H'kon starting to say something and then not finishing it. Truth be told, it's one of the things he does that infuriates and frustrates her most. Her eyes close, and she stands there with her hand still on the skin for a moment, apparently trying to figure out what to say. "You know, it's a hard decision to make," she finally says. "Should I allow myself to be drawn into something that could possibly go wrong by asking what it was you were going to say, or should I just let it go? I'm never certain. We both know we should talk, come to some kind of resolution, but you don't talk enough, and I talk too much. This just isn't ... it's not working, is it, H'kon?" she asks, her tone of voice weary. "All it's doing is making us feel awkward around one another."
The next smile to pull at the rider's face is clearly not sincerely felt, but rather more like the grimace one might give to having an injury prodded - half pained, half frustrated. The corner of his lower lip works its way between his teeth, and for a moment H'kon looks to his knitting, gathering his thoughts. When he does speak, his own voice comes evenly enough, if pitched a bit deeper than its norm. "I have tried to give you time." Eyes on the healer again, now. "It seems simple enough. If you want me, you need only say so. If you do not, the same is true." There's a hint of apology, his gaze diverted to the woman's feet, his shoulders hunching forward. "It will help me say... whatever it is, if I know whether I -should- try to speak to you on... deeper matters." A firm nod to follow this up. Arekoth has moved in to where he can easily stand, and is showing a specific attention to the scene before him. Of course.
Vanya moves over to one of the smaller rocks, using it as a seat. "Thing is, H'kon," she says, voice quiet, "I don't want a serious relationship right now. My life is too ... too complicated for me to form a deep attachment. I like you, and I like being with you -- but I don't love you. I don't even know if I /can/ love anyone again. The thought of it --" She shakes her head. "-- frightens me. I don't want to make someone else miserable. I'm just not ready to ... I need time to ..." She shakes her head again. "I'm afraid to care that deeply for someone again." There it is. Truth. Bottom line. "So, maybe ... maybe things should ... maybe we shouldn't go any further." There's uncertainty in her tone. "I can't explain it any better. I just ... I'm just afraid of being too seriously involved with someone."
It's about halfway through her attempted explanation that H'kon makes a point of turning his head away from Vanya. His face has ceased any real movement, expression (if it can really so be called) frozen with dark brows low over pale eyes, and mouth formed into a line, but for when he speaks. Even then, there's not too much motion, and his words are slighty mumbled as a result. "Well, I do not yet love you. And I know you are afraid. And I did not mean weyrmating, just... I had thought, only-" break. Pause. "No. That is one of those which should not be said. You are right. This should end. I should not have suggested otherwise." And, true to form for a fidgetter, he can't quite support sitting still. So the rider gets to his feet, offering a slight growl in answer to a rumble from his lifemate.
There's nothing more Vanya can really say. Her eyes close again, and remain so for a long time. It's not until she hears that rumble from Arekoth that she opens them and turns to look at the brown. "I'm sorry," she says, then. Softly. Hollow. "I'm so very sorry. I really thought I'd -- we'd -- I don't know where things went wrong. I thought I explained things that one night, up in your weyr. I didn't think I'd done anything to make you think things had changed." Her lips press together for a moment, then she adds, "I guess I should have just slept with you and never wanted to get to know you, too."
A near imperceptible bob of his head is enough to have Arekoth crawling out of the lake. There are times when even the brown won't risk contradicting his rider. As Vanya starts speaking again, there's a faintly exasperated look turned back to her, bordering on annoyance, almost. "Maybe you simply ask more than you know. Or perhaps the fault is mine. Perhaps I am not suited to putting this amount of effort into nothing." It's said almost with a dry humour - H'kon manages to keep anything accusing from his tone. "These things are not so easy for me." The corner of his mouth does twitch as this personal failing - really, what else can it be? - is brought up. And then he's looking to that mitt-in-progress, working to stow it more adequately in preparation for travel.
Vanya looks over at H'kon as Arekoth moves out of the lake. "I've never asked more of you than I thought you were willing to give," she protests. "You told me you wanted me to talk, to tell you things, to express my feelings. You said you liked that of me. All I ever asked of you was to return the favor, but --" She stops, takes a breath. "No, you're right. I had no need to know anything about you. There was no need in me wanting to see what kind of man you were, or what kind of thoughts you had on things." She rises from the rock, turns to the basket. "These things are no easier for me, H'kon. We just aren't ..." She stops, shakes her head. "No, there's no use in rehashing all this again. You have your ways, I have mine, and they're just not compatible. It would have been better had things remained business between us." She picks up the basket, brushing off the back of her skirt. "I will, of course, continue working with Arekoth as long as you wish. I see continued improvement in his leg." Her posture is erect and there's a business-like quality in her voice. "And, I have no ill feelings toward you. Things just did not ... work."
"No." H'kon is willing to interrupt here, apparently not afraid to rehash, if her explanation proves unacceptable to him. "This is not a matter of compatibility - not between how we are." He can't keep that defensive grimace-turned-smile from his face as he squints at the woman. "If there had been no E'sere, then this may have progressed further. You would not have asked for distance. I would have been able to give you what you wanted without risking what you did not." A hesitation now, his left cheek twitching as the smile threatens to emphasise itself. "I did not know how to help you with that. What I tried, failed. And I do not believe that help is what you wanted, anyway. And... sharing without attachment, it doesn't work." A flicker of fearful concern, and then he's bunching that wool and mitt into one hand, and heading toward Arekoth's straps, not far away. "I will continue to appreciate what work you are willing to do with Arekoth," is added, almost an afterthought.
Vanya winces at the mention of E'sere's name. "If there had been no --" she begins, but stops. "But there /was/ an E'sere, and look what loving him cost me." She whirls around. "Because of him, I've lost my posting, and what little respect I'd earned from people here. I've seen the way they look at me, and I've heard the gossip. I don't dare spend time with any man or else they have a field day with me." She wraps her arms around her midsection, holding herself. "I doubt myself now. I'm uncertain and unsure. I try to move on, to put it all behind me, but every time I think I'm over it, something happens. I worked so hard to get past him, but I just don't know how. I don't even know what you want from me, H'kon. I thought you just wanted someone to sleep with, to enjoy being with. I didn't know you wanted something more from me. If I had, I'd have ... never ... Oh, Faranth, I would have never started to like you!" There're tears in those last words, and she whirls back around, grabbing her basket, obviously planning to leave.
Vanya's outburst has H'kon looking outright terrified, and hurrying toward his dragon with the straps. Arekoth, alas, makes a point of evading his rider. And moving right back toward the lake. H'kon utters a swear strong enough to prove beyond a doubt that he's spent time on fishing boats, and, dropping the straps - and the knitting - to the ground, winds up stomping back to Vanya. His temper is roused. A sharp frown creases his face. "And do /I/ look at you like that? Do /I/ gossip?" By this point he's alongside the healer, neck made wider by tensed muscles, and those hands - undeniably possessing more strength than Vanya's - have grabbed her arms, turning her to face him. A second time for the leaving of bruises on skin, though this time, the reason is rather different. "And I /told/ you." He isn't yelling, but the words are intense - more so than they've been before, of his own volition, when speaking to her. "From the begining, you knew you were treated differently. I brought you to my weyr. I told you of my family, and of myself." His stance is wide, strong, and he clearly means to hold the woman fast. Not for the first time in their interaction, the welfare of the basket is disregarded entirely. "If you like me, then just -try- for me in return." And then, but for the grip on her arms, calm. "And if you do not, then say it once more, and I will not ask this of you again." Finality.
Vanya's instinct is to struggle once she's grabbed. Her forehead creases in a frown, and she opens her mouth to protest. That protest dies before it begins, however, when H'kon begins to speak. "I never said you did," she tells him when it's her turn to speak. "I never even hinted you did!" She gives one of her arms a jerk, trying to free it from that firm grasp, but it doesn't budge. "I /have/ been trying. I've told you that. I've tried to talk to you when things get hard, or when I need a little bit of ... of assurance. Of encouragement. I need ... I don't know, I just need something that gives me some hope." She shakes her head. "I know what you said, H'kon. You've told me how different I am from others, but sometimes it helps if ... if it was said in a tone that's more ... softer, maybe a little more ... that makes me /feel/ special." Another jerk of her arm. "Why does everything have to be so intense? Like it's an earth-shattering thing? Why can't we just laugh together instead of everything being so serious?"
"Then you care more for the words or opinions of someone you do not even know than for mine," H'kon finishes. He still holds her, though it's more something forgotten. And his head shakes. "Until recently, I have tried not to make you /feel/ anything. Because that is what I understood you wanted. Vanya, when we laugh together and say soft things, do you not feel us drifting closer? That... I've no intention of tricking you into feeling something for me. Faranth, if... you just wouldn't set these limits... I was only trying to respect them." Bewildered, now.
Vanya looks at H'kon, her eyes studying his face. "I didn't think I set all that many limits, H'kon," she finally says, her own voice sounding a tad bewildered. "I never lied to you. I was even up front, and told you I had another lover because I didn't want to hurt you. What other conditions did I set? -- other than telling you I wasn't in love with you. I /do/ like you, H'kon. I think you're a fine man, or else I've had never been with you after that first time." She shakes her head. "I don't know what else to tell you. I like being with you, but I like being with D'ven, too. I don't want to hurt you, but I can't pretend that I'd never sleep with him again." She moves her arms, wincing a little. "Please, H'kon, you're hurting me..."
That face remains puzzled as she speaks, and his head sets to shaking, slowly. "And you didn't want love, and you wanted a degree of distance. What did you think - sharing more of ourselves, always asking after more - what would happen then? And when you cried to me, and asked me not to make you-" and then he's blinking down to his hands, an ashamed surprise on his face as fingers are stretched out fully and arms pulled back, Vanya effectively released. "Sorry. I didn't notice... sorry." A step back. "I went too far. I did not mean to." Though his hands have set to rubbing at each other, chances are good the last applies to the whole thing overally. "I will appreciate the work you do with Arekoth." And the dragon is shot a glare, no anger hidden this time. And H'kon is turning to gather those fallen things.
Vanya shivers as she's released, her hands automatically coming up to rub at her arms. She watches as H'kon turns away. "I'm sorry." It's softly said again. "I didn't think that talking about ourselves was going to make you feel like we were getting serious. To me, it was just talking, just conversing. You would mention your family, and my curiosity got the best of me, so I asked. I didn't know you'd think because I asked, I --" She stops. Really, there's no use in talking. "I'm sorry, H'kon. I thought you wanted the same thing I did. Someone to spend time with, no strings attached. No ... serious relationship, just companionship and friendship. That's all. I didn't mean to mislead you." And then she's turning to her basket again. "I won't keep you any longer. Threadfall will be over soon, and I'll be needed at the Infirmary." There's a pause. "No, I actually hope I'm /not/ needed at the Infirmary, but I'll be there in case I am." There's the sound of her footsteps on the gravel, moving slowly, and passing H'kon to pass near Arekoth. The brown is given a tremulous smile, and her hand reaches out to stroke his neck. "I'll see you in the baths tomorrow," she tells him, the caress fond but not lingering.
H'kon doesn't look around to face her, simply giving a snort. "Now you see it... At first, it wasn't more. And I am sorry, as well." He has no desire to awit for a stubborn lifemate to get out of the water, but rather, arms laden with straps and knitting, heads at a swift march toward the northeast bowl bowl. Arekoth is left, dripping on the shore, to offer a croon to Vanya. More sympathy than his rider is willing to give at the moment, fault of those defensive tendencies. But Arekoth is in no rush, and, as H'kon stalks away from the lake and toward the caverns of the Weyr, he lowers his snout to nudge at the healer. And an eyeridge is, as always, made available for the petting.
Never let it be said Vanya cannot take a hint, and she gives a soft laugh as those eye-ridges are presented to her. That she's blinking rapidly might not be noticed by a dragon, but she is, and her nose is slightly reddish. It's not cold enough for that redness to be blamed on the weather, either. Her hands stroke the dragon's hide, and then she leans her forehead against that warm draconic body. "I wish I could give him what he wants, Arekoth," she says, voice soft and thick. "I ... I'm not ready, yet. I need ... I don't know what I need, but I didn't mean to hurt him. I didn't, I swear, Arekoth." Her whispers are almost frantic. "Take care of him, please. I'll ... I'll see you tomorrow in the baths." It's not really possible to hug a dragon, but perhaps her hands convey that sensation before she turns and runs toward the lower caverns. All too soon the bowl will be filled with dragons and riders returning from Threadfall. Hopefully, all of them will be healthy and she won't be needed. Until then, she will wait in the safety of her room.