LOG: Questions and Answers
Date: Day 9, Month 1, Turn 26
Location: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Iolene has questions. K'del has answers. Not always the best ones.
Log stolen from spunbutterfly
It's shortly after the dinner hour when Iolene's bare feet mince a funny sort of dance step across the bowl and to the foot of the steps that lead up to the Weyrleaders' ledges. She's been free of her prison long enough and exploring as much as she can to not know where the leaders of this Weyr live. But has she ever navigated the steps up? It's quite unlikely. So there she stands, her hover lasting minutes before one step and then another slowly carries her up in a plodding motion that speaks volumes of her diminishing courage. Once at the top, a glance goes furtively around, seeking the golds and bronze that might rawr her away, but finding no dragons in the immediate vicinity emboldens her once more so she can complete the trek over in the opposite direction of where all the male's converged on Turnover, aka, not Tiriana's weyr. It's when she reaches the inside archway leading into K'del's home that she pauses, vacillating once more, but closed eyes and a deep breath are what send her forth this time. The rich voice, untrained in pitching itself, drifts out softly into the cave. "Hello?" Maybe he's not home.
Fortunately - or unfortunately - K'del is, in fact, home. There's a shuffle of something inside the weyr which gives a pretty good indication of that before, finally, "Hello? Come in." The Weyrleader is also barefooted, though his boots are lingering, damp from the outdoors, near the hearth; he's curled himself up on the sofa in front of it, with a mug in one hand and a pile of papers spread out over most of the available surfaces. He's looking upwards, watching the door, his expression - for the moment - inclined towards neutral.
Like a child starved for warmth, which she likely fits the bill on, Iolene's eyes stray first to that lit hearth before she finds K'del curled up on the sofa, and what lies in between. Suddenly acutely aware of her feet, Io blurts out, dismayed, "Oh no, I forgot my boots." Not that it matters now, but her toes fidget in remembrance of the cold and stone she's just tromped through, rubbing against each other even as she's sliding her bare feet against the stone floor. She'll take a few more steps in, having been bidden to enter, trekking in wet footprints in her wake, before stopping a few feet in and a few feet away -- a good mid point. And there she stands, limp blonde hair hanging about her face, wearing the furs of someone who was outdoors minus the boots. What can she say, but a suddenly shy, "Hi," never mind it's a repetition of her earlier greeting.
It's only when Iolene mentions her lack of boots that K'del's gaze drifts that far; whatever it is he thinks of /that/, his expression doesn't show much - though the corners of his mouth twist upwards into the hint of a smile as he turns his attention back towards Iolene's face. "Come warm your feet over here," he suggests, lunging forward to free one of the armchairs from his papers, offering it to her with a wave of one paper-filled hand. "Warm yourself up," he repeats, more or less, "And tell me how I can be of assistance, okay?"
Now that she's in the dragon's den, Iolene's courage, not so resilient before, flees as fast as it can, and the once pragmatically uninhibited girl fixates on a spot behind K'del and stares. Perhaps a litany of, youcandothisyoucandothisyoucandothis, is repeating itself in her head. Or some small reserve remains somewhere in her feet. Or the fire is just irresistible for slowly coddled feet, but Io finds herself shortly near that fire, seated even, with her knees bent so the bottoms of her feet might toast nicely. "I hope- I hope I'm not bothering you. But..." her mouth thins against itself, "... I have questions. You have answers."
At least K'del is smiling, and not in a creepy come-into-my-lair kind of way (hopefully). He shifts his position, his own bare feet still drawn up on the couch he's lounging on: the very picture of relaxation, for all that his gaze lightly follows Iolene until she's settled closer to the fire. "Like to keep an open door," he remarks, finally, blue-eyed gaze resting consideringly upon the former-exile. "Guess anyone who can bring themself to come and talk deserves to get an answer or two. So: no, you're not bothering me. Think I needed the break, anyway. Hit me." Beat. "With your questions, I mean."
"Do you know a woman named Valicious?" Iolene's first one's easy, posed in a very dubious manner. There couldn't /possibly/ be someone named something like that.
The way K'del blinks - owlishly, perhaps - gives a pretty good indication that he's surprised by that particular question. Reaching forward, ostensibly to swipe some lint off of his foot, he repeats, "Val...icious?" Beat. "I know a woman named /Val/."
"But not Valicious?" There's a mental checklist that crosses the exotic looking woman with the many scarves that causes Iolene to look disappointed and withdraw a little more back into her shell to reconsider this whole trust thing. Her arms wrap around her knees and her torso pivots to face the fire more than K'del. "A lot of people are saying things, making things up. Other people are telling us things. Your harpers. Your people." Yours, not hers. "How can we trust any of you if you can't even share your real names?" It might be a rhetorical question, laden in sadness. "I'm Iolene"
K'del's silence lingers perhaps a couple of seconds too long, though it is punctuated by the breath he takes in, and then expels again. "I'm sorry," he says, quietly, finally - genuinely. Both hands drop, hanging loose about his midsection, one dropping towards the floor. "I'm K'del. Which - I promise - is my real name. K'del. Kasadel, once, but K'del, now. It's a pleasure to meet you, Iolene. I can only say... our harpers, and our leaders? We won't lie to you. Not if we can possibly help it."
If only she could see him. Observe how he reacts. Instead, Iolene's attention is caught by the flickering flames, her own reaction to his apology and explanation of his now name and before name shadowed. "Do you really think we're all savages?" In her tone, though she uses the word you, it's a very royal you, as if K'del might speak for his entire Weyr much like the elders supposedly speak for her people.
It's a sudden change of subject, really, and K'del has to race to catch up; Iolene may not be watching, but his expression contorts. "No," he says, quietly at first, and followed a second later by, "/No/." Much firmer. "I think... it's just difficult for some people. To deal with the fact that these other people don't know all of the things that they take for granted. You're people, Iolene, and you know plenty of things that I don't."
"Some of my friends. They think all of you think we're savages. They think... they think you like to get naked by the lake and have sex for everyone to see." K'del will have much more to keep up with as Iolene's questions seem to follow no system or pattern as she ventures another immediate tangent, "Do you... Did you know where we were? Someone told me... Someone told me you knew where we all were all this whole time and just wanted to thin us out by letting us die. My friend's sister died. My parents died. My cousins died." Tomaeran being her friend might be a stretch, but hey, exaggeration helps proves points. Both accusation and hope lie in the two following words: "Did you?"
K'del is obviously aghast by this first suggestion, his head shaking hurriedly in response: no, no, no. But Iolene doesn't give him time to respond to that, and her next question leaves him even more discomforted. "No," he breathes. "No, we didn't. Iolene, I promise you that. We had no idea you were out there until those riders stumbled upon you. If we'd known..." He straightens, now, feet coming to rest on the floor, his back straight up against the back of the sofa: more formal. More /serious/. "I am so sorry for all that you've lost. For everyone you've lost. But we had no idea."
"Right?" That flicker of hope latches onto his answer and his apology. It finds more fuel in his seriousness to grow, and now, Iolene turns to find K'del, to spy him out from behind the stray locks of hair that have fallen into her face. "You can't have known, right? You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" A luminous quality, aided by the firelight, lightens her dark blue eyes as she waits for K'del's answer this time.
Light blue eyes meet Iolene's darker ones squarely; after a moment, K'del shakes his head. "I'm not lying to you. I won't." His hands, now, press together, fingers twisting around fingers as he considers the islander. "We had no idea."
She's relieved. It's so clear from the way the tension melts from her body so instantly and in how her entire posture changes to be less standoffish and more receptive to what he might say. There's a naive sort of trust, the kind age and wisdom might breed out of people, but one a sheltered sixteen-year old girl might still cling to. A wan smile shapes Io's features, lighting up her worn face. "I was scared you might lie." He still might be, not that she would ever really know. "Can I ask you something?" Just as if everything she's said so far hasn't been either a question or an implied accusation.
K'del's tension doesn't disappear as quickly, his shoulders still holding to a hard line, but the low breath that escapes is clearly relieved - as is his expression. "I try not to," he tells her, with a thin smile. "My mother always told me the truth was too important. What do you want to know, Iolene?"
So many questions she needs answers to, and they appear to swim before her eyes as she shakes her head slightly, mentally crossing one out as an option in favor of another and then crossing that one out. But it's ultimately her age that wins out over duty, and Iolene flushes quickly, as the question she means to ask (and sticks with), brings up memories all too embarrassing. "When- When Iovniath rose. Some people said they heard from others. That. That. That's what caused people to want to be. Um. Be with each other." There's no question there. The question's too hard for her to get out, but at least with some reassurances K'del won't lie, Iolene's nerve has returned to look to the bronzerider squarely, waiting for whatever he might construe from what she said.
'Be with each other'. K'del's expression twists again, and though he doesn't blush, there's a definite hint of discomfort in the line of his body and the thinness of his smile. "Ah," he says, finally. "Well... um. Yes. When a gold rises, she tends to project her emotions a bit." A lot. He doesn't correct himself. "It can be pretty intense. As... I guess most of you saw." Raising one hand, he runs his fingers through his hair, as though by keeping busy, he can make this explanation easier. "It doesn't happen all that often. I mean... that was the first time Iovniath had risen in four turns."
Iolene's, "Did you have to have sex with Iovniath's rider?" is forthright and thoughtful. Oddly, this question isn't so hard for her to get out. It doesn't involve her, after all.
This time, K'del /does/ blush. "Uh," he says. And then, "Yes. But-- when your dragon catches someone else's dragon? You /want/ to. You both want to. So it isn't as though it's non-consensual, really. You want it like you've never wanted anything before."
"So Dev wasn't lying when he said the greens that rise," and there have been quite a few of those since their arrival, "The riders have to have sex with strangers frequently." Statement or question, there's still a quizzical lilt that doesn't wait to be answered before Iolene turns crawling a bit on all fours to scoot away from the hearth; her feet now warm and her furs on top of the heat causing her to swelter. Troubled, though, the young woman bites her lower lip and considers K'del a long moment. "If you don't have a dragon, will any warm body do? Or would... I mean, if there were predisposed feelings for someone... would that matter? Would you seek them out especially? I mean. I don't know what I mean. I just want to know."
K'del's brow knits together in consternation; he looks genuinely troubled. "Greens rise-- maybe four times a turn? And a lot of the time, the same dragon will catch often. It's... as a rider, you get used to it. It doesn't mean you can't have lasting relationships with other people, or--" Or anything. His hand waves vaguely, as though that will explain more. "If you don't have a dragon, well, yeah, usually people go for people they /want/. It's not quite so forceful, right? For some people, though... they don't really mind. Things can be a lot more open at the weyr; not everyone is determined to settle down with one person."
Again, the signs of relief shape and change the girl's features, though this time, not by much. "I see. I think I understand better what happened that night. I mean, to other people," she's a little too quick to add. When Iolene's stopped moving from the fire, she ends up kneeling before K'del, looking up in all her exiled thinness with a waifish, big-eyed air. "I had another question."
"'To other people'," repeats K'del, as though he doesn't /quite/ believe it, but is going to go with it anyway. "Of course." His eyes follow Iolene as she kneels in front of him, which seems to make him uncomfortable; he shifts, straightening his stance all over again, pressing his hands tidily towards his lap. "Iolene," he says, then. "You can ask me as many questions as you like. What is it?"
It takes a moment for Iolene to gather herself together again, the subject of flights and sex having allowed her to negect previously drawn conclusions in a way that makes her a little less troubled. But the question that drew her here so quickly across that snow-covered bowl is next and the blonde girl chews her lower lip into pieces as she considers how best to pose it. There's really no other way than, "Do you know who we are?" and hope, within those luminous eyes of hers that turn to K'del, that it doesn't come off as cryptic as she might fear, an emotion that just simmers beneath the surface.
It's an abrupt change of tack, and it leaves K'del, for a moment, looking completely flummoxed. The moment at which he catches up is obvious on his expression: from confusion to the sudden, dawning realisation, all in the space of a few seconds. "I--" he begins, brows still drawn together; he hesitates, then starts again. "Know that you came from High Reaches Hold, and from some of the minor holds around it, if that's what you mean. Your ancestors, I mean."
It's forthright, for her, his answer, and catches her unaware - this affirmation that they do, indeed, belong to the mainland. At least once years ago. "Oh," is the sound, less verbal and more sigh, as if wearied by the thought that what stories she might have grown up hearing might be true. Those lashes of hers drops, and for a long time, Iolene looks to the floor of K'del's weyr. In the silence, the crackle of the hearth's flames sounds behind her, eliciting only a dart of her half-lidded eyes for all their effort. "When we were growing up, our mamas and papas sometimes told stories of why we were out there. That we were the last of a great people. That others came in to take what was ours. Some even said we had stood up against great evil." There's a smile heard in her words that never emerges on her lips - perhaps a memory that rises to the surface with her explanation to K'del. "But I always thought they were stories. Even after the strange man came, shipwrecked elsewhere. This woman, Val," not Valicious, "Told me the other day about how dragons work. A little bit. Not too much. I guess you must keep your secrets as well. But I realized that we weren't ever supposed to live. We were supposed to die. The Pass was supposed to kill us if the lack of food hadn't. Why?" Surely, with all K'del's shared with her so far, /surely/ /surely/ K'del must know.
K'del swallows, once, right in the middle of that flurry of words. It's a thick, hesitant sound, one that might well illustrate a certain level of discomfort that he is working very hard to keep out of his tone, and off his face. He keeps his gaze on her, unwaveringly; it doesn't even drop afterwards, when he's taking a deep breath in preparation for answering. "I don't know," he says, then. "Wish I did. We know you were exiled for something, but there's not really a lot of information; it's like no one ever made record of it. But... whatever they did, it wasn't /your/ fault."
Then her next question, almost as if she's expected K'del's response, comes quicker, quieter, with her gaze lifted once more. In the movement, Io finds his eyes have never left hers, or so it would seem. "Who would have the power to do that?" In her short time here, she's learning. Of power, of politics, of how the world truly works.
Even now that his eyes are meeting hers, K'del makes no effort to look away: it's so obvious that he's trying to be frank here. Honest. He did promise he wouldn't lie. "It's not the way it happens," he says, slowly, which doesn't answer her question. "People don't get exiled often, but it does happen. With a big trial; everyone tends to know. It's a good deterrent. I just don't know."
Holding his gaze steady, Iolene waits. Waits for a waver. For any sign that he might be playing her false. But in the end, holding a gaze for that long is tiring, but beyond that, due to his gender, a cause for embarrassment for the teenager and quickly, after a flush starts climbing her neck, those eyes drop, conceding defeat. "Someone important must not have liked us very much." The most simple explanation for a complicated situation no one seems to understand. "You're not scary, even if you seem really young to be an elder. Thank you."
If K'del knows anything more-- or even if he merely /suspects/, he's doing a pretty good job of not showing it. When Iolene's eyes drop, he lets out a breath, though it doesn't /seem/ to be one of relief. "Think that pretty much sums it up," he allows, then. "Superficially, at least. But it doesn't matter, now: you're all safe. Know that doesn't solve everything from the past, but we intend to do right by you all, now."
"Are we?" The first hint of doubt since earlier on in this conversation surfaces as he attempts to assure her of their safety. Iolene gets to her feet and her thin face looks sharply to the Weyrleader. "You promised not to lie. If you didn't know people thought we were savages, how do you know they don't harbor violence against us? Don't say things you don't know are true. Don't make promises that you can't keep. Good intentions don't always turn out right. You've killed most of us by bringing us here." But how many would have died anyway in the storm is unknown and unspoken of. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't. But thank you for being as honest as you can. You're an honest man. Good night, sir."
A visible wince marks K'del's first response to Iolene's words, his gaze dropping in a way that suggests he doesn't completely disagree with her. "/I/ intend to keep my word. You're right: I can't speak for others. But that's my intention, all the same." There's a beat, and a definite sense that he'd like to say more. He doesn't. Instead: "Good night, Iolene. I hope I've been of assistance."
Three steps forward, two steps back. But at least there is some forward progress. She waits, that pregnant pause of unspoken words inviting her to stay a little longer, but then she's dismissed with his goodbye, and the skinny girl turns, a little warmer now. A little better informed. But oh, still so many questions that must wait another day for another person.
K'del watches her go, his expression difficult to pin down, but undeniably less than completely content. He sucks in a breath, lets it out again, for a moment, perhaps, even half inclined to call her back. He doesn't. But when she's gone, nor does he go back to his papers; instead, he paces. Back and forth. Back and forth.
Location: K'del's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Iolene has questions. K'del has answers. Not always the best ones.
Log stolen from spunbutterfly
It's shortly after the dinner hour when Iolene's bare feet mince a funny sort of dance step across the bowl and to the foot of the steps that lead up to the Weyrleaders' ledges. She's been free of her prison long enough and exploring as much as she can to not know where the leaders of this Weyr live. But has she ever navigated the steps up? It's quite unlikely. So there she stands, her hover lasting minutes before one step and then another slowly carries her up in a plodding motion that speaks volumes of her diminishing courage. Once at the top, a glance goes furtively around, seeking the golds and bronze that might rawr her away, but finding no dragons in the immediate vicinity emboldens her once more so she can complete the trek over in the opposite direction of where all the male's converged on Turnover, aka, not Tiriana's weyr. It's when she reaches the inside archway leading into K'del's home that she pauses, vacillating once more, but closed eyes and a deep breath are what send her forth this time. The rich voice, untrained in pitching itself, drifts out softly into the cave. "Hello?" Maybe he's not home.
Fortunately - or unfortunately - K'del is, in fact, home. There's a shuffle of something inside the weyr which gives a pretty good indication of that before, finally, "Hello? Come in." The Weyrleader is also barefooted, though his boots are lingering, damp from the outdoors, near the hearth; he's curled himself up on the sofa in front of it, with a mug in one hand and a pile of papers spread out over most of the available surfaces. He's looking upwards, watching the door, his expression - for the moment - inclined towards neutral.
Like a child starved for warmth, which she likely fits the bill on, Iolene's eyes stray first to that lit hearth before she finds K'del curled up on the sofa, and what lies in between. Suddenly acutely aware of her feet, Io blurts out, dismayed, "Oh no, I forgot my boots." Not that it matters now, but her toes fidget in remembrance of the cold and stone she's just tromped through, rubbing against each other even as she's sliding her bare feet against the stone floor. She'll take a few more steps in, having been bidden to enter, trekking in wet footprints in her wake, before stopping a few feet in and a few feet away -- a good mid point. And there she stands, limp blonde hair hanging about her face, wearing the furs of someone who was outdoors minus the boots. What can she say, but a suddenly shy, "Hi," never mind it's a repetition of her earlier greeting.
It's only when Iolene mentions her lack of boots that K'del's gaze drifts that far; whatever it is he thinks of /that/, his expression doesn't show much - though the corners of his mouth twist upwards into the hint of a smile as he turns his attention back towards Iolene's face. "Come warm your feet over here," he suggests, lunging forward to free one of the armchairs from his papers, offering it to her with a wave of one paper-filled hand. "Warm yourself up," he repeats, more or less, "And tell me how I can be of assistance, okay?"
Now that she's in the dragon's den, Iolene's courage, not so resilient before, flees as fast as it can, and the once pragmatically uninhibited girl fixates on a spot behind K'del and stares. Perhaps a litany of, youcandothisyoucandothisyoucandothis, is repeating itself in her head. Or some small reserve remains somewhere in her feet. Or the fire is just irresistible for slowly coddled feet, but Io finds herself shortly near that fire, seated even, with her knees bent so the bottoms of her feet might toast nicely. "I hope- I hope I'm not bothering you. But..." her mouth thins against itself, "... I have questions. You have answers."
At least K'del is smiling, and not in a creepy come-into-my-lair kind of way (hopefully). He shifts his position, his own bare feet still drawn up on the couch he's lounging on: the very picture of relaxation, for all that his gaze lightly follows Iolene until she's settled closer to the fire. "Like to keep an open door," he remarks, finally, blue-eyed gaze resting consideringly upon the former-exile. "Guess anyone who can bring themself to come and talk deserves to get an answer or two. So: no, you're not bothering me. Think I needed the break, anyway. Hit me." Beat. "With your questions, I mean."
"Do you know a woman named Valicious?" Iolene's first one's easy, posed in a very dubious manner. There couldn't /possibly/ be someone named something like that.
The way K'del blinks - owlishly, perhaps - gives a pretty good indication that he's surprised by that particular question. Reaching forward, ostensibly to swipe some lint off of his foot, he repeats, "Val...icious?" Beat. "I know a woman named /Val/."
"But not Valicious?" There's a mental checklist that crosses the exotic looking woman with the many scarves that causes Iolene to look disappointed and withdraw a little more back into her shell to reconsider this whole trust thing. Her arms wrap around her knees and her torso pivots to face the fire more than K'del. "A lot of people are saying things, making things up. Other people are telling us things. Your harpers. Your people." Yours, not hers. "How can we trust any of you if you can't even share your real names?" It might be a rhetorical question, laden in sadness. "I'm Iolene"
K'del's silence lingers perhaps a couple of seconds too long, though it is punctuated by the breath he takes in, and then expels again. "I'm sorry," he says, quietly, finally - genuinely. Both hands drop, hanging loose about his midsection, one dropping towards the floor. "I'm K'del. Which - I promise - is my real name. K'del. Kasadel, once, but K'del, now. It's a pleasure to meet you, Iolene. I can only say... our harpers, and our leaders? We won't lie to you. Not if we can possibly help it."
If only she could see him. Observe how he reacts. Instead, Iolene's attention is caught by the flickering flames, her own reaction to his apology and explanation of his now name and before name shadowed. "Do you really think we're all savages?" In her tone, though she uses the word you, it's a very royal you, as if K'del might speak for his entire Weyr much like the elders supposedly speak for her people.
It's a sudden change of subject, really, and K'del has to race to catch up; Iolene may not be watching, but his expression contorts. "No," he says, quietly at first, and followed a second later by, "/No/." Much firmer. "I think... it's just difficult for some people. To deal with the fact that these other people don't know all of the things that they take for granted. You're people, Iolene, and you know plenty of things that I don't."
"Some of my friends. They think all of you think we're savages. They think... they think you like to get naked by the lake and have sex for everyone to see." K'del will have much more to keep up with as Iolene's questions seem to follow no system or pattern as she ventures another immediate tangent, "Do you... Did you know where we were? Someone told me... Someone told me you knew where we all were all this whole time and just wanted to thin us out by letting us die. My friend's sister died. My parents died. My cousins died." Tomaeran being her friend might be a stretch, but hey, exaggeration helps proves points. Both accusation and hope lie in the two following words: "Did you?"
K'del is obviously aghast by this first suggestion, his head shaking hurriedly in response: no, no, no. But Iolene doesn't give him time to respond to that, and her next question leaves him even more discomforted. "No," he breathes. "No, we didn't. Iolene, I promise you that. We had no idea you were out there until those riders stumbled upon you. If we'd known..." He straightens, now, feet coming to rest on the floor, his back straight up against the back of the sofa: more formal. More /serious/. "I am so sorry for all that you've lost. For everyone you've lost. But we had no idea."
"Right?" That flicker of hope latches onto his answer and his apology. It finds more fuel in his seriousness to grow, and now, Iolene turns to find K'del, to spy him out from behind the stray locks of hair that have fallen into her face. "You can't have known, right? You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" A luminous quality, aided by the firelight, lightens her dark blue eyes as she waits for K'del's answer this time.
Light blue eyes meet Iolene's darker ones squarely; after a moment, K'del shakes his head. "I'm not lying to you. I won't." His hands, now, press together, fingers twisting around fingers as he considers the islander. "We had no idea."
She's relieved. It's so clear from the way the tension melts from her body so instantly and in how her entire posture changes to be less standoffish and more receptive to what he might say. There's a naive sort of trust, the kind age and wisdom might breed out of people, but one a sheltered sixteen-year old girl might still cling to. A wan smile shapes Io's features, lighting up her worn face. "I was scared you might lie." He still might be, not that she would ever really know. "Can I ask you something?" Just as if everything she's said so far hasn't been either a question or an implied accusation.
K'del's tension doesn't disappear as quickly, his shoulders still holding to a hard line, but the low breath that escapes is clearly relieved - as is his expression. "I try not to," he tells her, with a thin smile. "My mother always told me the truth was too important. What do you want to know, Iolene?"
So many questions she needs answers to, and they appear to swim before her eyes as she shakes her head slightly, mentally crossing one out as an option in favor of another and then crossing that one out. But it's ultimately her age that wins out over duty, and Iolene flushes quickly, as the question she means to ask (and sticks with), brings up memories all too embarrassing. "When- When Iovniath rose. Some people said they heard from others. That. That. That's what caused people to want to be. Um. Be with each other." There's no question there. The question's too hard for her to get out, but at least with some reassurances K'del won't lie, Iolene's nerve has returned to look to the bronzerider squarely, waiting for whatever he might construe from what she said.
'Be with each other'. K'del's expression twists again, and though he doesn't blush, there's a definite hint of discomfort in the line of his body and the thinness of his smile. "Ah," he says, finally. "Well... um. Yes. When a gold rises, she tends to project her emotions a bit." A lot. He doesn't correct himself. "It can be pretty intense. As... I guess most of you saw." Raising one hand, he runs his fingers through his hair, as though by keeping busy, he can make this explanation easier. "It doesn't happen all that often. I mean... that was the first time Iovniath had risen in four turns."
Iolene's, "Did you have to have sex with Iovniath's rider?" is forthright and thoughtful. Oddly, this question isn't so hard for her to get out. It doesn't involve her, after all.
This time, K'del /does/ blush. "Uh," he says. And then, "Yes. But-- when your dragon catches someone else's dragon? You /want/ to. You both want to. So it isn't as though it's non-consensual, really. You want it like you've never wanted anything before."
"So Dev wasn't lying when he said the greens that rise," and there have been quite a few of those since their arrival, "The riders have to have sex with strangers frequently." Statement or question, there's still a quizzical lilt that doesn't wait to be answered before Iolene turns crawling a bit on all fours to scoot away from the hearth; her feet now warm and her furs on top of the heat causing her to swelter. Troubled, though, the young woman bites her lower lip and considers K'del a long moment. "If you don't have a dragon, will any warm body do? Or would... I mean, if there were predisposed feelings for someone... would that matter? Would you seek them out especially? I mean. I don't know what I mean. I just want to know."
K'del's brow knits together in consternation; he looks genuinely troubled. "Greens rise-- maybe four times a turn? And a lot of the time, the same dragon will catch often. It's... as a rider, you get used to it. It doesn't mean you can't have lasting relationships with other people, or--" Or anything. His hand waves vaguely, as though that will explain more. "If you don't have a dragon, well, yeah, usually people go for people they /want/. It's not quite so forceful, right? For some people, though... they don't really mind. Things can be a lot more open at the weyr; not everyone is determined to settle down with one person."
Again, the signs of relief shape and change the girl's features, though this time, not by much. "I see. I think I understand better what happened that night. I mean, to other people," she's a little too quick to add. When Iolene's stopped moving from the fire, she ends up kneeling before K'del, looking up in all her exiled thinness with a waifish, big-eyed air. "I had another question."
"'To other people'," repeats K'del, as though he doesn't /quite/ believe it, but is going to go with it anyway. "Of course." His eyes follow Iolene as she kneels in front of him, which seems to make him uncomfortable; he shifts, straightening his stance all over again, pressing his hands tidily towards his lap. "Iolene," he says, then. "You can ask me as many questions as you like. What is it?"
It takes a moment for Iolene to gather herself together again, the subject of flights and sex having allowed her to negect previously drawn conclusions in a way that makes her a little less troubled. But the question that drew her here so quickly across that snow-covered bowl is next and the blonde girl chews her lower lip into pieces as she considers how best to pose it. There's really no other way than, "Do you know who we are?" and hope, within those luminous eyes of hers that turn to K'del, that it doesn't come off as cryptic as she might fear, an emotion that just simmers beneath the surface.
It's an abrupt change of tack, and it leaves K'del, for a moment, looking completely flummoxed. The moment at which he catches up is obvious on his expression: from confusion to the sudden, dawning realisation, all in the space of a few seconds. "I--" he begins, brows still drawn together; he hesitates, then starts again. "Know that you came from High Reaches Hold, and from some of the minor holds around it, if that's what you mean. Your ancestors, I mean."
It's forthright, for her, his answer, and catches her unaware - this affirmation that they do, indeed, belong to the mainland. At least once years ago. "Oh," is the sound, less verbal and more sigh, as if wearied by the thought that what stories she might have grown up hearing might be true. Those lashes of hers drops, and for a long time, Iolene looks to the floor of K'del's weyr. In the silence, the crackle of the hearth's flames sounds behind her, eliciting only a dart of her half-lidded eyes for all their effort. "When we were growing up, our mamas and papas sometimes told stories of why we were out there. That we were the last of a great people. That others came in to take what was ours. Some even said we had stood up against great evil." There's a smile heard in her words that never emerges on her lips - perhaps a memory that rises to the surface with her explanation to K'del. "But I always thought they were stories. Even after the strange man came, shipwrecked elsewhere. This woman, Val," not Valicious, "Told me the other day about how dragons work. A little bit. Not too much. I guess you must keep your secrets as well. But I realized that we weren't ever supposed to live. We were supposed to die. The Pass was supposed to kill us if the lack of food hadn't. Why?" Surely, with all K'del's shared with her so far, /surely/ /surely/ K'del must know.
K'del swallows, once, right in the middle of that flurry of words. It's a thick, hesitant sound, one that might well illustrate a certain level of discomfort that he is working very hard to keep out of his tone, and off his face. He keeps his gaze on her, unwaveringly; it doesn't even drop afterwards, when he's taking a deep breath in preparation for answering. "I don't know," he says, then. "Wish I did. We know you were exiled for something, but there's not really a lot of information; it's like no one ever made record of it. But... whatever they did, it wasn't /your/ fault."
Then her next question, almost as if she's expected K'del's response, comes quicker, quieter, with her gaze lifted once more. In the movement, Io finds his eyes have never left hers, or so it would seem. "Who would have the power to do that?" In her short time here, she's learning. Of power, of politics, of how the world truly works.
Even now that his eyes are meeting hers, K'del makes no effort to look away: it's so obvious that he's trying to be frank here. Honest. He did promise he wouldn't lie. "It's not the way it happens," he says, slowly, which doesn't answer her question. "People don't get exiled often, but it does happen. With a big trial; everyone tends to know. It's a good deterrent. I just don't know."
Holding his gaze steady, Iolene waits. Waits for a waver. For any sign that he might be playing her false. But in the end, holding a gaze for that long is tiring, but beyond that, due to his gender, a cause for embarrassment for the teenager and quickly, after a flush starts climbing her neck, those eyes drop, conceding defeat. "Someone important must not have liked us very much." The most simple explanation for a complicated situation no one seems to understand. "You're not scary, even if you seem really young to be an elder. Thank you."
If K'del knows anything more-- or even if he merely /suspects/, he's doing a pretty good job of not showing it. When Iolene's eyes drop, he lets out a breath, though it doesn't /seem/ to be one of relief. "Think that pretty much sums it up," he allows, then. "Superficially, at least. But it doesn't matter, now: you're all safe. Know that doesn't solve everything from the past, but we intend to do right by you all, now."
"Are we?" The first hint of doubt since earlier on in this conversation surfaces as he attempts to assure her of their safety. Iolene gets to her feet and her thin face looks sharply to the Weyrleader. "You promised not to lie. If you didn't know people thought we were savages, how do you know they don't harbor violence against us? Don't say things you don't know are true. Don't make promises that you can't keep. Good intentions don't always turn out right. You've killed most of us by bringing us here." But how many would have died anyway in the storm is unknown and unspoken of. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't. But thank you for being as honest as you can. You're an honest man. Good night, sir."
A visible wince marks K'del's first response to Iolene's words, his gaze dropping in a way that suggests he doesn't completely disagree with her. "/I/ intend to keep my word. You're right: I can't speak for others. But that's my intention, all the same." There's a beat, and a definite sense that he'd like to say more. He doesn't. Instead: "Good night, Iolene. I hope I've been of assistance."
Three steps forward, two steps back. But at least there is some forward progress. She waits, that pregnant pause of unspoken words inviting her to stay a little longer, but then she's dismissed with his goodbye, and the skinny girl turns, a little warmer now. A little better informed. But oh, still so many questions that must wait another day for another person.
K'del watches her go, his expression difficult to pin down, but undeniably less than completely content. He sucks in a breath, lets it out again, for a moment, perhaps, even half inclined to call her back. He doesn't. But when she's gone, nor does he go back to his papers; instead, he paces. Back and forth. Back and forth.