Fairness in Fighting Thread
Who: I'lyan, Diya
When: 20:39 on day 7, month 8, turn 1 of the 7th Pass
Where: Weyrleaders' Office
What: On his way to visit the Weyrleader, I'lyan, instead, comes across Diya.
I'lyan
With a long face and high forehead, I'lyan could easily be dismissed as average on a first glance. Brown hair sprinkled liberally with sandy-blonde highlights is cut in a militaristic fashion, calling further attention to that almost abnormally high forehead. Perhaps receding hairlines run in his family. Sandy eyebrows arch over eyes of a piercing ice blue, the color of a winter lake, and there is where the casual dismissal ends. His eyes are fired with intelligence, rarely missing a detail around him. The rest of his face is chiseled out of an artist's mold: high cheekbones, a straight aquiline nose and a sharply squared chin are at odds with a full, slightly outsized mouth. His ears too are slightly outsized, but rather than appear dopey, they give him an almost endearing quality.
His tall, lean frame is dressed simply in well-worn riding leathers, carefully tended and oiled. On his tunic is worn the device of Benden Weyr, and at the collar, the pin denoting his attendance in the caucus. On his jacket is sewn the patch of a wingsecond, and his knot is that of a bronzeriding wingsecond of Benden Weyr.
Weyrleaders' Office
Much of the formal and informal business that concerns the weyrleaders is conducted here. As such, an effort has been made to keep this chamber comfortable out of respect for the long hours of work required to keep the Weyr running. The walls are bright with tapestries and the floors warm with thick rugs. A large sandtable holds pride of place in the center of the room, one half covered with a sheet of glass to serve as a writing surface. A second, smaller table holds whatever writing implements and record hides are needed by the staff. The chairs that ring this area are thickly cushioned but otherwise undecorated.
The stairs that led into the complex from the bowl continue up to the right, taking one into the Weyrleader's weyr. A large tunnel to the left curves down to the senior Weyrwoman's weyr, broken only by the smaller tunnel that leads to one of the junior's weyrs. The last tunnel, opposite the entrance, leads to the second junior's weyr.
Contents:
I'lyan
Council Chamber (CC) West Wing (WE) East Wing (EW)
Senior's Weyr (WW) Weyrleader's Weyr (WL) Bowl (B)
The lack of Fall the following day allows a quiet to descend the Weyrleaders' offices this evening. Glow baskets are half-lidded in preparation for evening, though there's a triangle patch of brighter light from the far corner of the table. Reclined there, Diya's arms are folded over her chest, and her chin's found the hollow of her collarbones as her lanky frame is bent over in a light doze. Before her, there are hides with a stylus having streaked a mark across the records and a cooled mug of klah.
I'lyan knocks lightly, waits a moment, and then pokes his head in. "Is anyone-" The corridor outside is brighter, and he swings the door open a trifle wider to let in more light and let his eyes adjust. He comes on in closing closer and murmurs, "Weyrwoman?" Let's not scare the woman half to death, but he /did/ have business, so wake up.
It's a light doze, Diya jerking awake at the knock and spending the next few moments collecting herself. So when I'lyan does murmur her name, half-lidded eyes lift in a lack of recognition before a swipe of one ink-stained hand removes some of the remnant slumber in her gaze. "Yes, yes, yes-" her blurred speech clears with the repetitions and a rueful shake of her head conveys emotion that has trouble articulating itself. A pause. "Yes, I'm a weyrwoman, and you are," dark blue eyes skim across the man's appearance to rest on his knot, "Either an emissary from M'arik, or...?" Rising keenness in her groggy state spears through to contemplate I'lyan all the better even as her voice trails off quizzically.
I'lyan smiles wryly, "I'd like to say I'm his emissary. I'm his 'second, I'lyan, Koriscath's rider. Unfortunately, I'm here for the caucus." He draws close enough to see better, giving her a polite half bow. "And I'd imagine you're Diya...?"
The long shadows created by the few lights available draw a grotesque silouhette against the office walls as Diya shakes her limbs loose in what appears to be a discrete fashion. Her shoulders are rolled back, legs shook beneath the table and her arms twitch faintly. Finally, the weyrwoman fashions a warmer smile, though the persistent tug of sleep lingers in the corners of her eyes. "Diya, exactly. And please call me Diya. I didn't want to presume-," she pauses, a glance for that knot, "-You were here for the Caucus, but we've had many untraditionally aged students of late. You mentioned unfortunately?
I'lyan's smile is a trifle sour. "There were many things M'arik didn't mention. May I take a seat, ma'am?"
Diya's gaze strays from I'lyan's shoulder to the entrance to the Weyrleader's weyr and then back. "You don't have to ask, but you may. G'thon's retired for the evening I'm afraid," she adds, a tiny discerning smile spared. "As for lack of information?" Her brows lift archly. "You wouldn't be the first."
I'lyan settles into a seat and gathers his thoughts for a moment. First he asks, "How is the Weyrleader? And the Weyrwoman? We'd heard of your losses -" who on Pern hadn't - "But I honestly had no idea how extensive they were. That whole 'information' issue." He purses his lips, frustrated.
Diya's smile thins, a hesitancy in the woman's expression as it diverts quickly from I'lyan to the strewn hides before her. Politeness for the inquiry infuses with the continued warmth of her intonation, "The Weyr's are autonomous, wingsecond. And we thank you for your concern. The wings have been redistributed, as far as I am aware, with Ch'dais and G'thon working well together. As for the Weyrwoman," her lashes lift to seek out the bronzerider's face, quick darts attempting to discern his reaction, "We're coping with our losses and injuries as well as others. How fares Benden in Fall?"
I'lyan says honestly, "Well. Would I were there." He blows out a sigh. "I don't wish to interfere in the 'Reaches, m'lady. But while I'm here for this bloody caucus, there's no sense wasting an experienced rider on resupply. I'd like to speak with the Weyrleader about flying with your wings. I'm hardly a lad barely out of weyrlinghood. And my duty is to /Pern/ as well as to my home weyr. And to be blunt, with so many down, Reaches has need."
Diya lifts her chin a fraction, a long finger finding her cheek to run up along in consideration of the bronzerider's words. "Would you care to educate me on why you were sent to the Caucus then, wingsecond?"
I'lyan's lips thin. He is silent for a moment and then says, "May I speak frankly?"
Silent, Diya encourages honesty with a faint nod.
I'lyan's words are slow, considered, each given equal weight. "If you know my Weyrleader, m'lady, then you know he doesn't think much of the Caucus. It's too untraditional of a notion for him. And I'm his wingsecond." A pause and he says firmly, "I go where I am bid. If there are ideas here to benefit Benden and its Weyrleaders," a hint of emphasis on the plural there, "then he is finally willing to commit to it and to the future."
"And you?" Diya asks hardly a beat after I'lyan's confession, and after a slight shake of her head, she clarifies, "What do you believe, bronzerider?"
"I believe what I see. And what I /see/," Illya continues, "Is a place where my experienced could be used, even with the caucus classes I have to attend, to benefit everyone involved." The words are delivered levelly, no hint of conceit to them. Instead there is an earnestness that is entirely sincere.
Carefully, with her gentle gaze fixated to I'lyan's eyes, Diya allows silence to ensue, and in that 'borrowed' time scrutinizes the wingsecond under the guise of frankness. It's subtle, that scrutiny, whose end is only marked by a tremor of her lower lip. "And what of the other riders of the Caucus?"
I'lyan is not one to flinch under regard, or blush, fidget or otherwise act like a schoolboy. His tone is mild, "The queens already are extended the courtesy of flying with the queen's wing. If there are any others who have already been a wingleader or second, I'd welcome the additions, were it my wing in need. Most are not in that position."
"The queens are," Diya's faint head tilt and wry lip curl to allow for recent events, "Nominally safer below than above, but perhaps we should reassess the liabilities as such. Because," in this conversation of being honest, the trappings of formal politeness are shed, "That is what Caucus members would be in Fall. Liabilities, wingsecond. You do not have the time to train with our wings or fly our patterns with your studies. You are also not the first Caucus student in this batch of students, to be frustrated with the restraints of your new position."
I'lyan counters, "Most caucus bronzeriders are little older than smokeless weyrlings and have no experience. They aren't wingleaders, or seconds. Where I am a flight leader. As you noted, m'lady, I'm hardly the typical caucus student. Instead, it is far more dangerous to try to keep a dragon who is used to meeting thread away from it. However," his tone firms, "I'm not asking to be placed in the wings without training with them. Or without being tested."
"It still does not detract from the fact that an exception for you, regardless of your experience and rank, isn't fair comparatively. It's not fair to you as you do not get to 'enjoy'," the air quotes are audible in a sardonic twist in her intonation, "The experience of the Caucus. I do not decide wing assignments, but barring an intervention by the Weyr Council, for I would imagine the other Weyrleaders would like to have a say in whether their riders fly High Reaches falls across the board, or a transfer on your part as K'sar has done, removing himself from the Caucus, it would be difficult to convince many. Despite how dire our situation may seem to a newcomer, we are not about to go invoking the distrust of the Weyrs of Pern."
I'lyan says honestly, "If people want 'fair' in weyr politics, they should hie themselves west to join the instigators. What I ask is to be allowed to do my duty as befits my abilities and my rank. There have been instances in the past - during the plague in Moreta's time, in fact - where riders have been loaned to a wing light weyr. What I ask isn't so terribly unusual. I'm sorry you feel it is."
"There were rules made to prevent Weyrs dictating over other Weyrs given our own laws on autonomy in the Caucus, wingsecond." Diya's return is unwavering in its warmth but somehow more distant as I'lyan continues to press his point. "So Weyrs would not have to be concerned about High Reaches poaching either gold dragons and the potential of their precious progeny, and I assume riders sent here for political purposes and leadership training. There are differences between riders being loaned and your purpose here. Dragonmen fight Thread, it's what dragons are meant to do, but even you should know, bronzerider, the purpose of the Caucus apparently supercedes that of traditional duties due to the events brought about by the Instigators. If you wish to fly Thread speak with G'thon, or decline the honor of being in the Caucus and return to your Weyr, wingsecond."
I'lyan nods. "I plan to speak to him. If he's capable of making such decisions...?"
A brow hitches higher, soon followed by the second one in, for a moment, silent query. Then, Diya adds vocal credence to it, "Capable?"
I'lyan's tone is smooth, soothing. "I understood he was injured badly in the fall. And left dragonless. I wasn't sure of the extent of his injuries, and if he had returned to full duty." He obviously meant no offense by it. "It's been difficult getting any information, save the list of the dead."
"He lacks a dragon, but has not lost cognizance." Diya exhales, turning to the hides on the table and beginning to shift them randomly. "Have you cases of dragonless men at Benden?" A nonchalant question to be sure.
I'lyan shakes his head. "They suicided. As was their right."
Soberly, the weyrwoman turns to eye I'lyan, dark eyes reflective. "And the rescue of our Weyrleader?" Without saying as much, the lilt of her words lead upwards towards inquiry.
I'lyan counters lightly with, "Weyrs are autonomous, m'lady."
To that, Diya can't help the smile that finds her lips - more genuine than formal. "Touche. Would you care for some tea, wingsecond?"
I'lyan's own grin emerges, engaging and rather boyish. "I thought you'd never ask, m'lady."
Fluid to her feet, Diya favors I'lyan with another of those trademark smiles before she moves towards the opposite end of the sandtable. "You may not enjoy it," she forewarns, "There is no hearth here as the heat of the personal weyrs keeps this cavern warm in the winter, so it is a tepid concoction. It was," she turns to glance backwards, "Colder earlier in the day. And then, wingsecond," charm exudes now that the business-end portion of the conversation is over, "You can tell me of your lovely Weyr." With two glasses, she returns to the table to converse casually with the Benden bronzerider.
When: 20:39 on day 7, month 8, turn 1 of the 7th Pass
Where: Weyrleaders' Office
What: On his way to visit the Weyrleader, I'lyan, instead, comes across Diya.
I'lyan
With a long face and high forehead, I'lyan could easily be dismissed as average on a first glance. Brown hair sprinkled liberally with sandy-blonde highlights is cut in a militaristic fashion, calling further attention to that almost abnormally high forehead. Perhaps receding hairlines run in his family. Sandy eyebrows arch over eyes of a piercing ice blue, the color of a winter lake, and there is where the casual dismissal ends. His eyes are fired with intelligence, rarely missing a detail around him. The rest of his face is chiseled out of an artist's mold: high cheekbones, a straight aquiline nose and a sharply squared chin are at odds with a full, slightly outsized mouth. His ears too are slightly outsized, but rather than appear dopey, they give him an almost endearing quality.
His tall, lean frame is dressed simply in well-worn riding leathers, carefully tended and oiled. On his tunic is worn the device of Benden Weyr, and at the collar, the pin denoting his attendance in the caucus. On his jacket is sewn the patch of a wingsecond, and his knot is that of a bronzeriding wingsecond of Benden Weyr.
Weyrleaders' Office
Much of the formal and informal business that concerns the weyrleaders is conducted here. As such, an effort has been made to keep this chamber comfortable out of respect for the long hours of work required to keep the Weyr running. The walls are bright with tapestries and the floors warm with thick rugs. A large sandtable holds pride of place in the center of the room, one half covered with a sheet of glass to serve as a writing surface. A second, smaller table holds whatever writing implements and record hides are needed by the staff. The chairs that ring this area are thickly cushioned but otherwise undecorated.
The stairs that led into the complex from the bowl continue up to the right, taking one into the Weyrleader's weyr. A large tunnel to the left curves down to the senior Weyrwoman's weyr, broken only by the smaller tunnel that leads to one of the junior's weyrs. The last tunnel, opposite the entrance, leads to the second junior's weyr.
Contents:
I'lyan
Council Chamber (CC) West Wing (WE) East Wing (EW)
Senior's Weyr (WW) Weyrleader's Weyr (WL) Bowl (B)
The lack of Fall the following day allows a quiet to descend the Weyrleaders' offices this evening. Glow baskets are half-lidded in preparation for evening, though there's a triangle patch of brighter light from the far corner of the table. Reclined there, Diya's arms are folded over her chest, and her chin's found the hollow of her collarbones as her lanky frame is bent over in a light doze. Before her, there are hides with a stylus having streaked a mark across the records and a cooled mug of klah.
I'lyan knocks lightly, waits a moment, and then pokes his head in. "Is anyone-" The corridor outside is brighter, and he swings the door open a trifle wider to let in more light and let his eyes adjust. He comes on in closing closer and murmurs, "Weyrwoman?" Let's not scare the woman half to death, but he /did/ have business, so wake up.
It's a light doze, Diya jerking awake at the knock and spending the next few moments collecting herself. So when I'lyan does murmur her name, half-lidded eyes lift in a lack of recognition before a swipe of one ink-stained hand removes some of the remnant slumber in her gaze. "Yes, yes, yes-" her blurred speech clears with the repetitions and a rueful shake of her head conveys emotion that has trouble articulating itself. A pause. "Yes, I'm a weyrwoman, and you are," dark blue eyes skim across the man's appearance to rest on his knot, "Either an emissary from M'arik, or...?" Rising keenness in her groggy state spears through to contemplate I'lyan all the better even as her voice trails off quizzically.
I'lyan smiles wryly, "I'd like to say I'm his emissary. I'm his 'second, I'lyan, Koriscath's rider. Unfortunately, I'm here for the caucus." He draws close enough to see better, giving her a polite half bow. "And I'd imagine you're Diya...?"
The long shadows created by the few lights available draw a grotesque silouhette against the office walls as Diya shakes her limbs loose in what appears to be a discrete fashion. Her shoulders are rolled back, legs shook beneath the table and her arms twitch faintly. Finally, the weyrwoman fashions a warmer smile, though the persistent tug of sleep lingers in the corners of her eyes. "Diya, exactly. And please call me Diya. I didn't want to presume-," she pauses, a glance for that knot, "-You were here for the Caucus, but we've had many untraditionally aged students of late. You mentioned unfortunately?
I'lyan's smile is a trifle sour. "There were many things M'arik didn't mention. May I take a seat, ma'am?"
Diya's gaze strays from I'lyan's shoulder to the entrance to the Weyrleader's weyr and then back. "You don't have to ask, but you may. G'thon's retired for the evening I'm afraid," she adds, a tiny discerning smile spared. "As for lack of information?" Her brows lift archly. "You wouldn't be the first."
I'lyan settles into a seat and gathers his thoughts for a moment. First he asks, "How is the Weyrleader? And the Weyrwoman? We'd heard of your losses -" who on Pern hadn't - "But I honestly had no idea how extensive they were. That whole 'information' issue." He purses his lips, frustrated.
Diya's smile thins, a hesitancy in the woman's expression as it diverts quickly from I'lyan to the strewn hides before her. Politeness for the inquiry infuses with the continued warmth of her intonation, "The Weyr's are autonomous, wingsecond. And we thank you for your concern. The wings have been redistributed, as far as I am aware, with Ch'dais and G'thon working well together. As for the Weyrwoman," her lashes lift to seek out the bronzerider's face, quick darts attempting to discern his reaction, "We're coping with our losses and injuries as well as others. How fares Benden in Fall?"
I'lyan says honestly, "Well. Would I were there." He blows out a sigh. "I don't wish to interfere in the 'Reaches, m'lady. But while I'm here for this bloody caucus, there's no sense wasting an experienced rider on resupply. I'd like to speak with the Weyrleader about flying with your wings. I'm hardly a lad barely out of weyrlinghood. And my duty is to /Pern/ as well as to my home weyr. And to be blunt, with so many down, Reaches has need."
Diya lifts her chin a fraction, a long finger finding her cheek to run up along in consideration of the bronzerider's words. "Would you care to educate me on why you were sent to the Caucus then, wingsecond?"
I'lyan's lips thin. He is silent for a moment and then says, "May I speak frankly?"
Silent, Diya encourages honesty with a faint nod.
I'lyan's words are slow, considered, each given equal weight. "If you know my Weyrleader, m'lady, then you know he doesn't think much of the Caucus. It's too untraditional of a notion for him. And I'm his wingsecond." A pause and he says firmly, "I go where I am bid. If there are ideas here to benefit Benden and its Weyrleaders," a hint of emphasis on the plural there, "then he is finally willing to commit to it and to the future."
"And you?" Diya asks hardly a beat after I'lyan's confession, and after a slight shake of her head, she clarifies, "What do you believe, bronzerider?"
"I believe what I see. And what I /see/," Illya continues, "Is a place where my experienced could be used, even with the caucus classes I have to attend, to benefit everyone involved." The words are delivered levelly, no hint of conceit to them. Instead there is an earnestness that is entirely sincere.
Carefully, with her gentle gaze fixated to I'lyan's eyes, Diya allows silence to ensue, and in that 'borrowed' time scrutinizes the wingsecond under the guise of frankness. It's subtle, that scrutiny, whose end is only marked by a tremor of her lower lip. "And what of the other riders of the Caucus?"
I'lyan is not one to flinch under regard, or blush, fidget or otherwise act like a schoolboy. His tone is mild, "The queens already are extended the courtesy of flying with the queen's wing. If there are any others who have already been a wingleader or second, I'd welcome the additions, were it my wing in need. Most are not in that position."
"The queens are," Diya's faint head tilt and wry lip curl to allow for recent events, "Nominally safer below than above, but perhaps we should reassess the liabilities as such. Because," in this conversation of being honest, the trappings of formal politeness are shed, "That is what Caucus members would be in Fall. Liabilities, wingsecond. You do not have the time to train with our wings or fly our patterns with your studies. You are also not the first Caucus student in this batch of students, to be frustrated with the restraints of your new position."
I'lyan counters, "Most caucus bronzeriders are little older than smokeless weyrlings and have no experience. They aren't wingleaders, or seconds. Where I am a flight leader. As you noted, m'lady, I'm hardly the typical caucus student. Instead, it is far more dangerous to try to keep a dragon who is used to meeting thread away from it. However," his tone firms, "I'm not asking to be placed in the wings without training with them. Or without being tested."
"It still does not detract from the fact that an exception for you, regardless of your experience and rank, isn't fair comparatively. It's not fair to you as you do not get to 'enjoy'," the air quotes are audible in a sardonic twist in her intonation, "The experience of the Caucus. I do not decide wing assignments, but barring an intervention by the Weyr Council, for I would imagine the other Weyrleaders would like to have a say in whether their riders fly High Reaches falls across the board, or a transfer on your part as K'sar has done, removing himself from the Caucus, it would be difficult to convince many. Despite how dire our situation may seem to a newcomer, we are not about to go invoking the distrust of the Weyrs of Pern."
I'lyan says honestly, "If people want 'fair' in weyr politics, they should hie themselves west to join the instigators. What I ask is to be allowed to do my duty as befits my abilities and my rank. There have been instances in the past - during the plague in Moreta's time, in fact - where riders have been loaned to a wing light weyr. What I ask isn't so terribly unusual. I'm sorry you feel it is."
"There were rules made to prevent Weyrs dictating over other Weyrs given our own laws on autonomy in the Caucus, wingsecond." Diya's return is unwavering in its warmth but somehow more distant as I'lyan continues to press his point. "So Weyrs would not have to be concerned about High Reaches poaching either gold dragons and the potential of their precious progeny, and I assume riders sent here for political purposes and leadership training. There are differences between riders being loaned and your purpose here. Dragonmen fight Thread, it's what dragons are meant to do, but even you should know, bronzerider, the purpose of the Caucus apparently supercedes that of traditional duties due to the events brought about by the Instigators. If you wish to fly Thread speak with G'thon, or decline the honor of being in the Caucus and return to your Weyr, wingsecond."
I'lyan nods. "I plan to speak to him. If he's capable of making such decisions...?"
A brow hitches higher, soon followed by the second one in, for a moment, silent query. Then, Diya adds vocal credence to it, "Capable?"
I'lyan's tone is smooth, soothing. "I understood he was injured badly in the fall. And left dragonless. I wasn't sure of the extent of his injuries, and if he had returned to full duty." He obviously meant no offense by it. "It's been difficult getting any information, save the list of the dead."
"He lacks a dragon, but has not lost cognizance." Diya exhales, turning to the hides on the table and beginning to shift them randomly. "Have you cases of dragonless men at Benden?" A nonchalant question to be sure.
I'lyan shakes his head. "They suicided. As was their right."
Soberly, the weyrwoman turns to eye I'lyan, dark eyes reflective. "And the rescue of our Weyrleader?" Without saying as much, the lilt of her words lead upwards towards inquiry.
I'lyan counters lightly with, "Weyrs are autonomous, m'lady."
To that, Diya can't help the smile that finds her lips - more genuine than formal. "Touche. Would you care for some tea, wingsecond?"
I'lyan's own grin emerges, engaging and rather boyish. "I thought you'd never ask, m'lady."
Fluid to her feet, Diya favors I'lyan with another of those trademark smiles before she moves towards the opposite end of the sandtable. "You may not enjoy it," she forewarns, "There is no hearth here as the heat of the personal weyrs keeps this cavern warm in the winter, so it is a tepid concoction. It was," she turns to glance backwards, "Colder earlier in the day. And then, wingsecond," charm exudes now that the business-end portion of the conversation is over, "You can tell me of your lovely Weyr." With two glasses, she returns to the table to converse casually with the Benden bronzerider.