Post by kevna on Apr 18, 2024 20:54:10 GMT -5
Asirikai - Lord Holder of Mavros
The rest of the hatching had been torture, pure and simple. He had never had such fury bottled inside-not even Nalyra’s temptations and verbal abuse-came close to this madness slowly taking control of his body. He had barely nodded when Divano had pointed out the green-gold. The creature was merely a bad omen for this hatching, and a highlight for his loss. Gamoth came back for him once all the eggs had hatched, and all the candidates were sequestered away with their new bondmates.
He had given Divano and Relwisha congratulations for their daughter’s success and a short goodbye. The flight back was far less pleasant then the flight into the hatching cavern had been. He couldn’t help but think of Vanisha flying much like this, no better then a currier most days, taking messages and people back and forth. She had just become a slave to the fall of thread and the Weyr’s newest whore. He remembered to mumble his thanks to dragon and rider before moving back to his rooms.
With each step the madness within grew, his hands were fisted, it would be obvious to others his anger at this point. It did make it easier waving aside those who wished to speak with him. He had to make a cutting motion to Tolf, his elderly steward, when the man had made to follow him into his office, and ended up slamming the door in his face. Alone. Alone. He paced his office, his breath coming in ragged bursts.
She kept invading his mind, her pale face, freckled, and serene. Those understanding blue eyes. Her gentle soft hands brushing back her thick, wavy, auburn hair. Gone. Lost to him. His. She had been his. His hands came down upon his desk, his chest releasing a growl from the depths. It released some of the madness, giving him respite. But her face, it was still there, taunting his loss. Beyond reach.
Was she? Could he go to the Weyrwoman and have Vanisha excused from all Weyr duties? The green would be a glorified pet, not even worth using for transportation… Jaxom had been Lord and dragonrider. Why did things have to be any different for her? Vanisha didn’t have the strength to be a dragonrider. Threadfall would be her inevitable death.
He opened his eyes, glaring at his fists, tanned skin turned white from their strain. He already knew the answer he would get. Vanisha was well and truly gone. He snarled, turning and grabbing one of the chairs in the room, and with little effort, smashed it against his desk. Manuscripts and ink went flying, glass shatters, and he felt the chair snap in half. He took a deep breath. The exercise had done good, he decided as he felt some of the tension leave his body, even if the anger, and perhaps grief, raged on. He threw the remaining piece of chair into the new debris pile, took another calming breath.
With the calming breath, he closed his eyes, but it only brought her face back to mind. Her trembling lips as he had declared to her his intentions. The way they had felt pressed against his for that too brief a moment. Asirikai opened his eyes, feeling the tension coming back. He was in control now. He wouldn’t let the tension, the madness, control him. He almost toppled his heavy desk, but instead merely opened the drawer housing his throwing daggers. Whiskey. The dark-haired Lord Holder sought that out next. He didn’t bother with a glass, just took a swig straight from the bottle, and threw his first dagger. With each throw, he took a breath.
He had been a gather-fool, falling for her, a candidate. He had never, not once, considered she would be successful in gaining a dragon. But she had. Coming to terms that she was beyond his reach now was a pill he couldn’t swallow. He couldn’t help but consider taking her for a mistress. She was a greenrider-Sio had been willing enough for Podrell…. His next throw went wide and he let out a noise between a growl and a laugh. Now he was suncrazed. Never, had the young Lord Holder desired a mistress, and there could be consequences to such a deadglow action. Taking Nalyra to his bed was shameful enough, but keeping a mistress? No, he would marry, and he wouldn’t subject his wife to such treatment. It wasn’t him. He had almost, almost, made the same mistake his nephew had, falling for a greenrider. Vanisha had been perfect. The past tense was important to remember-she wasn’t worthy of him now. Not for more then a casual tumble before he wed, and he wouldn’t stoop that low. Not with how she affected him. He threw another dragger, and this one embedded right where he had aimed.
A tight, controlled smile ghosted over his lips. He was once again ruler of his anger, instead of slave to it. He brushed his hair back, straightened his clothes, and opened the door, once again Lord Holder of Mavros. He moved through the antechamber, and found Tolf out in the next chamber. “Have someone clean up the mess in my office. Discreetly, if you please, Tolf.” His voice was smooth, even if lower then normal. “Of course, my Lord.” The elderly steward bowed, and Asirikai kept moving. Before he could exit cleanly he stopped, "Oh, and Tolf. I need another chair. Requisition for one when you have time." He didn't wait for an answer, just continued out of his rooms. He would clean himself off, eat something. Nothing helped him control his temper better then being clean and having a full belly. Then he would search out the Wher handler, what was his name again? It was a hatching day. Everyone would be happy and excited, what better mood to convince a man to loan him a beast or two in his efforts to better the Mavrosi Hold? Yes, he was just in the mood of convincing a man to give him his way-he needed a win. Then possibly he would search out Pollifa. Or maybe not. The last thing he wanted was an encounter with Podrell. He would keep himself busy with Hold matters then, until the feast. He would smile. Drink. Maybe even dance. And he would speak with her one last time.
