Post by Zen on Mar 7, 2022 3:36:59 GMT -5
At the Jask Wedding Gather
Having excused himself from S’goi for a time, telling the bronze weyrling that he was supposed to meet someone and that he would try to find him later, if he didn’t mind him continuing to tag along, Kisoraz made his way toward the hold proper. There wouldn’t be many gather goers in the area, so it was where his parents had sent him a message to meet them. He was feeling mildly apprehensive but also eager to share what he’d learned, if word hadn’t reached them already.
He wasn’t surprised that they weren’t waiting for him. The Weyrleader and Weyrwoman of Mirran waited for no one. So he found a decent spot out of the way and kept an eye out for their arrival. Hello, Isorel’s hatchling. He smiled at the familiar voice of his mother’s gold, warm with affection for him. Hello, lovely Winnecath. It’s wonderful to hear your voice again. If only I could bask in your majesty as well. The amusement and pleasure in the gold’s tone was plain, Flatterer. He grinned to himself, If truth is flattery. More amusement, Isorel and Relianth’s will be along shortly. I have been watching for you to inform them of your arrival. That was most kind of you. The gold then retreated from his mind and he was left wishing she hadn’t. He rather missed her. She was a gold among golds, of that he was certain, and like a draconic second mother. She’d been there his whole life, he’d grown up around her, and leaving her behind was just like leaving any other member of his family behind. When he’d been small, he and his siblings had often taken naps under the protection of her great glittering wings.
It wasn’t much longer before he spotted his parents, stepping forward just a bit, all the easier for them to see him. He needn’t have bothered since he was sure Winnecath had given his mother an image of just where he was, and they were already heading straight for him. His mother opened her arms and he welcomed the embrace, “Hello, my love.” She took a step back from him and looked him over, “Are you eating alright? I have heard some terrible things about the state of Mavros’s kitchens.”
“The food is certainly not to Mirran’s standard, but it is tolerable,” he replied with a shrug. Mostly just more fish than he’d like in his diet, and less variety in flavor, as well as far less creativity in the meals.
His father got more to the point, “And have you anything to report thus far? It has been some time since we had reliable eyes at Mavros.”
“Ah,” he pulled a sketchpad from his bag, which was a decent cover for note taking when he was wandering about Mavros and trying to discern if there was anything worth telling his parents about, “I have a few things written down, but!” Before he could hand the hide to them, he looked between them both with some excitement, “Have you heard? Mavros has been blessed with a white dragon!”
Mirran’s weyrleaders exchanged a shocked look with each other and Isorel was the first to speak, “Another? How? When?”
His father cursed lowly, his tone incredulous, “How is it that Mavros has been blessed by two white dragons in its short life, even after allowing one to perish in their irreverence for them, while Mirran’s white weyrs remain empty?”
Kisoraz wasn’t exactly sure how to answer his father’s question, or if he was even meant to, so he focused on his mother’s instead, “They sent their two young golds back in time for their maiden clutches. The white dragon hatched there and brought them back.”
“Back… back in time…? You mean to say they left without the guidance of a white?” Isorel seemed aghast at the notion.
“From what I’ve gathered, they were most desperate for more dragons,” Kisoraz explained further, “Their numbers are pitiful. It is a wonder they’ve survived as long as they have, and that their protectorate does not suffer Thread stripped lands. They have only a single flight of wings. I can only imagine that their riders are much overworked and overextended.”
“Desperate indeed,” O’zel muttered, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully, “When did this venture occur? We had heard some rumors of it in Mirran but we had dismissed it initially. I would not have thought anyone insane enough to attempt timing it without the guidance of a white.”
“Only this past month, father. Those who went returned the same day, with two clutches worth of new weyrlings in tow. Including their white dragon. His name is Tellamuth. His rider is a young woman named Joia. I had the honor of meeting them. It’s most queer… Mavros shows them no proper honor or respect. They seem to be treated just as any other rider.”
A disgusted sort of look passed over O’zel’s features, “No wonder they allowed the last white they were blessed with to die so young.” He cast a glance at Isorel, “We should make it known to this whiterider that she will always have an honored place in Mirran, if she ever wishes it.” Isorel nodded her agreement but the Weyrleader went on before she could speak, turning back to their son, “And you’ve met this woman and her dragon personally?”
“Yes, quite by accident. She chose to sit with me at a meal and was generous enough to allow me to meet Tellamuth. He is beautiful. He even spoke with me though we had only just met. He seems to be quite friendly,” he explained further, reminiscing on his picnic with a white dragon.
“And the rider, Joia? You are working toward friendship with her, I would hope,” O’zel pressed.
“Well, yes… I have offered to gift her a portrait of the two of them. She is quite a humble young woman, I do not think she quite understands how extraordinary she is,” though now Kisoraz was starting to think aloud and so he reigned himself back in, clearing his throat lightly and handing over the notes he’d compiled during his time at Mavros thus far, “I’ve been as detailed as I can think to be. I hope it isn’t too tedious, but I imagined you would determine what was of worth and what was not.”
“I’m sure your report will be most helpful, dear heart,” his mother spoke before his father could, stepping closer to him, “And now that we have it we can ask about you. How are you, my love? I know being away from home must be difficult, especially being somewhere like Mavros.”
Kisoraz glanced at his father, who seemed more interested in perusing his notes than hearing about how his son was faring. He didn’t want his father to think he couldn’t handle this. If he was alone with his mother perhaps he could be more open but…. “I’m doing well enough, mother. Thank you for asking. It is… very different. It will take some more adjusting, I think… but it is nothing I can’t handle. I miss the art most of all… I know Mavros is young but there is such a lack of culture there. I suppose when everything you do must go toward simply surviving it does not leave much time or resources for finer things and higher callings. I can certainly see why you sent me to Mavros. It is in desperate need of Mirran’s influence.”
Isorel smiled, “And who better to bring that influence than you, once your bronze finds you?” Kisoraz’s own smile faltered briefly at that, but his mother didn’t seem to notice, “When might their next Hatching take place?”
“Ah…,” he paused, still flabbergasted at the answer he was about to give, “It seems… no one particularly knows.”
O’zel finally looked up from his son’s notes at that, eyes narrowed in utter confusion, “What? How?”
“Well… as I was told when I asked… because of the trip back in time, no one is quite certain which gold might rise next. Their twin golds, in theory, ought to rise soon, but… there is no particular record of how timing it affects a gold’s mating cycle.”
Isorel’s hand came up to rest gently against her forehead as she loosed a light sigh of exasperation, “To think we sent you into this chaos.” As her hand fell away, she looked him over again with some concern, “Perhaps we were wrong….”
“Nonsense,” O’zel insisted, fixing a hard stare on Kisoraz, “You read his fate in the dragon bones. Besides, I’m sure Kisoraz can handle it. He knows his duty to Mirran.”
Kisoraz straightened under his father’s gaze, shifting to look at his mother, “Father is right, mother. Your castings aren’t wrong.”
“Perhaps, but my interpretations can be at times… if I missed something, or read something incorrectly-” she cut herself off as O’zel stepped forward to take her hand in his, raising it to his lips to place a gentle kiss on her fingers.
“You are the most talented caster in Mirran, my love. You were not wrong in this, you know as well as I that you would never be so careless in a reading done of our son,” he reassured her, firm in the conviction of his belief, “I bore witness myself to how you agonized over the reading. Do not doubt yourself.”
Kisoraz felt the need to glance away, feeling like he was intruding on an intimate moment between his parents. His father sounded so supportive of her… he couldn’t remember a single time his father had been so staunch in support of him. At length, he heard his mother sigh, “I suppose you’re right…. I just can’t help but worry…. Are you certain you will be alright, Kisoraz?”
When he looked back toward them, they were both looking back, his mother with worry, his father with warning. It was such a stark contrast. He knew what his father expected. He knew his ‘support’ earlier had been another warning. He forced a smile onto his lips to reassure his mother, “Of course, mother. I’ll be fine.” His bright gaze flicked to his father briefly, “I know my duty to Mirran.”
