Windswept and Love-struck, Ch 1
#1 of Windswept and Love-struck
Eisvayen and Padora- two Candidates in the latest batch of Fort Weyr. The Eighth Pass has only just ended, and life in the weyrs is about to settle down for a long wait. These two, however, are destined for something- adventure, intrigue, romance, and a good dose of danger. But first, they must Impress their dragons...
This is the (slightly edited) transcript of a Pern RP between Myre and myself. It is ongoing and I'll likely continue publishing chapters as we go along. The story takes place at the end of the Eighth Pass, just before the Long Interval, and follows two youths, Eisvayen [ahys•va•yhen] and Padora. Eisvayen was a smith journeyman of Telgar smith hall, and Padora is a weyrbrat of Fort, where the current Hatching is about to take place.
This is (obviously) an alternate storyline from the cannon. No, it won't be perfect to the Pernese world, we're human, we make mistakes. If you can't handle that, don't read it. However, we hope that you'll enjoy the story as much as we have.
It was easy to enjoy the hearty meal splayed out before the maturing Pernese male, such a luxury something he had never experienced as he crouched over the long table set within Fort Weyrs dining hall. It was anticipated that at any moment the Hatching would begin, and like many of the others they attempted to tend to themselves before they would meet the arduous task of caring for a newborn dragon. It had already been a week since the new coming candidates were informed that they should be prepared to Stand at a moment's notice. This was pleasant knowledge for the male, being only his second week in the Weyr, and as an outsider he found himself out of place. Still he was eager to prove himself, it was considered a great honor to become a part of a weyr, and he relished the opportunity to become a Rider if chosen.
Eisvayen had once been under the care of his father. A harsh man, his elder had earned a snarled reputation as a drunkard and negligent widower, marking him an outcast when he failed to care for his ailed wife. Holdless, they were forced to roam near aimlessly across the rugged landscape, bartering and trading for every spare Mark or division of. Food was little and even less was spared to the boy who would watch nightly as his father succumbed to drink to wallow in self pity. At an early age he could do nothing to avoid the bruises that mottled his body, vast hues of purple, blue and yellow, branding to his lightly tanned frame.
Growing older gave Eisvayen the strength and will to fend off his kin when his father's drunken stupor caused him to lash out at him. It did not help to settle the old man's temperament, becoming more enraged with his defiant son, finally taking only a snark comment from a weary youth to set his father's anger aflame. Brawling, father and son contested the will of their detest for one another, with Eisvayen narrowly emerging victor. Denouncing his father at the age of fifteen he abandoned his only known family in search of a simple, hard earned life.
His Craft became that of Smithing, working for a respectable teacher who quickly became the young man's mentor. It took only a couple short years for Eisvayen to advance in title as a Journeyman. His success was short lived however, when the Dragons came on their Search for candidates to Stand around the Sands to be Impressed by a dragon. He had paid no mind to their visit until a dragon cornered him, pointing him out as the source of energy guiding their instincts. He could not refuse the offer with dignity, not that he wanted to, and thus he arrived within Fort Weyr a week later where he waited to Impress one of the dragons from the soon-to-hatch clutch.
Spooning a heap of rice and vegetables from bowl before him, Eisvayen's gaze flitted idly around him, wary of those passing by, but at relative ease his relatively new surroundings. His shoulder and chest were well built, corded with dense sinew formed while he had wielded a hammer. By comparison he did not possess the stock of most with his physique, his height a couple inches over six feet, and a absence of fat from years of an empty stomach gave him a gentler stance in appearance. Still his elongated face, sharp angular features, dark brown hair, and xanthous hued eyes gave him a wild, almost manic facade.
He didn't have to wonder why he was somewhat avoided by the other candidates. He was taking special care not to grow fond of the males whom he bunked with, partially due to the fact that Weyrs were known for their high populous of gay and bisexual riders. Eisvayen could only hope to Impress a bronze, at least then he wouldn't have to worry about being taken by another male rider. A brown would suit him to, but the number of female riders still dwindled and meant at worst the dragons emotions during a mating flight would make him take the other male. If there was one thing he dreaded was the greens. Even if they were drawn to the effeminate, there was no guarantee. If it came to that, he'd clap his loins in iron britches if he had to.
Finished with his meal, the young man stood, returned his wares to the cooks and thanked them before departing for the baths. It was later in the afternoon, so he expected they be empty and had purposefully put his washing off for that convenience.
Any other time of the year, the kitchen scullions would have been on their toes and prepared for the raid. Today, however, was full of the panic and movement of an impending Hatching. There wasn't a horizontal surface available, uncluttered by fruit, roots, wherry meat, bread and sweets. While tithes had been steady and full of the best crops during Threadfall, once the threat was over the Holds returned to their usual lazy selves, and the products had started to slack off considerably. Why, a wing actually went out to hunt! No one had needed to do that for anything more than fun or practice in a long time. The Weyrleaders were working out plans for dragons and weyrfolk alike to go pick redfruit in Southern Boll!
Even with all the strange politics and new happenings, there was still plenty of food to go around. The hopeful Candidates who were from outside the weyrs had parents or family coming in as Hatching got closer. There were a few dragons visiting from some of the other weyrs, and of course, the usual harpers and smiths and other journeyman to take advantage of the festive atmosphere and help get the new weyrlings prepared for their new life. It was an active, bustling kitchen, and Padora used it to her advantage. The one thing all mischief makers have in common is a sweet tooth. That's why most of them start being troublesome in the first place! Padora was no exception to this, and she slipped between the busy bodies with one target in mind- a fresh, steaming plate of delicious sweetrolls. Of course, she wouldn't dream of taking the whole plate, but a couple of them wouldn't be missed. It was time for stealth, and a good set of legs.
No one in the weyr would mistake Padora for anyone else. It wasn't that she was terribly unusual looking, but her face had been well known since she could first scramble up a table to pilfer sweets. Her hair was a rich brown with a bit of curl to the shoulder length tips and her skin was cream colored in the few areas that weren't sun tanned from spending so many days outside bathing dragons. Neither of her parents were particularly stocky but they were tall and smoothly muscled. When Padora moved, she had the lithe grace of a feline, and the long legs of a runner beast. A bit long in the face, her eyes were her most noticeable feature. Perhaps a tad large for her face, they were deep brown (the same color as her father's dragon, she was often told), bright and expressive. Emotions flashed through them as visibly as on her lips (which were perhaps a little thin and a little pale). No, she wasn't particularly beautiful, but she was well known, and as she aged, the males of the weyr had started to notice her as more than a miscreant.
When the moment was right and everyone seemed to be looking in exactly the wrong direction, Padora dashed forward and snatched a few of the rolls, hastily stuffing two into her pockets and another gripped tightly in her hand. Her break for the door was slightly marred by the appearance of one of the blue riders, G'ram the Weyrling instructor. He raised his black eyebrows and opened his mouth to admonish her, but she dodged past his burly body and darted out into the hall. With the use of her long legs, she booked it down the halls, scurrying past knots of people, dashing around one young bronze on his way to the feeding pens, and towards the sanctuary of the Candidates quarters.
Panting a little and with a grin from ear to ear, she dropped the two sweetrolls from her pocket into the bowl beside her temporary bed. Retrieving a bag of sand from the little table, she headed off to the baths, still nibbling on the first roll. It wasn't a clean break, and G'ram was sure to give her extra duties tomorrow, but she was content with her pilfering and was ready to get cleaned up and go join the end of the dinner crowd.
On her way out, she passed Kimen and her younger brother Kenor, both Candidates for this batch of eggs. There was no gold egg of a queen this time around, so Kimen and Padora felt no need to be catty with each other, they would be happy if they got greens together and could stay close. Kimen was quiet, delicate, and usually fairly demure (except when Padora dragged her along for some mischief). The two girls were the same age, nineteen turns, and had grown up in the weyr together. Kenor was younger by two turns, stocky, cocky, rude, and just plain annoying. Everyone was betting on him getting a snappy blue or even a big pushy green, but Padora and Kimen were sure he would end up with a bronze, just to spite them. He was tall for his age, like his father, and was actually quite intelligent- when he took his mind off of bullying long enough to use his brain. They all greeted each other with some comradely, but brief since they seemed to have opposite destinations.
After a final wave, Padora trotted off to the baths, only to find that she would not be alone in the deep pools. One of the older male candidates, a young Smith if she remembered correctly, was also looking to use dinner as a chance to use the baths without the usual ruckus of the younger Candidates. Munching on the last half of her roll, she eyed him curiously and gave him a confident smile, "Hello."
Eisvayen strode across the Caldera to the candidate's Barracks savoring the sweet smell the cool air carried with it that particular evening. Deep hues of blue and violet blended their dye across the firmament in a grand pastel, a thick rosy band passing across the view marking the breadth of the galaxy. Night would soon mark the end of yet another day within the Weyr, and even then the stars pierced the skies with their numerous beads of flickering light.
Eager to cleanse himself in the awaiting waters of bathing chambers Eisvayen cut short his admiration of the heavens and rushed to his bunk. He grabbed the sand and oils he'd been given when he arrived, snatching up a cloth from his trunk. Looking around the room, Fenlem and Hulston were naught to be seen a grateful though for both had taken the uncomfortable need to accompany him every time he went to bathe. Sweeping from the room he didn't want to be caught by the pair and rushed down the corridor on swift feet.
It was pleasant to find the warm pools vacant and unusually quiet as he ducked through the archway. Fine, tendril swirls of steam peeled off the glossy surface of the waters yielding the room's only movement in the dim light. Walking slowly towards the edge as if he feared breaking the wanton calm, he looked down into the water, eyes passing over his reflection cynically. A flicker of doubt was pressed into his faltering expression of usual contentment, for what was the point?
It was a folly to think he'd become anything here, within the Weyr or anywhere else for that matter. The prospect of impressing a dragon was exciting, sure, but in the wake of the eighth pass, it seemed that his purpose as a Rider would be diminished without the chore of fending off the Thread that plagued Pern and it's inhabitants. What was there to do? And how much importance could he truly achieve with his life. These questions burned within the young man as he cursed his lot.
"What am I thinking!?" he growled vehemently, vibrant echoes clashing with stone producing a persistent ringing in his ears as silence fell. A heavy laden sigh followed, and in tandem a gruff chortle as Eisvayen's lips cracked a soft smile. It was difficult to shrug away the demeaning taunts one fell victim to as a child, even someone as hardened as the prospective candidate.
Pushing away the thought of his sire, Eisvayen began to shed his clothing. Unbuckled he pulled the belt around his tunic free, setting them on a ledge, his leather leggings following rapid suit. Gathering what he would need with him at the waters side, he did not hear the patter of footsteps preceding the other candidate. Emerging from the annex he was greeted, much to his surprise, and by a woman of things! Looking up at female who drew his gaze for a long moment, he gave a rather amused smile "Evening," he said simply, passing her to reach the waters. If she perhaps cast her gaze upon him, Eisvayen had a handsomely figure, and the assets to equal the attraction if one desired such a quality. He displayed no shame in his indecency, slipping into the water a moment later. At least the company was certainly more tasteful than usual, and knew her purpose was the same as his, the items she carried making it quite obvious, "It's nice this time of day, relaxing even," he said as idle conversation, glancing back to her curiously.
She watched him with open curiosity. He was well cut, with the muscles that came from hold life and smithing. A pleasant eyeful to be sure! She flashed him a brilliant smile, full of white, mostly straight teeth, before stuffing the rest of the roll in her mouth like a young dragon. It was unusual for him to be so open about nudity. Most of the Candidates from the Hold and Hall were known for being shocked and scandalized by the openness of dragonriders. Padora had nothing to hide of herself- by the Egg, most every weyrbrat had splashed naked together in the warm waters of Southern Boll- and since the boy was not blushing and scooting to the farthest pool she figured that was invitation enough to join him. Shucking off her sandals and leggings, she tossed them aside, paying no heed to the ledge meant to carry such items. Her belt and tunic followed and she dropped the bag of sweet sand next to the water.
She had no reason to be terribly proud of her body, but she had no reason to be ashamed either. The sharp edges of youth had started to soften out into feminine curves, though she remained fairly thin and lanky. The small swells of her chest showed promise to be larger (and cumbersome in a riding jacket) as she aged, but for now they were young and pert. For the most part she was tanned and pleasantly rich in color, but a few areas that had little sun were smooth and pale. Padora resisted the urge to sway her hips, and so, without the usual fiddling and puttering of most girls, she slid into the warm waters with a hiss of pleasure and ducked under to wet her head.
When she came back up, she gave him her little smile of trouble and nodded, "I usually come during dinner, or late at night when everyone else is sleeping. I'm all for a large group for the hatchlings to choose from, but I do wish that the younger Candidates would push off. You're more likely to get dunked without the sand than you are to actually be able to bathe." Well, wasn't she just the chatty flit tonight? She busied herself with a handful of sand from her bag and scrubbed it in her hair until it had foamed up. From the corner of her eyes she watched him and rolled through her mind for anything she knew about him.
She was pretty sure he belonged to the Smith Hall before he was Searched, but she didn't remember hearing anything about his parents staying in the weyr to watch the Hatching, nor did she know which hall he'd been Searched from. Probably from the one beholden to Fort, since he was here, but the weyrs had been branching out a little lately, trying to keep new blood in the weyrs before the hatchlings Impressed, rather than raising them here and trading them out later. Despite all that she heard when sneaking about the halls, she couldn't remember his name or anything else about him, other than his aversion to other candidates. Well, hopefully he wouldn't mind sharing the pool with her...
As the girl undressed he didn't lift his gaze from the pool. Maybe a couple furtive glances, but nothing rude or overbearing. He waded in the shallows spreading the sand across his physique, using its rough texture to grit the grime from his skin before it frothed into its soothing foam. His skin was darkened from many hours in the sun, only a band of pale flesh swept around his hips and groin, though the appendage between his legs someone managed the darker shade the rest of his body had been swathed.
It was a bit of a surprise for him when the water rippled around him, the diminutive waves breaking against the back of thighs, much like they would crashing against a sea-cliff. Turning he witnessed her unclothed form slipping into the pool as she submerged. While her body wasn't exemplary in her maturity, but it was undeniable that she was destined a body worth pursuit. Still, he brandished these thoughts from his conscious finding that dwelling upon a single woman would yield his emotions tattered should she be taken by another male in the heated throes of a mating flight.
To say he wasn't aroused would have been much a lie, as his phallus had indeed firmed in stature but self control denied him full erection or the hint of. As he washed his lower form he listened to her and was breathed a laugh, "Aye. The youngest of the group have been much of a nuisance. Some have taken a fondness to me that I have no attraction for. It is quite frightening really," he remarked with a chortle before disappearing beneath the sheen.
He emerged near the edge, taking hand another heap of sand that he began massaging into his scalp while returning to the deep where the girl sat. Eisvayen reminded himself about her reputation amongst the Weyrbred. While she seemed sweet enough, there was a notoriety built around her knack for trouble. Of what sorts of mischief she villainously procured was unknown to him, he had been warned. Pandora or something he recalled as her title but he couldn't be certain.
"Eisvayen," he noted, offering his name to her before dipping into the pools to rinse his hair. Giving her a glance after emerging he smiled taking a nearby seat, leaning back again the wall to stretch and unwind his sore body , "You're here as a Candidate correct,' he asked not knowing her place in the Weyr.
Ah... That explained his anti-social behavior. He wasn't avoiding all the Candidates, just the males who made up the majority of the group. Like most who came from the holds, he had an aversion to those males that would likely Impress a Green or Blue (even the occasional Brown). To the weyrbred, it was as natural for a male to prefer another male as it was for a Gold to prefer a Bronze. In the wash of dragon passion, the gender of your mate mattered little. It is the dragons who chose, though sometimes the riders could have some say.
Hm, that would limit his choices a bit for dragons, but really- the dragon chose the rider, you had very little say in the matter and the dragon's choices were sometimes very surprising. None the less, she tucked the knowledge away for future reference. Perhaps he would be happy to Impress a Bronze, though a Brown might give him some trouble since most Green riders were male. A Blue would be almost right out unless there was a Green with a female rider that preferred his dragon. She mulled it over a little as he washed and scrubbed.
When he settled down closer to her in the deep end of the pool, she gave a little bob of her head, "I'm Padora, and yes, I'm a Candidate- though this isn't my first Hatching." The tinge of frustration in her voice hinted at her disappointment at being left on the sands last year. Pushing that aside, she forged ahead conversationally, "I was born here in Fort, though. What about you? You were part of the smithy hall, right?"
Eisvayen nodded as she seemed glower with distaste in her unfortunate luck being one of the few left to stand after a hatching. It could be months, even years between the Queen Gold's mating flights so he could see how she would deterred in her desires to Stand again. Sensing her distaste for the misfortunes that had befallen her, a hand glided beneath the water as he offered a consoling touch, fingers splaying across her back before being withdrawn.
"I was... am a Smith. I was trained within the Telgar Crafthall, a Journeyman when the search reached there. Before that..." His expression sobered, eyes glazing over as he recounted the earlier years of his youth. "Well...a past not worth remembering."
Turning to Padora his mien shifted to one of intrigue as yellowish eyes grazed over the features of the woman's face, much like a jeweler would precious stone. "I don't get the impression from you that others have forewarned me of. Stealing sweetrolls from the kitchen seems a petty trifle of a concern to me, but I detect that may not be their only reasons for your infamy of the whispered sort." A firm look into her eyes and he cracked a diminutive smile. Just enough to set the tone that he wasn't criticizing her at all. While they had just met, he figured a chance for her to be straight with him was deserved, instead of building his opinion from the words that others spit on her name.
As they had sat he had idly cleaned his nails to an ideal state, removing the grime beneath them after assisting the local smiths earlier that day. Standing he listened to her response, recovering the skin of oils and herbal essences meant for ones hair. Instead of tending to himself he offered to assist her with unspoken communication, making slight gestures at her. A moment after sitting he noticed the gap between them diminishing sidling away as if the ledge was too uneven.
His touch was unexpected, but not unwanted. She felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the warm waters of the pool, rush from where he touched her to the pit of her stomach. It was technically against the rules for Candidates to have any kind of... sexual interactions before or shortly after Hatching. That didn't mean it didn't happen, but the touch alone was enough to send the same thrill through her that she got from causing trouble. Her cheeks colored a little and she gave a little bob of her head in thanks for his comfort before returning to enjoying the pool.
Realizing that he had perhaps more grievances in his past than she did hers, she nodded sagely as she slowly kicked her feet under the water, enjoying the feeling of warmth between her toes. "Telgar is a good hold and hall. I've heard that the Mastersmith is strict, but fair. Do you think you'll return there if you don't Impress?" She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, a little confused why his answer meant something to her. Candidates left on the sands of the Hatching Ground were usually given a choice- they could return home, or they could stay here. Even if they didn't Stand again, they were given the choice. That was how her mother had ended up in this weyr. Women tended to choose it more than men, since life in the holds meant dresses and formal dinners and politics, where as weyr life was community and freedom and shared burdens despite gender. Some men chose it for the same reasons, but not as frequently. A journeyman! He'd have no reason to stay in the weyr, but their smith was starting to get up in age, and perhaps Eisvayen would choose to take his place...
When he mentioned her reputation, her facial expression flashed into a strange mix of indignation, pride, and a flush in her cheeks of embarrassment. What did she expect? After all she had been caught (or just suspected of) doing, it was obvious she would have a reputation. Part of her had just hoped that he wouldn't have heard yet. Well, if he knew and was still talking to her, perhaps it wouldn't be such a disadvantage. A little grin tugged at the corners of her lips as she ducked her head and gave him a coy look, "And just what have you heard?" The grin turned to a sharky smile, "Those tunnelsnakes weren't a threat to anyone! They just... happened... to wander into the kitchen last week. That wasn't my fault- they should have covered the hole." She pursed her lips and put her nose up in the air with all the dignity she could muster- being naked in a pool with a grin from ear to ear didn't help her comical appearance any.
When he made the offered gesture, she hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting to the entrance of the pools (as if she wouldn't have heard someone coming!). Feeling suddenly bashful, she smiled softly this time and gave the tiniest nod of consent.
"I haven't had the time to think what I'll do if I do not Impress. Telgar offered a good life, and while my standing with locals is nothing less than honorable, returning may be my decision. You see, I haven't found any reason to leave, but I suspect that I might stay, given the right circumstances," he had replied when she asked if he was to depart. Why she would be concerned he couldn't be sure, but he figured her rambunctious activities in the hold, drove away possible suitors afraid of their own reputations might be stained. Wait, he couldn't think of that yet! They'd only just met, surely she was just the curious sort, and not interested a lowly Smith from Telgar.
Shrugging he laughed at her comical response when approached of her nefarious dealings about the Weyr, "Enough to know that you're the troublesome sort and have a bit of a knack for mischief," as he sat beside her, and lifted her seemingly weight less form (being suspended in water certainly helping) resting her onto his knees.
"Though I wouldn't say it's a bad thing," he whispered into her ear as he pulled her hair behind her shoulder leaning back, a flirting grin stretching his lips. Pouring the concoction into his palm he threaded his fingers upwards through the water soaked locks of her hair. Gently his finger tips worked the oils into her scalp, before combing the digits till her hair fell free.
At that moment Eisvayen had no sexual ambition and kept an ignorant reserve to any worry to being seen by anyone else. He was aroused in the presence of the water swathed female form before him but his interest in Padora was intrigue, and silently wondered more. As he finished feeding her hair with the rejuvenating oils he laid his hands on her shoulders. Instinct briefly took over, kneading his palm into the lithe muscles he caught himself saying, "Almost done!" A hand on her thigh he spun her in his lap so that she faced him.
Brushing more of the oils through her bangs he avoided her gaze, knots gripping his stomach with painful effect. But when he had finished he finally let his gaze catch hers, swallowing to ease the dry throat that taunted him. Fingers, not her own, lightly caressed the flexing tendons along her neck, "How's that," he murmured, a hand slipping beneath the waters to caress her thigh, which burned compared to the waters around them.
Mentally, Padora perked up a little when he mentioned the right circumstances, but she brushed it off just as quickly. He probably meant being offered a position here as head journeyman, or being asked to Stand again- though come to think of it, he looked like he was on the older end of the Candidates, how many Hatchings would he be able to Stand for before he went over the age limit? She blushed a little, as he continued on.
A little eep of surprise escaped her as he shifted her from the ledge to his knees. The contact of skin on skin was electrifying and sent a shiver that wasn't connected to the cool air, down her spine. His whispered words seemed to fall into her and get themselves knotted up in one particularly warm and deliciously sensitive area. This was starting to become more than a bath, and Padora felt a thrill of excitement take over her light frame. She had played around a little with a few of the other weyrbrats, but it had been curiosity and the aftershocks of local dragons' flights. This... this was something different- something over the threshold of a child's curious touch into the realm of an adult's intimate embrace.
Her breathing was coming a little shorter, a little shallower. Of course, a voice told her that he was simply being nice, he wasn't interested like that, but that didn't stop the pool of warmth filling her stomach and spreading like liquid fire through her body. There was a little whimper of pleasure that accompanied his gentle massage. By the time he turned her around to face him, her body was burning with adolescent need, and her mind was a coil of confusion and desire. Eisvayen spoke to her, but for a moment she could only stare at him with fevered eyes. A response was almost too much for her to think of, but she was still unsure of his intentions (curse that female indecision!) and wanted to be... polite...Still staring at him, a very gentle, very private type of smile slid to her lips and her voice came out much gentler and softer than the usual, "Th-thank you.... Eisvayen."
Her body was practically vibrating with her want of him. His fingers brushing her bare leg made her hum in pleasure- it was a sensitive spot of hers. It wasn't until she stopped and opened her mouth to beg him for... something- anything!... that she realized the humming she gave hadn't stopped. In fact, it was getting louder...