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It was still strange. It had been strange at the feast. It had been strange while he slept. It had been strange when he woke and strange when he fed Akerth at the measured pace his dragon expected. It wasn't even Akerth that was strange. Well, yes, it was. But he'd expected that. He'd always known he'd have a dragon, so he'd been prepared, on some level for the shift.

It was just that Akerth was... well... Akerth. He wasn't Pipith, or Morgath. And worse than that, T'rus didn't want him to be. T'rus didn't want him to be anyone but Akerth and he was aware, on some lingering emotional level, that he should. He should be jealous of Valentine's huge, stately bronze. Should be angry that Akerth had stolen from him his chance at impressing that promising dragon.

Instead he was... happy. And, as man who had spent much of his life acting happy, he wasn't even entirely sure what that meant.

The mess of emotions made the whole idea of an interview a little daunting. He wasn't at his best, wasn't prepared to charm and lie with his usual ease. But T'rus was nothing if not reliable and he arrived as he'd promised to do, Akerth walking at a stately pace at his side.

We have more important things to do. Akerth complained, mildly, as T'rus pointed Tofir out to the young dragon.

This is a promise, Tofir. To lead, you must be relied upon. We must keep our promises.

"Tofir, good morning." He smiled his usual friendly, almost lazy smile. There was something softer about it, though. He only knew Tofir in passing, as a fellow candidate, but that hardly mattered. "I'd hoped you'd be in the Weyrling barracks with us. We'll be losing you to the Healer Hall now, won't we?"

T'rus took a seat on one of the rocks, Akerth sitting at something like attention at his feet. The pair looked capable, business-like even, an appearance momentarily marred when T'rus stared down at the dragon, his expression going soft. But it was a brief thing and when he lifted his gaze there was nothing there but casual curiosity.

"We'll be happy to have you back." He said it confidently, as if it were his place to speak for the Weyr. And it wasn't. Wouldn't--

Others may speak for it. We will run it. We will make it better. Akerth didn't turn as he made the promise. His level gaze remained fixed on the path they'd taken and the barracks they'd left.

T'rus smile was sharp and sudden, uncalculated and unintentional. He closed his eyes for a moment, composing himself. He was learning it all over again. The game was different with a voice in your head. But all the weyrlings were dealing the same. Perhaps, a few slip ups would be forgiven.

"But, yes. Akerth is anxious. He likes to keep his clutchmates in line of sight. So, I'll try not to ramble too much and bore the both of you." At the warning he just smiled and gave a little shrug. He wasn't worried. He knew how to deal with things getting to personal. Lie. Still, with Akerth close and the hatching fresh in his mind, he couldn't think of much he wouldn't want to say.

They were basic questions. Nothing he wouldn't feel perfectly comfortable sharing with a stranger. And yet, he hesitated. It was only the briefest of hesitations, no more significant than a long inhale, but it was there. T'rus was not accustom to speaking about himself. You won people over by listening, not like babbling on like some chittering firelizard.

"Well, we'll see how I do. My experiences may be less interesting than you think." One of those smiles, then, and he settled his hand on Akerth's head, rubbing the dragon's headknobs with what looked to be absent affection. Akerth barely moved at the touch, accepting it without appearing to enjoy or even take particular notice of it.

"My name is T'rus. It was Tarusen until Akerth found me. I've been alive eighteen turns all of them here at Telgar. I can't imagine living anywhere else."

This is his work? I do not understand it. Akerth was not yet impatient, only puzzled. His ideas on what counted as work were strict and narrow. Talking, when it didn't involve giving orders, certainly did not count as work.

Just think of it as recording our history. T'rus managed to answer without looking down this time.

We do not need a history.

Tofir's offhanded approach to the questions he was asking had a relaxing effect on T'rus. As odd as it felt to be talking all about himself, he didn't feel like he was under any particular scrutiny. Which wasn't to say he dropped his smile, or his careful mannerisms. But he was clearly sitting a bit more casually, his hand still rubbing idly over Akerth's hide. For his part, Akerth hadn't relaxed in the least. Akerth did not relax.

"It's an interesting subject, so I'm happy to help." He said, with every appearance of sincerity. "If you did find something out, we could make sure we had the right people on the sands. Maybe it'd mean less hatchlings lost between."

"I'm a weyrbrat, so there's really not much to say. I've been told my Dad was a dragonrider, but I don't know which one. So, my parents could be just about anyone. I mean, I was a kid. Had friends. Did chores. Did more chores." A brief, slightly dismissive laugh, acknowledging the simplistic nature of his own summary. "Sorry. No daring rescues. Nothing that would make a good ballad. I'm just an ordinary guy."

To the extent which he allowed it, T'rus was beginning to like Tofir, his earlier comment about wishing that Tofir had impressed feeling more sincere than it had when he initially uttered it. And yet, the feeling of warmth was not something that T'rus was prepared to trust. It was dangerous, letting anyone in past a certain point. And this-- sharing was perhaps the source. Telling Tofir about himself was putting him in a position where he felt he knew the other man, could trust him.

It was something he usually tried to pull off himself. And, while he did not suspect Tofir of trying to manipulate him, mentally he retreated a bit, made cautious by his own emotions.

"You make a good point," he said, and there was a certain force to his tone, the edge of ambition nearly coming to the surface, "There is still time to achieve great things."

He looked to Akerth than and for the first time the Brown broke his vigil to look at T'rus as well.

Tell me. I will decide what to tell him.

Tell him what I say or I will tell him. Akerth's tone was firm, not attempting a threat so much as stating a consequence. We will have a true history.

That, T'rus thought, was not what history was about. But he didn't object and was quickly fascinated by the Brown's retelling of the hatching.

I knew T'rus was Mine when I left the shell. It was always him, before I knew anything, I knew that. He did not know, and I knew that too. He was waiting for the wrong thing. Pipith was dawdling. Maybe he was not as good at finding his. I made him hurry. I led others, too. Lazy Erath, foolish Vespereth. I could not go to T'rus because I had to make things happen right. We want things to always happen right. I think I should have stayed longer on the sands. Waited for Cavumuth. He caused trouble. I did not wait. I was hungry. I told him it was time for us to go.

As soon as Akerth finished, T'rus began repeating the words back, verbatim to Tofir. He hesitated a few times, but reproduced the tale faithfully. "--told him it was time for us to go." He finished, smiling, "And he did too. That's all he has to say on the subject."

Unlike Akerth, who had been quick to respond with his experiences when asked, T'rus hesitated, searching through the events with Akerth's comments to account for as well. Now he had to come up with a summary of events that included the fact that he 'did not know' that Akerth was for him, when originally he'd intended to indicate that he'd wanted the dragon from the moment he cracked his shell.

Words he'd rehearsed that morning would have to replaced with something much closer to the truth, though it would have to be a truth that did not show him unfavorably.

"I was watching, when Akerth's egg hatched." Because he'd thought it'd be a bronze. "I was curious, I remember. I'd touched it longer than the others." Because he'd thought it'd be a bronze. "When he hatched, and started, well, herding his clutchmates, he seemed so clever. But I didn't think he was for me." Because he wasn't a bronze. "I already thought that I'd be left standing. The rest of the eggs, they hadn't felt like they'd want me." Because they were too small to be bronze. Or too large, in Morgath's case. "So I was watching him, just to see what he'd do. I'd never seen a dragon act that way. And then, well, and then he was mine. He was in my head, but it was like--" His voice had gone soft those last couple sentences, despite the relaxed, confident way he'd described the rest of the hatching. "It was like he'd always been there. He wasn't what I was expecting but he was, well, right."

He looked at Akerth then, caught up, momentarily, in affectionate memory. His smile was real and warm, and it was a smile he never shared with people.

"Anyway." He looked up again, his expression still friendly, but without the softness he'd briefly shown. "That's about as well as I can describe it. I hope that's clear enough."

To say that T'rus's face went blank would be a lie. Indeed, the smile was still in place, his gaze still focused on Tofir, in a look of mild interest. Better to say then, that T'rus's expression froze, grew fixed. As if it'd clicked to a setting and once reaching it, could not return. Oh yes, there was discomfort there and this, this cracked the facade like nothing else had.

Yesterday, he'd not have blinked.

Yesterday, he hadn't been overlooked by a Bronze. Overlooked forever, in a way. No Queen would ever be Akerth's, no Weyrleader's knot would adorn T'rus.

Even Akerth showed first signs of discomfort, though only a slight flip of his wings indicated that he was at all uneasy.

I have no use for a rider who runs about chasing Greens. The brown flicked his wings again, his tone a confused mixture of approval and concern.

"Don't see the use in men, personally. Not even sure what the girls see in us. Need something soft to get my hands around." The smile became a bit sharper, more of a leer, but still. Protesting too much? He wouldn't let himself believe that.

"Anyway. Not passing judgement or anything, but--" A shrug, "The Bronzes and the Golds? They won't have them, will they? Good men, I'm sure. On Blues, or Greens. We need them. But there's got to be a reason. That's all."

Something wrong with people like that.

Something wrong with--

So many Bronzes that'd never looked his way.

Something wrong.

Do not try to think of it now. A tone less like a rock and more like a mountain. You could build a Weyr on a tone like that.

Rebuild one. And T'rus's smile eased.