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 Posted: Mon Dec 20, 2010 7:08 pm
This was not really what F'sey had in mind for his life. If you asked him twenty turns ago, he'd have told you he was happy being a wingrider. (Which he wasn't, but he would have settled, because there was someone to settle him.) If you asked him ten turns ago, he'd have told you he wanted nothing to do with planning his future. (Which wasn't true, but he was still having trouble with the idea of moving on.) Ask him now, and he finally knew this was not what he wanted.
Then again, there weren't many who wanted a broken leg.
Grousing to himself, the redhead had decided he was done just siting around. He'd been checked for a fever a hundred times, his leg was constantly checked for infection. (Or so it seemed, though currently, the Wingleader was left on his own.)
F'sey just wanted to talk to someone. His favorite whiterider would do.
"J'aro. Hey. J'aro. Get up. Get up, I'm bored and the healers are being a pain in the a**.
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Posted: Mon Dec 20, 2010 9:13 pm
J'aro -- Jasaro -- was an emotional wreck. More than R'xen had ever seen him, and to say that was to say he had never succumb to a sadness of this caliber in his life, for his Whitesecond had known him about that long. Except for when he was a very young child, he had known him. A lonely child, but still a child; now, as an adult, he had theorized the reason children brought forth a sense of joy in people was because they themselves knew nothing else. He remembered Brambel daring to portray himself as something other than a dragon-hating, grinch of a man when a child was involved and only then.
It was funny, when he thought about it, being called childish was an insult. Jasaro would have gladly given up anything he had to be a boy again; to see the world with eyes that were blind to how ignorant the person attached to them was. If only he had enough to offer to turn back time.
If only he had anything to offer.
He didn't know what he'd do about his title. Pass it on to R'xen... that was the obvious option, yet with his adult eyes that knew too much, he had to consider some questions losing Rajath had brought to light. Questions that were best left unasked, hidden away in dark places.
What was he without the guard? Without his dragon?
What was he supposed to do now?
"I am awake," he informed F'sey in a voice that sounded dead. There was simply no better way to describe the tone than that. Although the man's body was alive, the same could not be said for any soul. Broken like his arm -- hopefully, just as temporary. He rolled over onto his back and rubbed his eyes over with one hand. "Bored? What more entertainment do you need?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 5:48 pm
J'aro's (as F'sey assumed he was still J'aro, having heard none otherwise) tone sent a shiver through the older man, and for a moment, he was rendered silent. For a moment, the greenrider thought perhaps he'd woken the other redhead up; perhaps he just wasn't a morning person. (Whether or not it was morning was up for grabs, but the idea remained the same.) There was no way that was just a grumpy voice, though. That was. Well, it wasn't usual J'aro. Perhaps his injuries were more extensive than the Wingleader had initially surmised.
"Are you alright?" he asked, temporarily forgetting his own suffering. (To be fair, the healers didn't actually do a bad job with him, but F'sey wasn't happy if he wasn't complaining these days. Perhaps it came with getting older. Then again, he may have always been so critical and negative, even when he was in love.) F'sey shuffled, trying to get a closer look at the younger man. He frowned. He didn't look that injured...perhaps it was something internal.
"...should I get one of the healers, or something?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 6:23 pm
Jasaro's mask of many faces was convincing only if the person opposite of him had never seen it taken off. R'xen could tell, and he knew he could tell, that all the scowls, the frowns, the leers were forced. His students, be they past or present in context, rarely knew better; they had always known J'aro the Whitemaster, not J'aro-the-man-that-just-wanted-equality. F'sey had seen most of what there was to see of him in terms of mind and soul. Shards, once you cried in front of a man there was little else left.
Hence, Jasaro supposed F'sey would have known that the way his lips stayed hard around the edges, stuck in a straight line as if the healers had set his smile as well as his arm straight, was his equivalent of an authentic glare. The wall must have wronged him somehow, since that was where he looked to.
He mumbled, "No." A tense silence threatened to engulf them, but was chased away by a question that made the air suffocating. "If Ialluth died, would you go between?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 6:36 pm
"..."
Asking 'what are you talking about?' didn't exactly sound appropriate, not at the moment. The question was blunt, and though they'd shared plenty of secrets while trapped beneath the surface, F'sey was fairly certain this was not just the query of an idle mind. Brushing a hand through his hair, he frowned and bit his lip thoughtfully. Something was wrong, beyond simply injuries to the arm and elsewhere. There was no reason for J'aro to ask questions like that. Unless...
Ialluth, dear, has something happened to Rajath? he asked with the mental equivalent of a long look. Surely if something had happened to his friend's dragon (and if not friend, peer, at the very least - you did not defy death with a man and tell him your secrets with the intention of keeping him at arm's length), his motherly green would tell him as much, wouldn't she? Ialluth had always been horrible with secrets.
The dragon in question brushed against the bond reassuringly. I tell you everything, she agreed readily. I do not know. I cannot speak Rajath, remember? I cannot find her. But I will ask Xanthoth, he knows a great many things. And, with much more cheer than she should really have, Ialluth sought out her favorite bronze, inquiring after the Whitemaster's dragon.
Meanwhile, F'sey rubbed his face, glancing back at J'aro as he attempted to glower holes into the wall. He sighed heavily. "Would you think less of me if I said no?"
There was no saying for sure, of course. Perhaps the loss of the only stable source of anything positive would drive him mad, but if he could loose X'doc, F'sey liked to think he could handle anything. (Then again, as dear as the man was to him, he had not been linked by mind.) But...
"There's someone I'm not sure I could leave behind just yet."
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 6:49 pm
Xanthoth, in some tired kind of stupor, had passed along the message that, yes, Rajath was dead. He elaborated as much as he could, reciting all the information he knew; the death occurred during the hatching and she died at the hands of the Wherhandlers -- or was it just their whers? B'lin had told him, he explained, but how B'lin knew was not. (Chances were most everyone outside their isolated room had heard by now.)
"Would you think less of me if I said no?"
Jasaro pressed the inside of his cheek between his teeth and said nothing, leaving F'sey's voice to go without rival. In a better mood he would have laughed and chastised him for not calling "someone" by name. Hadn't they gotten past the mystery of that situation down in that hellish ditch?
"I wouldn't think less of you."
A single line to answer a question that deserved much more. This whole island deserved better.
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 7:09 pm
Mine...Rajath is gone, Ialluth relayed dutifully, her chipper mood suddenly dampened. Oh, she didn't like the white beast, but she would have never wished ill upon the creature either. (Well, Ialluth never wished ill, period.) While she wouldn't particularly miss Rajath, she felt terrible for her poor boy. That poor thing! Why, Ialluth just couldn't imagine life without her boy, her other half. You should help...him. Could she call the man Rajath's, if Rajath was gone? They took Rajath from him, those horrible people. You should help him. Oh, that poor, poor thing. Tell him we'll help him.
F'sey paused, grey eyes growing wide at the realization. Rajath was not only dead, she had been killed. How...what...what did he even say? Was there even comfort, for something like that? Dear...what do I tell him?
Even Ialluth didn't have answer for that. I...I don't know, Mine. Just be there. I think he cannot be alone now. I would not want you to be alone, not ever.
Clearing his throat, F'sey inhaled deeply as he racked his mind for something to say. Something. Anything even remotely comforting. And yet. There was nothing comforting, he imagined, once your dragon is gone. Where was that man of his? Bekar? No use trying to fetch him.
"And I would not think less of you, if you did."
A long pause.
"What would you like me to call you?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 7:26 pm
Jasaro felt something rise in his throat and couldn't tell if it was bile, spit or some tangible form of shame only people who had their dragons slaughtered could produce. If he just opened his mouth and hurled over the side of the bed would the feeling in his stomach go away? He just wanted it to go away.
"Just get out!" he'd screamed at R'xen and Bekar. Shouted until the healers had ushered them away. Some had his health in mind, some didn't; all could agree that disturbing the patients in other rooms was unacceptable. If it met the almighty Whermaster and Whitesecond had to be treated like common people, so be it.
Roka was one such person that concerned herself with Jasaro's well-being on a personal level. They had been mostly displeased with this woman who had not even been on the island that long marching in and acting like she owned the place. The argument between her and another in their craft had been a long-winded fight if there ever was one.
Finally, to shut her up, he yielded and Jasaro was moved into a shared room with the (at the time) sleeping F'sey.
Roka was resolute in her not giving a damn what was or wasn't acceptable among dragonriders. When and only when Jasaro had gone through the many stages of grief would she allow him the right to just leave everyone behind in peace; she wasn't about to let him bypass the process she had studied for many a turn just because he was an emotional man who didn't look before he leaped.
Keep him around other people. Those were her demands.
"I haven't resigned yet," Jasaro explained. (Would he? He wasn't sure.) "I kind of still like "Master" from you." The joke was spoken so humorless all effect was lost. Trying to lighten the sorrow now was futile, nothing more. He may as well flung a drop of red dye into the ocean and expected the waters to change just because he preferred that color.
He preferred being free of this, all this, but it wasn't that easy.
He breathed in raggedly. "Jasaro is my name now, I suppose."
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 7:52 pm
"Very well. Jasaro."
Part of him thought perhaps he should be gentle with the man, but to what end? The pain of losing her would never go away, though it might dull with time, if that's how the man decided to deal with it. But F'sey was almost certain ignoring the issue couldn't help, and what good would pity do him? Empathy, perhaps, but not pity. He wanted to help, but. It was like hitting his face against a wall.
Where was he supposed to lead this conversation?
Mine, Ialluth crooned sensing her rider's total distress. Stop thinking so hard. You will hurt yourself. Just talk to him. I would, but I do not think that is a good idea. Just be there, so he is not alone.
F'sey grunted softly, but decided against arguing with the voice in his head. Now was the time, if any, to be thankful for the little green dragon, no matter how little and green she happened to be. "Still a good name, Whitemaster. At least you weren't cursed with something like Feseyander. That name in itself was enough of a reason to Stand." Shaking his head, the redhead shifted and watched J'aro again.
"How are your injuries?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 8:07 pm
"They'll heal, I'm sure." Or so he would say since assuming the best was easier than assuming the worst. He needed "the best", just as Roka thought. (Which, of course, was why he had her as a healer, she would brag.) "We were lucky. Broken bones isn't too bad."
Jasaro unlatched his gaze from the wall but still kept it away from prying eyes. He didn't go so far as to imagine how F'sey might look; that in itself would be too much in his fragile state. He regretted pushing away his best friend and his lover. (How much longer Bekar would uphold that title he would need to carefully consider. Should he remain Whitemaster, and Bekar Whermaster... The political eye of the public wouldn't look well upon it. Not at all.)
F'sey happened upon him in the aftershock of being told his dragon's fate. Bekar or R'xen or even Roka could have wandered in and been treated the same. They weren't there. F'sey was. They had other things they needed to do.
Jasaro's expression dimmed until it was barely an expression at all. "You know... I was thinking about being down there..." For a time he did not continue. "In your place, I would have demanded some kind of reparation. A secret for a secret, I suppose, just to be sure in case we did survive. I can't decide if you're too self-absorbed or too kind."
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 8:25 pm
"That's good," F'sey murmured, a bit more like an awkward youth than a mature wingrider. Wingleader. It didn't really matter. Small talk was not his strength, by any stretch of the imagination.
Instead, he just waited in silence while J'aro -Jasaro, he had to correct himself- shuffled around anxiously. It was clearly a strained conversation for the two of them, but how could it be anything else? They'd not gotten along since they'd met, their feelings for one another misinterpreted and misaligned. Bound by the thin thread of a near fatal accident (and so much more, if only they looked), it was not a talk between old friends. F'sey did not even have a word for what they were.
It was something special. Was that why he took an interest in Jasaro's welfare?
"Kind?" He had to scoff at that notion. "There are plenty of people who'd tell you otherwise. Even...X'doc." It didn't get any easier to say, even after getting it off his chest once. "I'm not a kind person. Maybe I just didn't give a s**t." A pause.
"Or maybe I just think, if you want me to know, you'll tell me. Maybe I just don't believe in prying things out of others." It was so much easier to just pretend others didn't have deep, dark secrets. That they were superficial, easy to read and easier to manage. Sometimes it made it easier to think he was the only one struggling with things like he did; it was easier to think only he suffered, instead of coming to terms with the idea that he was the only one who couldn't handle the pain.
"Was there something you wanted to tell me?"
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 8:41 pm
"Maybe I just don't believe in prying things out of others."
Maybe he was full of wherry s**t. Jasaro didn't have it in him to start a fight over it or anything else. He left it alone. So much could be said again, but he let be what was; closed his eyes to the world.
"Was there something you wanted to tell me?"
Only to open them again. He had always been someone influenced by the outside. R'xen had made him as a child, the White Guard had made him as a man; Jasaro had no way to define himself if there was not a way the world was defining him. He couldn't do it alone like the introverts.
Adults matured and they learned things. He had learned there were choices he needed to make, but sometimes... somethings he just couldn't settle on his own no matter how many turns he lived. The people he was closet to would help him. The White Guard and Bekar tended to be favorites. They would have been again, except...
Except those were whiteriders and Bekar was a wherhandler.
"I think I should be more upset than this," he revealed when given time. It turned out there was something he needed to tell someone, but only someone who could help him understand. "I don't think this is right."
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 8:50 pm
There was always something, if given enough time.
"There is no right or wrong," F'sey replied firmly, without hesitation. "No one can tell you what is normal, because it is a unique experience. Only you will know when enough is enough. That's all there is to it."
While he hadn't handled his own tragedy with any sort of knowledge or positive reinforcement, he'd handled it, all the same. The greenrider was certain it was a personal thing, and no matter how much help he, or anyone else who cared for the Whitemaster, offered, it would do no ounce of good. Only Jasaro would be able to decide when and if he was ready to let Rajath go, and if he could live with that sort of thing. F'sey did not plan to influence that (intentionally).
After all, he still clung onto a memory he refused to acknowledge existed.
"It's personal, Jasaro. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
F'sey sounded much more confident than he felt; didn't Jasaro know about that little crack in the redhead's armor?
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 9:06 pm
Jasaro's face twisted in such a way that was agonizing to look at. F'sey didn't know he had done worse in the darkness. "Worse" being the word of choice. Whitemaster's should be strong in all things, at all times. They were a pillar of the society, albeit a sometimes unwanted one, and he expected himself to stay together just as he expected the same from Sesabal and Brambel. (Bekar now, as Brambel had lived up to expectations and died for it. Sesabal was just hopeless.)
"No, there is," he whispered. With every word his voice became louder, never rising above a tone that was fit for a conversation much less intense than the one they were having. "There is a wrong. This can't be right."
F'sey didn't understand or he would never have said that. Jasaro had to believe that. This could not be right. This couldn't... If this was all there was, then why--
He ran his fingers across his eyes. This headache was killing him. "There's something seriously wrong with those dragons. This can't be right."
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Posted: Tue Dec 21, 2010 9:09 pm
"What's wrong, then? Why can't this be right?" F'sey demanded, raising his head a bit. Part of him was slightly concerned Jasaro was about to fly off the handle, but what was he supposed to do? He certainly wasn't a mindhealer; he was doing everything he could think of to try and help. (Which wasn't much, by the looks at it. And in this case, the effort really didn't count, not without a result.)
"Jasaro." There was no hiding the worried pitch. "Why can't this be right?"
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