Swimming Lesson
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Xanadu Weyr - Dragons' Pool
Light filters in through a jagged crack in the wall, but while it's dark in here, it's certainly not cold. Water seeps through the walls, forming trickles and rivulets that run down to an enormous pool only to rise again as steam. There's enough room for a full-grown gold dragon - though she'd be curled nose over tail and likely displace half the water. Smaller dragons will find ample chance to bathe and play - which may splash just as much, all things considered. Glowbaskets hang from hooks drilled into the rock, casting their dim phosphorescence over stone shattered and blackened by smoke.


It's.. Really, Avi doesn't know for sure what time it is. It's day time, he knows that because the sun is out, but that is the extent of his knowledge. Regarding time. The moment (regardless of when the moment actually is) finds him in the dragons' pool watching Mirieth playing in the water from where he sits with his back against the wall. It is warm in here, quiet, relatively private and the perfect place to sit and let one's mind drift. That the water serves to present a distraction for Mirieth is also helpful given the tendancy for Avi's thoughts to go a little bit dark, of late. Or, at least to places that Miri (while stoically insisting that she is FINE and more then happy to be a shoulder) really shouldn't have to deal with. So it is that the mood is as dim as the glows in their basket, but for the eensy little green practicing walking without tumbling in the water. And hey, if she adds a few wing flairs in to the mix? Whose to notice? And to be fair, she's an advanced sort of gal, the sort that absolutely needs to be prepared for a lesson before she even gets close to taking it. And after the Battle of the Doors? She definitely needs to get herself into tip top fighting shape! Tip top fighting shape for Miri meaning being able to valiantly run away /without/ tripping over her own tail. >.> Regardless, for right now, Avi is settled against the stone wall, knees drawn up to his chest, watching Miri with an absent sort of gaze that makes it clear that his mind is elsewhere.

Who's gonna notice. FOOLISH QUESTION, AVI-PLAYER, one answered the moment that one (1) MASSIVE BRONZE HEAD peeks into the cavern of the pools, faceted eyes whirling in the constant red-orange bleed of an agitation curiously absent (or, at least, not so prevalent) when he wraps Mirieth up in the winterfrost landscape of his mind. SEE? WE CHALLENGE THE UNIVERSE AND THE UNIVERSE ANSWERS AND THIS IS HOW WE GET ANTS, AVI. Or, more accurately, this is how we get Teimyrth, the soft, snowfall eddies of laconic speech whispering a chilled-but-gentle, « You are getting better, mine's mine's mine; show me. » And while that hulking, blackened hide presses into the water, displaces enough to send it lapping against the sides of the pools and up onto stone, Ila'den appears in the wake of his winter-touched bronze. It's warm in here, to be sure, but for once, Ila'den is sans his riding jacket (AND IS IT ANY QUESTION AS TO WHY, AVI), the long sleeves of a soft-spun, light-weight tunic being slowly pushed up forearms to rest gathered fabric at his elbows, revealing those — perhaps less visible in such poor lighting (for which Ila'den is ABSOLUTELY GRATEFUL) — faded-but-no-less-ugly tell-tale signs of distant abuse that cling to his wrists in a mess of scar tissue. But that is not important. Important is the way that too-big man lingers in silhouette at the yawning open of the cave, the way that grey eye finds Avi with slow, marked patiences where he sits against the wall, and the way it takes him a moment, just a moment, to decide on what action he might take. Careful, measured steps take him almost weightless across the room, silent but for how a slight limp gives him away until he's beside Avi, brows rising, lingering only one, two, three moments before the older rider shifts and slowly lowers himself to sit beside Avi (though not nearly close enough to touch). "Alright?" comes on a low-pitched rasp, gaze mapping Avi's expression before, in the name of being polite, he focuses the intensity of his gaze away and lands it on the dragons in and out of the water instead.

Mirieth is immediately tickled at the company, her wings spreading wide over the surface of the water to allow her to bob and float upon the wave that accompanies Teimyth's arrival. « I am » She agrees readily. The accord is coupled with her head swinging up to boop at the massive bronze, a croon scented with strawberries sounding as she paddles toward him. « There's a rhythm to it, » she admits as she swims in a slow circle that mimics walking. « Step-step-swish.. Swish being the tail. Really, it's not /that/ bad » she laughs. « I think the problem is that my brain gets going and my feet lose track of what they are doing. There is SO MUCH to see and smell and taste.. Well, you know, » Is added in tones that might be a little sheepish. Course, Avi is watching, despite being semi-lost in his own thoughts, his head raising from his knees and neck craning to look for the human half of the dragon joining his beloved little lifemate. It is the approach that has him sitting up a bit straighter, the change in posture making it clear where Ila'den's jacket is >.> It's comfy and voluminous enough, compared to the former harper, that it makes a fine pillow/backrest. It's the question, though, that has him smiling faintly, his head giving a mild shake as he resettles and returns his chin to resting atop his knees. "I don't know?" It's an honest answer, at least? "/I/ think so? Miri thinks so. But we're not all.. Googley eyes and distracted like the others?" It's the lift lingering at the end of the words that make it into a question.

« I do, » comes with muted amusement, a sweep of snow kicking up in playful whorls that never quite do anything to make the barren desolation of an isolated winterscape somehow less vast, less barren. Mirieth paddles forward, boops Teimyrth, and where a dragon so prone to violence might be expected to lash out, there is only a wuff of what might be draconic laughter, a lowering of his head to nudge Mirieth in a counter boop of his own, to observe the way she carries herself forward of her own volition, using the power housed in her fast-growing body, and does it (in his opinion) well. « Some dragons are graceful in ways that do not include their feet keeping track of anything. » Some dragons are graceful in spirit, in mind — a quiet offering from Teimyrth, that even if her brain never stops going, she's on the right track to grace anyway. But while the bronze utilizes his maw to push Mirieth back, to whisper, « Again, » into the strawberry-scent of her mind, Ila'den brings one of his own legs up, allows the other leg to ease before him, and drops one elbow to his up-raised knee as he adopts a pose of ease in a slight press of his back and the back of his head against the wall. One, two, three moments pass in silence, Ila'den's head tilting toward Avi in a show of listening before that lone, grey eye follows and watches. He's attentive to every word, devoting an attention to Avi that might imply there's nothing quite so interesting as what words the Weyrling speaks now. Another one, two, three of that intense, studious gaze, and then Ila'den's making a noise low in his throat — an acknowledgement that he's heard Avi speak more than an answer to words. And then that grit-ravaged rasp is offering another low, "Do you mean you're not swept up in the excitement of having found each other?" But because Ila'den has never been one to pry, he will wait in silence for Avi's answer, allow clarity before he observes, listen if listening is all he needs to do after prompting, or allow a deflection and change — whatever comes next.

Mirieth's mind whirls with the scent of strawberries and delight, everything about her mental caress gentle and delicate in ways her body will probably never be. She's OK with that, though, she is the VERY BEST Mirieth she can be. Riding the wave in the wake of Teimyrth's boop, she twists around the end, her neck craning to keep her snout above water as she immediately goes about the business of paddling back toward him. « I am very happy to be me » she assures. She knows her flaws, but there is no stress about them to be found in her. « We are perfect as we are. » Course, the words are accompanied with her head swinging around to glance back at Avi, a croon given before she's right back to paddling into that blackened hide that is her goal. In his spot, Avi glances up at Ila'den his head tilting as he regards a person who /should/, by rights, be intimidating for him. Perhaps it is the fact that he has seen the love and joy in R'hyn's eyes when he speaks about this man that has Avi less intimidated then he might otherwise have been. Perhaps it's Miri? He couldn't really say. What he does know is that he is calm and comfortable, his chin dipping in a nod as he turns his gaze back to his lifemate. "Yes," he admits. "But I wouldn't put it that way only because it sounds much colder then it is? We're.. We're /us/. It.." Pausing, he clears his throat and wrinkles his nose, trying to find the right words. "We just are. We'll always be. We're /happy/," he adds as he slants a glance at Ila'den. "But we're not lost in each other."

And Teimyrth holds himself in a manner that might bespeak a readiness to assist in the event that Mirieth goes under the waves, but he remains at a distance even still. He trusts her to manage it on her own, and that trust is rewarded when she starts again, when red-and-orange focus on her progress and frost adds a taste of winter to her strawberry-delight. « You are perfect, » Teimyrth concedes, « though nobody is so perfect that there is never room to grow. Still, you should not let others take from you that happiness for who you are. » Because lessons come with time, sometimes painful, sometimes fun, but always leaving space to learn more, to find newer versions of perfectly imperfect selves — perhaps a little broken, perhaps a little bruised, but always better than they were before; stronger, wiser, smarter. It's why, once Mirieth reaches that blackened hide, the bronze presses his maw gentle into her side and pushes her back across the pool. « Again, » comes on another hush of falling snow. And while Teimyrth keeps his focus on Mirieth, Ila'den keeps his on Avi, waits until those final words have been said before the corner of his mouth pulls in a humor that manifests as the huff of breath expelled from his lungs, a hint of what might have been laughter were the sound to find its potential. But it doesn't; it's a mere sound that lingers in a hint of canines before it gutters into a press of lips forming words. "It's like that for some," comes with the weight of experience, with turns of having watched one bonded pair after another and the many fantastic, but different ways they all worked. "For others, there's no room to breathe, eat, sleep, drink without the other. Usually independence for our lifemates curbs that, turns that all-consuming fire into something less." Not so much less consuming, because lifemates are, inarguably, the missing hollow in souls that never recognized a part was gone, but certainly less — if only less impacting. "Does it make you feel like you're doing something wrong?" And now Ila'den's head tilts, that grey eye coming back to Avi, watching while he waits, patient in his enduring.

Mirieth is in her happy place. She's learning, getting better at things that have challenged her and having the attention of her teacher. As far as the little green is concerned, things could not be more perfect. So much so that when she's nosed back into play, her wings flair in her eagerness, the sails shivering with tiny little spasms as she gets herself turned back around and ready to head back toward Teimyrth. « You match the outside » The delighted observation comes with the taste of winter that swirls around him and no small measure of delight in the little green for its presence. « Perfect is boring » she decides as tilts her head down and presses herself into paddling across the length of the pool. She has to get stronger! And while she may never have the strength of her siblings? She's intent on being the strongest Mirieth she can possibly be. For his part, Avi considers Ila'den's question, his brows furrowing as he answers with a pointedly unclear, "Yes, but no?" In the wake of that ambiguous statement, he shakes his head, his tongue brushing over his lips as he searches for a way to explain it. "But we're happy, Miri and I. I don't keep things from her, at all. She knows things about me that… Well.." He shrugs that off with an awkward clearing of his throat. A clearing that is unfortunately filled with a momentary flash of corsets and leather and sweaty limbs and things that look suspiciously like riding crops before it's interupted with « Ooops! » and promptly back to swimming for Miri. And, while Avi does turn a few shades of pink at Mirieth's oversharing, he's not that flustered about it all. It is what it is. He is, who he is. "She is really fascinated with my dreams," he murmurs. "Lots and lots of questions."

« And what about me matches the outside? » Teimyrth inquires, his curiosity a distant point of polite inquiry as opposed to a need to understand just what it is that Mirieth is drawing parallels from. See, he is learning too, is taking in what makes this magnificent, strong (if only in the ways that matter) creature into Mirieth and filing away those observations into Ila'den's mind for ease of memory. He watches her come again, a tilt of that massive maw and then the rush of snow again — laughter, probably, for how boring perfect might be. « It is an unattainable. » But that doesn't mean things can't be perfect for the moment, perfect for others, perfect in a way that's flawed and all the more beautiful for it. This time, Mirieth's success it marked with a gentle, « You did very well, » before he lowers his head to nip at her paws. It's playful, a slow motion meant to give her warning and time alike, play that is no less exercise for the tiny green and meant to help her learn coordination without any real risk. And Ila'den? Well. Ila'den listens and, perhaps he would have offered his own observation into that silence (though likely not), except that it doesn't matter because suddenly Mirieth's mind is intruding upon his own with images that — well. At least Ila'den doesn't laugh, despite the fact that his lips pull at one corner, despite the fact that a hint of canines threatens to become more than mere humor. But while tension finds its way into muscle going taut, while Ila'den takes on a sudden intensity that shifts away from Avi, primal, and feral, and hungry, as if his mind is suddenly somewhere — or on someone — else (and make no mistake, it is), he somehow, impossibly, retains the posture of one at ease. He's unperturbed by revelations, and instead of commenting on them, he focuses on what Avi speaks instead of what Mirieth over-shares. "You're lucky it's only questions," comes with a hint of amusement on that low rasp. "Young dragons don't always understand, and it doesn't always end well." WHICH IS WHY IT IS AGAINST THE RULES. Which, you know, Ila'den knows Avi knows, and so he doesn't launch into that particular lesson. "You seemed upset," comes then, an out to steer Avi away from pink-inducing topics, Ila'den's gaze falling back to Avi now as he speaks the words. "Or lost." Which is, perhaps, more an explanation as to why he asked in the first place.

« Snow and Cold and that impossible moment of 'Oh! Gasp!' that comes when you just step outside. » Mirieth is all too happy to paint a picture for Teimyrth as she paddles diligently across the pool. « All vast and shivery, but in that good kind of shivery that makes you wants to do more and more and more. » It's the rush of snow and cold washing over that has her turning eyes whirling green up to the bronze, her entirely too lean form twisting in the water like a dolphin at play. That paws are nipped at has her flailing with a strawberry scented laugh, her tail snapping out to splash at the 'offending' snout in 'retaliation'. It's playful though, and while she might spasm and twitch in pretend 'fear', she's all laughter and delight and perfectly content with things as they are. Course, while Avi is, on some level, mortified at Miri oversharing? He's not blind and he does not miss Ila'den's reaction. "You really," he asides in wry tones. "/Need/ to take R'hyn to Fridda's in Ista. She had a whole new line of corsetry and leather accessories come out right before the hatching." Is it a bit bold on his part? IT IS. But hey, HEY, it's still true. Still, Ila'den's observations are met with a nod, his gaze flicking back to Mirieth. "I know I'm lucky in that regard. She's never distressed.. She has lots of questions, though." It's the last that has him looking away, his head giving a faint shake as he takes a moment to get ahold of himself. When he does, it comes with a light clearing of his throat, blue grey eyes impossibly sad as he glances back at the one-eyed giant. "My lover…" Trailing off, he takes another moment before sighing. "Sh'y." In case that was not something Ila'den was aware of. "We're… done." Which, is one thing to accept in one's head, but quite another to say outloud. "I haven't quite taken it all in," he admits in hollow tones. It's the tones, and the wash of sadness from her lifemate that has Miri twisting in the water, a sound of distress humming in her throat before Avi turns his gaze on her and smiles softly. "I'm alright, Miri," he calls in soothing tones.

« And you, » Teimyrth offers back, though his observations of Mirieth were not asked for, « are Rukbat rising just beyond the horizon, the bleeding of color back into a bleak world, the slow-spread of warmth wherever she touches. You are life. » Vibrant and vivacious — and laughing delight as Teimyrth takes to playful assault. He snorts for tails that find him in reprimand, nips at forked tips and scores teeth — gently — against wingspars where he can. Each movement is restrained, patient, careful and lacking the conviction of what power the bronze surely harbors coiled in that massive body. And while the dragons at play are important, while Teimyrth's quiet amusement, the faint hint of a fire burning somewhere warm in his mind, it's not as important — in this moment — as Avi. And Ila'den does not look repentant to have been caught in just where his thoughts went the moment Miri's overshare sparked his own memories, but he does offer up low-pitched, husky, rumbling laughter that starts somewhere in his chest. "I will let him know," comes burdened with that same amusement, the one that takes a moment to leave even when the conversation shifts back to Mirieth, to Avi and Sh'y and — "Ah," comes hushed. "They all do." Have a lot of questions, he means, but, "It will get better." With age, and time, and learning. As for those harder things, the loss of a relationship, the hollow ache of wounds yet to feel the sutures of time and the scarring of distance, Ila'den takes a moment to consider what words he might impart on Avi for them while Teimyrth presses his maw into Miri's side. « He is not alone. » And because Ila'den has never been one to pry, because he doesn't believe in the well-meant use of platitudes and comforts he cannot guarantee, he offers what he can: "I'm here." And Ila'den's attention comes back to Avi, holds that space much as his body remains, unmoving, where he is. But it is an offer, an offer to stay, to listen, to give Avi an outlet for a pain Ila'den cannot possibly lessen. "If you need anything, let me know."

Avi is immediately distracted from his own woes by Teimyrth, his head turning to the regard the bronze, pale eyes watering almost immediately. It is not sorrow in his gaze, in that moment, though, but gratitude. In the water, Mirieth engages in a wriggling squirm in the water, her laughter pleased, but a little embarassed and amazed that he's talking about /her/ like that. « Squirmy, blushy life, but life » she notes in a pleased croon as her tail dips and rises beneath the water in playful splashes. She's a little bit flaily in her movements, a little bit spastic, but she throws herself into it with /everything/ in her the moment that Avi assures her he is alright. Avi, though, is quiet, his gaze trailing back to Ila'den as he offers an equally grateful nod at the reassurance. "I.. we're not.. there are no hard feelings," he admits as he wraps his arms around his updrawn knees. "It hurts, but I get it." Does he? He's not sure. He doesn't have the same relationship with Mirieth that Sh'y has with Kovagath. While she is a part of him, he is not lost in being tangled up with her. They're comfortably, quietly together. "I think it's more that he's really the first man who didn't want to be with me because I dress like a woman," he admits. "It was /me/ that he wanted, not what I looked like." And he's sure he'll be fine. He is. But right now, he can't help feeling like his world has ended. "I used spend a lot of time alone," he admits. "And then we got together and there was someone there. Some one who loved all the weird little things that make me, me." And then he was gone. Not /gone/ gone, he's still in the barracks, they still talk, they're fine around each other, but he's gone. "I just.. It's a lot," he murmurs. "And I feel like I'm doing something wrong being hurt about it and not having all my attention on Miri." Because ultimately, isn't that where his attention should be?

DON'T WORRY, AVI. Wait until Mirieth hits adulthood and Teimyrth will turn back into that savagely indifferent beast WE ALL KNOW AND LOVE (haha, not) so fast that it will give you whiplash. NEVER MAKE THE MISTAKE OF THINKING, FOR EVEN A MOMENT, THAT TEIMYRTH IS A KIND DRAGON. He has strengths, as all dragons do, and his just happen to lie in his patience with young dragons and the follies of their youth. But he is not kind. « Yes, » comes softer still, quiet, « life. All of the parts that make it a worthy endeavor. » The good things, the beautiful things, the things he allows her imagination to ruminate on because he is busy attempting to catch all those WAYWARD LIMBS in MASSIVE MAWS. And Ila'den? Well, Ila'den is true to his word. He's here; he's silent as Avi speaks, attentive to every word, gaze never once faltering, not even when Avi imparts that final truth and Ila'den's offering another sound low in his throat, another hum to acknowledge he heard those words Avi deigned to speak. One, two, three, and Ila'den rasps, "It is." A lot, he means. "But you're strong." Avi has to be, after all, to have endured what hurts Ila'den only finds glimpses of in those admittances. "But she," Ila'den's chin tilts, his gaze lifting to find Mirieth where she tumbles with Teimyrth in the water, "will accept you in ways that nobody else can." That's the wonder of a lifemate, the true beauty and complexity of finding the other half of a soul most never knew was incomplete. Slowly, slowly, grey comes back from the tumult of water, displaced and crashing onto rock, threatening to wet AWLM and Weyrling both. And still, Ila'den doesn't move. "I can't change what happened between you and Sh'y, but I'm here." Because Ila'den dares not venture into territories that might imply there's something better, that it will be okay, to instill seeds of hope that might prove false. Instead, he will focus on those things he's capable of doing, of filling up Avi's day so that his thoughts might not be consumed by those distant hurts. And, because Mirieth is young, perhaps creating an environment that will allow Avi to pour his focus into tasks that might keep his thoughts busy and somewhere safe. "If you need time to process and sort out what you're feeling, I'll ask C'con if you can assist me for a little while. You can do my paperwork," comes with a hint of humor, "and I'll make you write all of my letters." PEOPLE COULD PROBABLY DO WITH RESPONSES THAT AREN'T JUST, 'Fuck off,' IN-PROFESSIONALLY-POLITE -COGNITO.

Mirieth won't be disappointed, because Mirieth is a happy girl who will always see the best in everyone around her. She might hurt for a little, she might even get sad, but she will never be the sort to want anyone else to be anything but what they are at their core. For right now, she's a BABY and happy to roll in the water and laugh over her paws being chased while trying her darnedest to splash back. Avi, though, Avi is listening, his head lolling to the side to regard Ila'den at his choice not to say that it will 'be okay'. "Thank you." That, more then anything else, is something he is grateful for. "I…We," he adds with a dip of his chin toward Mirieth. "We'll be alright." He has been through much, /much/ worse in his life. Things that will not even come close to seeing the light any time soon. For right now, though, the offer is met with a slow blink and his weight shifting as he sits up straighter and thinks about what has been extended. "I.. I'd like that," he admits. Right now, he could use the distraction and he finds Ila'den's presence oddly soothing. Fortunately, he's Harper trained, so he is pretty good at saying 'Fuck off' without actually saying 'Fuck off'. Really, it's Win/Win. It is only Mirieth yawning in the water and coming up with a burbling gasp that sprays water /EVERYWHERE/ that has him distracted. "Alright you," he laughs. "It's time to get oiled and get a nap. You can swim more tomorrow." « PROMISE? » "Always, Miri," is uttered with what might sound like an indulgent note. (In reality? Swimming is building up her muscles and coordination, something they both need to have happen.) "If," he adds with a dip of his head toward Ila'den as the little green scrambles out of the pool. "You'll excuse us? Just let me know what C'con says?"

Because MIRIETH IS BEST. THEM LEIRITH GENES ARE GOING STRONG IN THIS ONE (and honestly, once the queen meets her, THERE IS NO DOUBT THEY WILL BE A FORCE OF RECKONING IN THEIR UNYIELDING CHEER). For now, it's Teimyrth and Mirieth in the water, a fact that is secondary in this moment only to Avi and Ila'den as they speak. 'Thank you,' earns a quiet pull of his lips, a look that doesn't so much soften the hard edges of a man who's been shaped by so many ugly things as lend them relief as he dips his head. 'You're welcome,' comes without verbalization, the reassurance that they'll be alright met with a confident rasp of, "I know." That was never in doubt. But Ila'den watches Avi until Mirieth is SPLASHING EVERYWHERE and listen, WE'RE RUDELY GOING TO COUNT ILA INTO THAT EVERYWHERE. That tunic gets splashed, his hair drops ominously, and Ila'den is slow to react to the fact that he's suddenly, irrevocably, wet. "I'll let you know," comes finally, as hands twist into the suddenly-clinging fabric of his tunic and slowly peel it away from skin. "Go," is the offer of dismissal he will get, and trust that Ila'den waits until the Weyrling and his dragon have fled to turn a look onto Teimyrth. Teimyrth could be kind, but he's not, and suddenly Ila'den is finding himself completely doused by one dragon with a WELL-KEPT, BUT NO LESS WICKED SENSE OF HUMOR. A beat, and Ila'den exhales before he rises to his feet and gives Teimyrth's maw a gentle shove. But he doesn't speak. He just slowly exits the way he came, and probably makes the journey to find dry clothes before hunting down his Weyrmate. Or maybe he does it in reverse. LISTEN, it's not important. And later, Avi will find a note on his bed that simply reads, 'C'con said yes.' PREPARE YOURSELF FOR DOOOOOOM.


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