Sinking Ships

Writers: Curious, Sia
Date Posted: 20th April 2024

Characters: Aleriand, J'ine
Description: J'ine tells Aleriand that he's transferring out of Dolphin Cove
Location: Harper Hall
Date: month 10, day 22 of Turn 11
Notes: Mentioned: Vestian, Bryvin, Corofel

Aleriand

Aleriand didn't often hear Iyoth when he arrived, as focused as he was in the depths of the crafthall and deaf to the sound of the general chaos outside. Sometimes he looked up to see the gaggle of apprentices just _gone_ or pressed intensely against the windows. It was the latter this time, so much so that Aleriand almost couldn't catch the sight of the deep bronze hide in the fading light of evening.

"All right, I see nothing else is going to get done. Get out of here." He barked. "And don't bother the dragonrider! He's not out on Search!" Though he doubted half the kids would listen to him. Ugh.

He grabbed a rag and was wiping the grease and ink off his hands when he appeared at the doorway to the main building. "Business or pleasure this evening, bronzerider?"

Indeed, Iyoth was swarmed by excited youngsters within a few instants of his rider dismounting. Fortunately, he was more than experienced in dealing with exuberant youth star-struck to be in the presence of a _ real _ bronze dragon. With a deep, rumbling huff, the bronze crouched down to allow himself to be climbed over, leaving his rider to attend to his business.

For it was business, no matter how much J’ine wished otherwise.

“Aleriand,” he greeted, warm, _ always_ warm, but also fairly strained. “I have some news to share. Do you think we could speak in private?” Tucked away in some corner of the hall, where they weren’t at risk of prying ears and the gossiping mouths catching a whisper.

He momentarily considered trying to rein the apprentices in, but J'ine's expression had him tilting his head to gesture back into the crafthall. Though the crafthall had been growing steadily in recent turns, it was still nowhere near as populated as it used to be, and paired with the candlemark few would be close enough to eavesdrop on the Master Printer's office.

He pulled open a lower drawer and retrieved two glasses and a partially empty bottle of whiskey. "What's going on?"

J’ine let out a low whisper as he sat down. “Good call, we’re going to need that,” he said, nodding his head toward the whiskey. His smile was still in place, but growing grimmer by the second. After a few moments of holding it, he allowed it to drop into a sober, heavy frown with a sigh.

“Shards, there’s no way to say it but to say it, is there?” the bronzerider shook his head. “I’m transferring out of Dolphin Cove, Aleriand, to Barrier Lake. This place is a sinking ship and I don’t see it getting better any time soon. And maybe it’s cowardly of me, but I’m not going to stick around and try to be the one to repair the hole in the hull.”

Aleriand leaned back in his chair, considering the other man, letting it all sink in (and in a better atmosphere, he might have made that joke). "That's far." He said simply. "But to me it could very well be as far away as Dolphin Cove. And it's not like we can sneak off during the Hatching Feasts anymore. I'd even rather you be there, even if someone is out here killing dragonmen."

“Yeah,” J'ine said. Nothing more, no grand statement or explanation, just… Yeah. What else was there to say, really?

A lot. There was a lot to say, and as J'ine sat there, it all came over him at once. He reached forward to take a drink before saying, “Rumor has it that the rider was found with his head and body in two separate places. I need to ask - do you think it's a coincidence that this happened so soon after Shuvan was down? Or has the Weyrleader made a martyr for himself? Or maybe not a _ martyr_, but caused a power vacuum and gave a new voice an extra cause to rally the troops around?”und."

"From what you've told me, and what I've heard, I think we're going to see two responses." Aleriand said as he considered that old, almost forgotten word. "We're going to see whoever is left go underground, as it were. Get more organized. Or we're going to see people come out that decide they have nothing to lose." The whiskey was warm and comforting against the news of the grisly find at the Hold. "And it sure looks like this is the latter, doesn't it? I don't want to catastrophize, and I know you don't want to leave home, but…" He let the sentence end there, concern written plainly on his face.

“You forgot the worst option,” J'ine said, his smile returning in the form of something well and truly dark. “We could see both. Whoever's pulling the strings gets more organized, makes _sure_ they can't be found out the way Shuvan did, and utilizes the ones who've decided they have nothing to lose. The greatest threat riders have is the ability to let people die, or hasten their demise along under the right circumstances. But what weight does that have against people who are already willing to risk their lives?” A pause. A sigh. Another sip of whiskey. And then, “You could come with me, you know. Move the hall. They might only be targeting riders, but you know that everyone will look at you and see a potential propaganda machine.”

Aleriand considered him thoughtfully, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair as he swirled the amber liquor in his glass. "You know I can't. We'll always have ambitious people wanting the printers to work for them. And they can, to an extent. But you can't tell me that Lord Bryvin would be any better. Lord Corowal was good. Corofel is….young," A diplomatic answer that should have granted Aleriand an award, honestly, "But manageable. I'm in a good position here, between the Harpers and Emerald Falls."

“Until bodies start piling up on your doorstep,” J'ine pointed out. And then he sighed, because loathe though he was to admit it, Aleriand had a point. He had a good thing going with the Lord of Emerald Falls. Lord Bryvin might not have murderers within his halls, but with his politics, he still posed a massive threat to the young women who Aleriand had taken under his wing. The Master Printer would not sacrifice them to make his own life easier or safer. If he was the sort of man who would, J'ine would not love him. The bronzerider sighed, raising his glass to his lips, but not taking a sip. “I don't suppose you have some sort of tome that could fix this?”

"Afraid not." Aleriand said. "Not many self-help books get this specific." He reached over and placed a calloused hand over J'ine's, squeezing it gently. "We've weathered hurricanes, fires, even Hold and Weyr tension before. We'll weather this just the same. We're just a quick /between/ away."

“Kill the serial killer in yourself,” J'ine said with a sagely nod. “It would be a bestseller, I think.” And then Aleriand was getting mushy, and Faranth if J'ine didn't get mushy in turn. He squeezed his lover's hand back, eyes burning with a quiet devotion. “I know,” he said. “As long as I've got you in my corner, I can handle anything.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “_You _ can handle this on your own, I know, but I'm always here to offer convenient transport,” he teased.

"Hah! So convenient now that I have to send a message to _Barrier Lake_." Aleriand groaned. "You sure you've thought this all the way through? I heard there's dragons sleeping on the ground."

“Better the ground than a fellis-laced weyr,” J’ine quipped. He grinned at Aleriand for a moment, _ fully_ expecting raucous laughter in exchange for his horrible attempt at a joke, only for his smile to fall a moment later when he realized that it was, in fact, horrible. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he quietly said. “Not to be a coward or anything, but I’d rather not stand around fearing for my life with whatever’s coming. I don’t agree with how the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman have been handling the situation, either. So I’ve got a ship that’s sinking through two holes… I don’t want to go down with it, ‘Rand.”

"I get it, I do. I'm not thrilled with Vestian half the time, either." Aleriand said, though knowing full well that it wasn't the same thing. He squeezed the bronzerider's hand again. "I don't think you're cowardly. You dragonriders aren't as invincible as you think you are."

“Thanks.” The corner of J’ine’s mouth turned up. It was meant as a smile, but came out as something closer to the grimace. “I just wish that the rest of the world wasn’t learning that, too.” It was amazing how effective of a shield propaganda could be. And when propaganda failed or the less flattering stories won out, when those who had reason to despise the Weyr caught a glimpse of the soft, mushy humans behind the legends? Well, they died just as surely as any holdfolk. And perhaps that was a good thing. Perhaps riders were already elevated enough without any true _ otherness_ to set them aside from the common man. But with the sword of Damocles swinging over the head of himself and every other man in the Weyr, J’ine was in no mood to appreciate such nuance.

At least he always had something to return home to.

The bronzerider leaned forward, gently pulling his hand out of Aleriand’s to trail his fingers up his arm, to his bicep, where he squeezed appreciatively. “Well, Masterprinter,” he purred. “What are your plans for tonight?”

Aleriand's eyes briefly flicked down to the hand on his bicep, and his smile became decidedly hungry. "Having dinner with an old friend that's moving to Barrier Lake." He said, leaning forward to pull J'ine into a kiss.

Last updated on the April 22nd 2024

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Sinking Ships