Vigil

Writers: Rochelle
Date Posted: 31st March 2008

Characters: Tatitem, J'ritem
Description: Tatitem sits up with her sick son.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 9, day 10 of Turn 4

A low, insistent rustling filled the room, and Tatitem paused her mending for a moment to adjust the glow beside her. She relaxed as the redirected light fell on the sofa across from her, showing her son was still asleep.
Just restless from the fever, she supposed.

Quietly, trying not to wake him, she set her work on the arm of the chair and moved over to the sofa, carrying the single glow she'd been using to keep from tripping. J'ritem was red in the warm light, strange shadows being cast when the light played over his scars and shiny with the low fever he'd been running since that morning, but his eyes were still closed.

She set the glow on the small table by the head of the sofa, placed there for convenience and to give him something to lean his crutches on when he needed to move, and rested a light hand on his scarred forehead. He muttered something indistinct, but calmed, and after a moment stopped moving again.

She should go to bed, she reminded herself. The mending would wait, and he was a grown man, more than capable of spending a few candlemarks asleep without her watching over him. The weyr needed a functioning Headwoman, and without some sleep she knew she would be unbearable. It just wasn't possible for her to stay calm and capable on less than five candlemarks of sleep.

And yet...

She smoothed the blanket over J'ritem again, tugging it back into place from where it had been half thrown over the back of the sofa and slid onto the floor. He'd never been a neat sleeper when he was sick, and for some reason was always more comfortable on a sofa than a bed when he was ill.
He was like her in that regard. He needed to see the world moving around him, to feel like he was still in the middle of things, even when he couldn't do anything.

They'd had warning this time at least, she thought with a sigh. She hadn't seen J'ritem for a few days, but M'nex had reported that he'd been more snappish than normal, and that his leg was bothering him again. So she hadn't been entirely surprised when one of J'ritem's friends had found her that morning, with the news that Lecitrith was worried about her rider not feeling well.

Since M'nex had been in drills at the time, she'd swiftly recruited some of J'ritem's friends from the dining hall, and descended on her son's weyr. He'd been downright surly, but it was obvious he wasn't feeling well, and it hadn't taken long for Tatitem to march him down to the infirmary so the healers could check him over. She'd anticipated the verdict perfectly -a mild flu, frustrating but not serious, easily taken care of with plenty of rest. Somehow, despite returning to his weyr for the day, he'd wound up in her weyr again, like he always did when he wasn't feeling well or in one of his depressions. He grumbled about it, saying Lecitrith was calmer with him there, and Tati had made a few comments, but in the end he'd bedded down on her sofa like he had every time he hadn't been well since the First Fall.

She straightened, but hesitated before reaching for the glow again. She really ought to sleep, she told herself. He didn't need watching over like a child anymore. She wouldn't hesitate if it was Terase or Jatati.

But it wasn't her daughters on her sofa. Terase and Jatati, not even Titase would come to her when they were sick anymore. It was her son. Her broken, bitter son, the proud dragonrider who could no longer ride his own dragon. Her broken little boy.

J'ritem didn't realize how much his injuries had affected his family. He didn't realize how often his mother agonized over him now, when before she had merely been proud of her strong dragonriding son and his beautiful green. He only partially understood the way his sisters had suddenly become so cohesive, why M'nex had grown up so quickly despite his easy-going demeanor. He only saw with angry eyes a world that no longer seemed to want him to be a part of it, and trapped himself in his own guilt and bitterness.

But...

It was such a little hope, a little thing. No matter how bad he was, not matter how panicked Lecitrith was over his mental state, he always responded to Tatitem. He pushed her away, he argued, he believed the worst. But he responded to her instinctively, trustingly, no matter how hurt, no matter how far gone into depression. No matter what, she was still his mother, still a force to be reckoned with. It was something, and she clung to that, they all did. Tatitem, because she needed to know that her little boy was still there somewhere, lost inside the man scarred with bitterness and thread he'd become, no matter how changed. M'nex, Susha, her daughters needed it because it was the only sign they had sometimes that there was something still there, that he wasn't really the angry shell he tried to be. And J'ritem needed it. She could see it in his eyes whenever he showed unexpectedly at her door, when she found him on the floor in a hallway, when he was sitting in the dining hall and unwilling to move. The reassurance of a family where he would always be welcomed, no matter what his appearance. Someone familiar, who knew what he really needed and knew what was simply pride and false bravado.

Reaching over, she picked up the glow again, shading the light a little further. She should go to bed, she reminded herself again. J'ritem was asleep, and anything he might need was already on the small table beside him. It wasn't necessary for her to stay up. He was a grown man.

But he was still her little boy.

She sat in her chair again, picking up the mending and resolving to go to bed when she finished. It needed done, no matter when she did it. She might as well do it now.

Last updated on the April 5th 2008

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Vigil