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All references to worlds and characters based on Anne McCaffrey's fiction are copyright © Anne McCaffrey 1967,2000, all rights reserved, and used by permission of the author. The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is registered U.S. Patent and Trademark Office, by Anne McCaffrey, used here with permission. Use or reproduction without a license is strictly prohibited. For more information, visit the Worlds of Anne McCaffrey.

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21-12-01: Consummation
It's not the most likely spot for a relationship to be properly consummated, though it does the job.

G'wain had a roll of hides under his arm, and a small case, probably full of writing implements. It seems he was serious about writing this romance novel. Striding quickly across the sands - they're hot, of course - he makes for the wooden platform, seeking respite from the searing heat.

Lydiere's standing over by the railing, talking to a group of young candidates apparently interested in asking questions about the eggs. Egg touchings have been few and far between - and often very shortlived - this time around; Llysereth's not particularly happy about people even being within the galleries. Noting G'wain, however, and his supplies, her lips crack into a smile, and she detatches herself, moving back across. "You *were* serious," comes her murmured comment, as she moves to sit once more.

G'wain takes some space on the platform - more than he had the other day, to be sure. "I was!" He exclaims, grin seemingly plastered on his face. It doesn't slip in the least. Looking up to the galleries, he makes a note of the candidates and gives them a wave. It doesn't hurt to be cordial. "And now, we've got those supplies. I... procured these from a harper. He said he didn't need them." He didn't. G'wain made sure.

Lydiere relinquishes primacy upon the platform - not that she had it, on this particular occasion, and sits herself down by one edge; she's still got enough room to sit in, and that's all she cares. "I'm impressed. This *will* be interesting." Grinning, she settles down, eyebrows raising -- "Ah-hah. I'm sure the Harper was plenty willing to accomodate. Did you actually tell him what you were going to use them for?"

G'wain glances up, his gaze mischevious. "Of course not." That was a given, wasn't it? "I think that he thinks that you were going to write up some reports on the eggs, or tithe, or something. I was quite vague." Moving to give Lydiere some more room - He's considerate, afterall - he nods his head. "Right. Now... How to start?" He opens up the case to find something appropriate... And able to be rubbed out.

Lydiere snorts in amusement, shifting further into the platform, and finding a comfortable position in which to rest. "Oh, I see. He's probably thrilled to bits, that I'm finally thinking ahead, rather than waiting for things to be brought to me." She winks, a rueful grimace fastening itself to her expression briefly. Then, she nods her head to match his, and then hesitates. "I suppose you need to introduce the characters." She's hazy, here. "But not a real introduction - just...Well, bring them onto the stage."

G'wain's smile dims just a bit as he thinks. "Once upon a time?" He asks, chuckling lightly. "I don't think that's going to work, somehow." Flicking through the hides that he brought, all blank, he looks for something. Maybe the words will just write themselves? "On a cold winter's day?"

"Far too cliched," agrees Lydiere, head shaking. "It won't work. Mmm, 'On a cold winter's day' could work, I think. You could have the boy sitting out in the cold, thinking about how lonely he is." She pauses, grimaces, and laughs. "Or something like that."

G'wain hmms softly. "How about... Rolls of thunder punctuate grunts as..." He pauses a moment. "a boy thrusts again and again, pulling the tubers out of the ground with force. Sitting back on his heels, he sighs. "Never thought I'd end up like this..." He muses, reminiscing. Inside his head visions floated by of his past, and sitting there, he starts to relive moments, all alone for the moment. There." He pencils that in.

Lydiere's composure fails, and she collapses into laughter. "Well...put. If somewhat...Mm, well. A good start. Gives leave, now, to explain to the reader what he's doing there, and where he came from." She shifts her position, curling up her legs, a stray glance sent to Llysereth, who buries another egg. At this rate, they'll be invisible by hatching day.

G'wain chuckles a little. "Start off with something that at first glance looks like the graphic sex. I get a laugh out of it, at least. And I started here doing drudge-like duties..." He shrugs a little. "You write the next little bit?" He offers the hide and the pencil. "Or, start writing the next chapter, where the heroine is introduced?" He offers, looking across the sands as Lydiere does. "She didn't do this last time, did she?"

"That was my thought," admits Lydiere, "Although I didn't want to...well. It makes a novel beginning, at any rate." Her hesitance is visible for a moment, and then she grins, nodding her head as she accepts the hide and pencil. "All right, the heroine. Um--" Her thoughts trail off, as Llysereth enters her vision again, and her head shakes. "No, she didn't."

G'wain chuckles softly, looking back at the hide and writing some more on it in a... slightly messy script. Writing wasn't a strong suit - At least, the act of writing. "There's some more..." He says, without reading it aloud, looking over at Lydiere to see if she's writing, too. He just wants to share in the writing, and the task, really. "Does it mean anything?" He asks, referring to Llysereth.

Lydiere, in her straight, obsessively perfect script, scribes down several lines, at which point she stops to think, glancing back at G'wain. "There's a start, for the heroine, too. All sighs, and boredom with mundane tasks." It's certainly a distraction from the sands - and, indeed, from the heat. "Llysereth? I don't know. There isn't a gold egg, as far as anyone can tell, so it can't be that. Perhaps it's just that I'm not spending my days catering to her every whim, this time." Her tone is dry.

G'wain rubs his hands together, leaning over to try to get a look at Lydiere's writing, to see if he can read it over her shoulder. What began with the best of intentions, an innocent lean, ends with G'wain just staying there, not really looking at anything but Lydiere, and taking her in. "Distractions, distractions..."

"Easily distractable, aren't you?" comments Lydiere, as this particular movement is understood, her neck twisting so that she can watch G'wain herself. "I'm sure my writing - such as it is - is quite offended." Which doesn't mean that she moves away.

G'wain raises his eyebrows. "Well, apologies to your writing, but I'm sure it'll understand. What we're doing is for the story, after all?" He asks, his own forgotten as a thought pops into his head. "We're writing a story about characters that are writing a story... that are writing a story, and so on?" G'wain stays where he is for the moment, still watching.

Lydiere glances back towards her hide, and then to G'wain once more. "I think it'll survive. -- Faranth, that's enough to give someone a headache. And it's a story that'll never end." Yes, it goes on and on my friend. "Odd thought, if ever there was one."

G'wain places his writing implement (of doom!) down, and with the same hand, reaches over to caress Lydiere's cheek. "What is odd, though? People'd call us odd for writing a romance story." His eyes flicker up to the galleries. Are there any spectators? But a flicker is all that it is, Lydiere filling his eyes once more.

Lydiere lifts her head further, evidently accepting the caress as welcome - especially since her own hand reaches out to run through G'wain's hair. Very sweet. "Well...true. I suppose we are just odd. Like anyone. Since we're all different." Her gaze doesn't move - galleries can be full to overflowing, for all she cares.

G'wain tilts his head slightly, into Lydiere's hand. "I've been told that the whole of Ista is insane, and that I should get out. But... I think I like it here." He leans in, his hand lightly guiding her chin so that lips can meet, should she wish. Not letting the kiss linger to long if accepted, he breaks away with a soft smile. "Very much."

Lydiere accepts the movements, chin guided, lips moving in readiness to meet G'wain's for that soft, gentle kiss. As G'wain breaks, she, too pulls back, murmuring quietly - whilst avoiding Llysereth's bleated objection - "Objections to insanity are overruled entirely, anyway." Beam.

Ahreluth, who this whole time has just been passively watching, turns blue-green eyes to Llysereth. << Why do you protest so? >> He asks, realising the cause of her agitation. << They're happy... >> He offers, G'wain somewhat occupied. The rider nods his head briefly in understanding, "Or ignored." Searching with his eyes, he moves at a second kiss, just as gentle as the first. << Why deny them that? >> Ahreluth questions Llysereth.

Llysereth flicks her tail through the sand with a shudder of revulsion. Disgust - usually innocently based - turns sour in her brooding mindset. << It is disgusting, >> says she, plaintitively. << *That* kind of thing got me fat. It's crude. It's--. >> There's another shudder, sending her mindvoice quavering. "Or ignored," agrees Lydiere, responding to the kiss with her own, gentle touch.

<< Romantic and nice, that's what it is. >> He offers, finishing her sentence. << And that won't get you fat. It might get Lydiere fat, but that's not you. Any anyway, you're beautiful no matter what size you are. >> Flattery will probably get the poor dragon no-where. Who knows. Moving closer without breaking contact, G'wain makes it a little easier on himself, rather than having to stretch to reach Lydiere.

There's another shudder from the gold dragon, who uses her horror-filled disgust to shift more sand over another egg, hiding it entirely from view. << Nasty! Vile! I won't let her get fat. >> These things seem to loom close to her consciousness, while resting here amid her clutch. << Ew, >> is the petulant comment that finishes off her outburst - Ahreluth's flattery means nothing but more of this nasty business. Lydiere moves to wrap her arms about G'wain's waist, shifting her own self forward; no hesitance, here.

Ahreluth moves slightly, inching towards Llysereth. Maybe he can distract her, or something. << She won't get fat, if she's careful. Or that's what G'wain said. The others havn't gotten fat. >> Flattery isn't working. Turn off the flattery. And... The others? << Let them be. >> It's not a command, really... Just a suggestion. G'wain's caught up in the moment, but spares a moment for their surroundings, as before... then realises he doesn't care. Mental command to Ahreluth causes the Bronze to start to move to block the view of the couple from the galleries, at least. G'wain's lips break from Lydiere's to kiss along her jaw, towards her neck. << At least they're having fun. Can't you feel it? >>

Llysereth inches away. Okay, no, she feets away. She'd mile, but there isn't quite room for it. << The others? >> Her voice tremours, panpipes ranging up and down the scale without sense of musicality. << Vile! Vile, vile, vile! >> One glance at Lydiere would show that she's ignoring her lifemate, and it's probably about time, too. A sharp release of breath follows, as G'wain's lips move downwards, fingers moving upwards to play with his hair.

Ahreluth moves into place, and making sure that he's creating an adaquete block, he glances back at Lydiere and G'wain. This should do, he figures, and settles himself. << Vile? I don't think it's vile. And yes, the others... Eunith's rider... Adonciath's rider... >> Of course not Adonciath's rider. << Can't you just let her... be happy? >> Shivering involuntarily, G'wain presses his lips to the dip of Lydiere's neck. << Can't you tell they're happy? >>

Llysereth evidently just believes that they're all deluded; it doesn't look like happiness to her. << It is, >> says she, very slowly, very carefully - gently, even. << Very crude, I believe. Is this happiness? It does not seem to be something that would make me happy. >> She's gone very quiet, tail flicking, still, eggs buried. Lydiere scarcely allows breath, and then expells it, delight audible within even that sound.

Ahreluth is a little confused by this last comment. << But... it's not for you. It's for them. It doesn't make me happy either, but it makes G'wain happy, in a way, so it makes me happy that he's happy. >> Do dragons make sense at all? << Did... our flight make you happy, at all? >> Try a different tack. Ahreluth doesn't bother to look at G'wain and Lydiere, focused on Llysereth. They're having fun, he gathers, from what he feels from G'wain.

<> says Llysereth honestly, but patiently. << It was for the eggs. Not for pleasure. It was--my duty. >> Sweet Llysereth doesn't know any more than that, and doesn't care to. << She shouldn't upset me like this, though. Not when I have eggs to guard. >> Ferociously. Fun - yes, that's probably the word. Llysereth shudders once more, her whole hide rippling in the motion, and keeps her attention far away.

Ahreluth gives the equivalent of the mental sigh. << Maybe... next time... >> This is said with some hesitation - he knows how she gets from experience. << You might try to remember? I did. >> Maybe her can pique her curiosity, or interest, or something. He won't explain... She can ask him. << Why are you upset, though? >> Simple enough question.

Llysereth begins to dig her tail into the sand, talons scraping through the dark mass with a firm shifting movement - stress relief, perhaps. << Perhaps. >> Ew, nasty - lavender hints within her mindvoice quaver as the panpipes rise and fall. << It is...all for the eggs. For the weyr. For *that*. >> Such activities as these blunt Llysereth's empathy - even about her own feelings. <>

If Ahreluth wasn't blocking activity, he might go over to Llysreth, but for now, it's probably just as well. << It's never for you? >> He asks, not really all that concerned by his rider's antics. If he's affected, he's not showing it. << You... don't like it? Because it makes your rider happy? >> He asks, trying to trip her over her own words. Silly Ahreluth. Leave the wordgames to the riders.

<< Of course not! >> Llysereth does everything to make people happy. Except when it's disgusting. <> Again, her tail slides through the sand, making furrows in her confusion.

<< Well... If you don't like it, does that mean that you should stop your rider from doing so? >> Quite settled, Ahreluth doesn't move, watching Llysereth with calm eyes. << You... don't like affection? >> He's not allowed to snuggle up to her, is he? << Or is it something different? >> Ahreluth shivers, barely noticable.

<< No! >> Llysereth pauses. It's a difficult subject - difficult to state her position properly. << It's nasty, I don't think she should do it, because she'll get fat. >> Hazy, badly put together, but she's confused now, and it shows. << It isn't, >> she finally suggests, very quietly, << Very proper. >>

Ahreluth's light mental touch pauses, before a single strain of a chello reassures. << She won't get fat... She'll be careful, I'm sure. >> Even if he isn't sure, it sounds good. And now, another question. << Do they have to be proper... all the time? >>

Llysereth huffs - she, evidently, places a lot of the problem on this getting fat, which she doesn't quite understand. << Most of the time. >> When Llysereth's awake. << It isn't nice to be improper. >>

Ahreluth shuffles a little in his spot, the sands are nice and warm this time of day. << Why though? Can't they... have a break? I think that if they're happy, that's proper enough for me... >> But probably not Llysereth. << Anyway... They feel nice being ... 'improper'. >>

Llysereth sighs as best as a dragon can, her faceted eyes flicking back towards her somewhat indisposed, busy lifemate, then back towards Ahreluth. << Perhaps. I still do not like it, though. >> And it doesn't stop the sand from flying. << Perhaps, this once. >>

This once is better than not at all, so Ahreluth leaves it at that. And if he can get her to say 'this once' more often, then she might actually come around to his line of thinking. Or at least, a little closer to it. << I'm sure they'll thank you later... I thank you. What are you doing? >> He asks, looking to the buried eggs.

<< Mm-hmm. >> Llysereth is not convinced, but she resumes her sand digging with more pleasure; it doesn't argue back, and make her feel icky for disagreeing. <>

A different topic of conversation is taken, Ahreluth for one, glad for it. << Will they be safer under the sands? >> He asks, curious. << Will the young ones be able to get out? >> Ahreluth didn't want to make her icky, really. He's just doing what's best for his rider... Really.

Llysereth unfurls her wings into a stretch - the sands get cramped, if one doesn't - even as her forelimbs, and their respective talons, dig at the sand, making her eggs safer and safer. << Much safer. People will not stare, and they will not feel on display. They do not need to get out. Not yet. >>

<< Does people staring hurt the eggs? What about the... candidates, and touching the eggs? >> He wonders these things to Llysereth. << Aren't they supposed to be able to touch the eggs? >> He's the authority on flights... not eggs. This is her domain.

Llysereth huffs decisively. <> She sends another, meaningful, glance back to Lydiere, but there's no response. Trust. <>

<> Ahreluth offers, bobbing his head a little after lifting it off the sands. << They're usually careful, but you never know. I think what you're doing is wise. As long as no dragons try to land in here... They might not know where the eggs are. >> Have to be careful, of course. Ahreluth, the voice of reason?

Llysereth seems to be pleased at this, having someone that understands properly her concerns, and huffs almost affectionately towards her mate. <> says she, firmly. << It would be rude for them to even try. >>

<< Then I am honoured. >> Simple, and true. Ahreluth shifts, growing a little uncomfortable with his position, and so whirling eyes turn to G'wain and Lydiere. Do they still need him to be there? << Thankyou. >>

Llysereth snorts, pointing out, << If you weren't here, I wouldn't like you at all. You're supposed to be here. It's important. >> Nonetheless, there's a note to her voice - an image, perhaps - that suggests she's nonetheless glad, and quite welcome. She, too, turns her gaze back around to the pair, huffing in slight distaste, although she makes no comment. Lydiere blinks, suddenly noticing the pair.

<< It is important... And I and G'wain have been here as much as we could. Errands to Fort Weyr, graduation... >> A mental shrug follows. << I'm sorry I could not have been here more that I have. >> He's truly sorry, too. G'wain is given a mental nudge, and he looks up at the glowing eyes. Smiling, the young rider nuzzles Lydiere, willing to stay where he is, at least for a little while.

Llysereth - will wonders never cease - moves across the sands, careful to avoid the mounds that are her eggs, to nuzzle towards Ahreluth. << You did will, >> is all she says, but coming from her, it's probably saying something. Lydiere moves to nuzzle G'wain in response, totally relaxed as she leans up against him. Nope, no need to move.

Ahreluth returns the nuzzle to Llysereth careful not to aggravate her. The affection thing, and all. << Thankyou... >> He replies, not game to make mention of the fact that she's showing affection at this point in time. "Choice is most definately better," He indicates, murmuring softly into Lydiere's ear.

Llysereth nestles into the nuzzle, perhaps at peace for a brief moment in her sand's crusade, wings furled carefully away, talons removed from the sand. It's sweet, if nothing more. "Definitely," murmurs Lydiere in response, her comment hardly above a breath expelled in pure delight. "Mmm."

Ahreluth, careful not to leave G'wain and Lydiere in full view, moves closer to Llysereth. As much as he can, and as much she will allow, anyway. As Ahreluth moves, G'wain relinquishes his hold on Lydiere. "I think we should get up now..." he whispers, reluctant. Kissing her shoulder, he slowly sits up.

Llysereth is probably thinking only of her rider, in her restraint from moving away from Ahreluth. Certainly, 'improper' would not even begin to describe people in the galleries earning an eyefull. "Must we?" asks Lydiere, a note of petulance to her tone, as she follows G'wain's move reluctantly. "I suppose so." There's a broad, goofy grin upon her face.

Sure, she's thinking only of her rider. Right. We believe you Llysereth. Either that, or it might give Istans a new definition for odd, or insane. G'wain looks over to Lydiere as she sits up, and can't help but try to kiss those lips. Should he succeed or not, he'll be quick to throw on his vest and get all 'decent' and 'proper' again. "I don't want to, just as much as you..." He admits, looking at the sands, and the hides that had fallen there. "But we must. Who knows who could walk in?" Should have thought of that before...

Llysereth, lady transparent, merely whuffles, settling down into the hot sand with pure delight. At something. Not necessarily Ahreluth. And probably not Lydiere. Huff. Lydiere's not about to refuse a kiss, which she responds to with more energy than her movements show otherwise, head nodding as she breaks away. "Point," she agrees, her own clothes gathered up, as the galleries are given a guilty glance. "It probably wouldn't look so good for us."

Ahreluth settles into the sand as close as he dares to Llysereth, without giving the galleries any glimpse of the pair. Slipping off the platform, G'wain pulls on his trous quickly - those sands are still as hot as he remembers - and moving to minimise his time on the sands, he collects the hides up as well as the writing tools. "If this keeps happening, we're not going to get very far with the writing, you know..."

Lydiere, in amusement, "Face it: writing...er, excites you." Or both of them. Or something. She slips into her clothes, wiggling at all the sand that comes, from everywhere. "Remind me: next time, can we try and get *off* the sands, first. I'm going to be finding sand for weeks."

G'wain rolls his eyes, and looks at the hides in his hands as he practically jumps off the sands and onto that platform. "And we hadn't even got to writing the good parts." Shaking out the hides, then his shoes, he pulls them on. "I'm sure I can arrange that." Next time? "We could go and have a bath or something?" He offers, good-naturedly, and innocently, if that's possible for G'wain. "Or you could." He looks at the sky briefly. "It's getting late, and I said I'd help that harper move some of his equipment in return for the hides..."

"Bath sounds--" begins Lydiere, who promptly wrinkles her nose as G'wain backs out. "Oh, all right then. You do that - and thank your harper for me, and I'll go have a bath." She steps off of the platform, wincing at the heat of the sands, and adds, "I *don't* want to see what happens when we try to write the good parts." Liar. With a wink, she steps off of the sands, adding - "If you're free, later, feel free to drop in..."