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.

18-05-02: Recovery
Even the most monumental of disagreements can be worked around, and the worst of news can become the best.

G'wain bats at a firelizard that seems to be herding him somewhere, back towards the Weyr. Fighting the flailing wings, Ahreluth emerges into the bowl, and scolds the 'lizards briefly before looking wistfully towards his weyr, that he shared with his love for a while. Heart heavy, he turns around and heads back to the water. That'll cheer him up. Maybe. G'wain is saved from the attack of the firelizards, and looks around to see where he's ended up... On the ramp to where he and Lydiere live.. lived?
Lydiere's approach towards the weyr and it's ramo, from the general vicinity of the weyrling barracks, is cut short as G'wain's presence is noted, her gaze rapidly turning away. She makes a show of muttering something, ostensibly to Llysereth, about, "Shards, I forgot those hides," and changes her course entirely, ducking towards the lower caverns, attempting-- rather dramatically, to not look at G'wain whatsoever. Llysereth, settled upon her ledge, lifts her outermost eyelids thoughtfully, then shuts them again, curling up against a sleeping Zymanth-- he'll protect her.

Ahreluth pauses his his escape to note Zymanth, his eyes flaring crimson, tail lashing as he beats a hasty retreat. The poor thing... G'wain notes Llysereth up against Zymanth, and he pales. Lydiere wouldn't... not with W'yn? With the way he's been acting lately, who could blame her? Flopping down onto the ramp, G'wain spots Lydiere just as he seats himself... but he doesn't say anything. Unless Lydiere wants to sleep somewhere else tonight, she'll have to confront him at some stage.

It's certainly an option-- no doubt there are plenty of places she could bed down, if she was of a mind (the infirmary springs to mind; at least it would get other people off of her back), but Lydiere, apparently picking up upon the reality of this situation, changes her path once again, striding towards the ramp. She comes to a halt without speaking, lowering her gaze until she can watch him, in silence. Finally: "What do you want? Ready to make it all official?"

G'wain looks up, his gaze hard. "Make what official? You and W'yn?" Hiss. Someone's definately not happy about that other Bronze dragon on the ledge. He really didn't come here with any intentions to be conciliatory, or confrontational... He doesn't even know why he's here, now that she's speaking to him.

"What?" There's honest surprise to Lydiere's voice. Whatever she expected, that was definitely not it. Her eyes fall towards Zymanth, her jaw drops, and she turns back to glare at G'wain. "Faranth's bitten off balls, you only dig yourself deeper, don't you? W'yn is my /friend/, and he's concerned for me, after the way you've been acting." Distinctly uncomfortable, her arms unconsciously move to wrap about her middle, her gaze remaining singularly steely. "I was actually refering to you and I, and our separation. I assume you'll want to take your things." Ouch.

"After the way /I've/ been acting?" Frowning, G'wain shakes his head. "You're not exactly faultless, Lydiere. And how come Zymanth is so..." Bring his hands into play, G'wain makes a few motions with them, locking them together in the end, "with Llysereth?" G'wain really doesn't know much of what he's saying... he's not exactly logical and rational at present. Ouch indeed... she's being particularly harsh, and that hurt. "I-if you want me to, I will." He looks down, she's definately 'winning' here... if indeed it is a contest.

Lydiere's eyebrows raise, her expression surprised-- unconvinced. "Oh, and what did /I/ do, pray tell me?" There's that same bitterness to her voice that has hardly left, these past sevendays, sharp and poignant. "Llysereth's /upset/. You know how she is, all emotional. Zymanth soothes her, and W'yn likes him there to make sure that I'm all right." It's not satisfaction that crosses her face as he glances down, but it's-- something related, distantly, to triumph, and yet totally foreign. She takes a deep breath. "Unless you have plans to change what has happened, you might as well. There's too much else to worry about, besides whether or not you're still my weyrmate or not, or if I even want you to be."

G'wain frowns. He doens't know what Lydiere has done... or rather, he can't think of anything. It was just something that he said cause it sounded good, from his side of the argument. Ignoring that part, he shakes his head. "So Ahreluth is guilty by association, is he? That's hardly fair." Beware, W'yn. Someone /else/ might get beaten up. Well, maybe. "Nothing's fair." Starting to get generally mopey, G'wain takes a deep breath. He's a mess, at least inside. "J'ey..." Why are you even bringing up that name, fool? "I think that it was... the flight. I mean... even though it's not supposed to mean anything... It still does... to me. I'm still new, even though I'm... old. If you know what I mean. Look... I kissed J'ey once, after the flight." He doesn't look particularly happy saying that, either. "And I realised that I wasn't in love with him. At all. I twas the flight... and..." Cut him off, already. "I'm still new to this." Everything, not just dragonriding. Look. He's choking up.

"No, but he reminds her off /my/ hurt," says Lydiere, her voice suddenly going very quiet; she sounds fragile, as if she's half a step from breaking, teetering on the edge. "Then why all of this?" Take a deep breath, Lydiere, don't break. "If you realised that, then why did nothing change? We've been dancing around each other ever since the bloody flight." Now - the tears; she's still bloody angry, and it shows. "And I can't /cope/ with that. I don't want you in my life if all that ever happens is you screwing up, and causing all these problems, every couple of months." She draws a deep breath, coming to a tear-studded, wavering halt.

G'wain shakes his head a little. "After the flight, meaning only the other day. I.." Then something that Lydiere says makes him stop. "You seem to forget, that you're turns older than I am. You hold me to standards that I just can't live up to, because they're impossible, at least for me right now. I havn't had turns to work myself out. I get thrust into leadership at eighteen turns, and all I'm trying to do is find my feet, and then that damn flight happens, then /this/ flight happens and I get confused..." He sighs heavily, the first 'flight' in relation to the other one, that L'rien won. "I'm just trying to work everything out... but if you want me to go... I will." Say the word, and he's out. He'll even transfer. And from what you know, he's serious about it, too.

By her expression, Lydiere is wavering between extremes-- although what those extremes are, it's difficult to discern. "You're allowed to make mistakes," she says, at last. "But I don't think age excuses all of it. You just don't stop to think, do you? About talking to people-- me, anyone, everyone. Faranth's ichor, I've been sitting here stressing over the possibility that I'm going to have to be a single mother - /again/ - because, regardless of what's going on, you don't stop to try and explain, or make things better." She comes to an abrupt stop. She didn't mean to say that. Rushing, stumbling over her words, she tries to push onwards: "You didn't even come here today to make things better, did you? You didn't even /bother/ to think about that much, that little thing. I don't know what we're doing, G'wain, but if we are breaking up, I don't want it to be like this."

"I know age doens't excuse all of it... but you're right. I don't think someti--" Oops, indeed. Someone isn't sure of what he heard, and seeks clarification. "What do you mean, single mother again?" Very cautious is he, neglecting to answer anything else in light of what he's heard. He doesn't even let a hint of an expression touch his features.

"You're the only one who never picked up on that one, aren't you? The rest of the weyr has been guessing at it for ages. Isn't as if it hasn't been obvious, with one thing and another." Lydiere sounds suddenly very, very tired, the bags under her eyes all the more obvious as she turns her head, glancing at him side-on.

G'wain is still just as cautious as he was before, his tone moderated, though at the edges he wavers. "W-who?" You really can't blame him for not noticing. It's not like he's got masses of experience with pregnant women, and picking the fact that they are pregnant from a few signs. "Are you well? You haven't been to the healer... you should go." He won't be getting all excited and happy just yet.. there are conditions on that. One, that he's the father, and two, that he hasn't lost Lydiere entirely.

Lydiere's hands are dropped from her middle, hanging loosely by her side, as she tilts her head to the right, watching G'wain without expression. "Who what?" A shrug of her shoulders is made, a rueful, quietly sombre note coming to her voice: "I've been as sick as anything, and I'm probably not going to get any better, anytime soon. I've hardly eaten anything in more than a sevenday, and-- Yes, I'll go to the bloody healer." Her gaze is expectant; it's as if she's searching for something, within his features.

G'wain just needs to get something clear before he runs around the Weyr waking everyone up. Or something like that. For the moment he is nervous, unsure whether the child is theirs, or if it's someone else's. After all this... who knows. Wringing his hands together, he purses his lips, eyes raising to look at Lydiere. "W-who's child is it, Lydiere?" If she says someone else... He doesn't know what he'd do. "And..." He's unconsciously holding his breath, "Do you..." The reason he's having trouble asking is because he's so unsure of the response. A pause, and he lets the rest out, "Still want me back, even after all this?" He's so insecure, worried and panicing. If only he'd let her see, other than in his hands, which he might break, if he wrung them and harder, or his breath, which he's been holding for a while now... or even his tensed muscles all over. And here, he thought he was doing a good job.

"Faranth's yellow-bellied, half-witted, ball-chewing bronze child, do you think I am so fickle that I would go and sleep with someone else, just like that?" Lydiere's quiet is dropped within a single moment, her eyes blazing. "Of course it's yours. Whose else would it be?" Those hands of hers lift again, resting about her middle, although it's obviously far too early for there to be any signs of the pregnancy, there. She takes a deep breath. "Of course I want you back," says she, the anger departing, the quiet, almost breathless, yet undeniably sad tone returning. "But only if you can promise that you'll try harder. To think, to talk, to be a-- a good father, a good-- to be a good you. I can't stand going through this again, I just can't." She shuts her mouth, lips pursed, gazing back at G'wain expectantly.

G'wain looks at the ground again, the beginnings of a blush. "I didn't think that you had... I didn't think. And that's what it all comes down to, doesn't it?" Shaking his head, his eyes raise to Lydiere's midsection, a smile curving slowly onto his face as she speaks. Without any hesitation, he nods his head. "I'll try. I'll do my best, and I'll even swear on Faranth's yellow-bellied, half-witted, ball-chewing whatevers." He's getting far to excited and happy to be entirely serious, though he /does/ mean what he says. "I'll be as good a me as I can. I swear..." But none of that language in front of the child, alright? Taking a step forward, he moves to hug Lydiere, nothing more. And if one was to look closely, his eyes are watering slightly, too.

Lydiere gives a half-hearted nod, as sage as any, but coupled with an expelling of breath that could be classed as nothing less than a sigh of relief. "I'm not so sure that that's something worth swearing on. In retrospect, I don't think you need to swear on anything, or, if you must-- then swear on," she pauses, allowing that smile to be echoed, just quietly, tiredly, upon her own lips, "our child." Without even a moment of hesitation, she allows herself to be drawn into that hug, wrapping her own arms about G'wain, her grasp tight.

G'wain's grasp is just as tight, as he holds onto Lydiere as if she were all that keeps him in this life. Resting his head on her shoulder, his eyes close, keeping unshed tears within. Letting his own pent up breath release in a sigh of relief, he near shakes as he holds her close. "Oh, Lydiere..." It doesn't look like he's going to swear on their child. "I'm so sorry..." Whispering this over, his grip doesn't lessen, though it's not exactly bone-cruching.

Lydiere's not, by natural inclination, a comforter-- she's a doer, a talker, a creature of action. But now, her arms wrapped so tightly about the man she loves, it's a natural response, for her to smooth her hand through G'wain's hair, soothing with her light touch. "Shh, it's all right. It's all going to be all right." Perhaps she's not entirely sure on that-- there's still a note of hesitation-- but the anger is gone, all the defenses are down, and all that's left is that which was hidden inside. "It's over, now."

G'wain would be the comforter, but everyone needs to be comforted at times. "I love you. You, and only you... and our child, too, of course." He adds that in. It's a little hard to get used to instantly, no matter how overjoyed he might be. "And I know that. I really do... I..." He hugs her closer, if that's possible. "I don't deserve you. I... do all this, and still you'll have me back..." His voice cracks as he speaks, all the emotions within nearly causing him to break down.

"I know." Forget the things she's said these past few days, the worry that it wasn't true-- Lydiere accepts, for now and always, that this is a true statement, known without doubt deep within her heart. "I've done stupid things, and I'll do more stupid things, G'wain. We all do. But no matter how stupid, I love you, and I can't help but forgive you, because it hurts too much to want to hate you." Again, her hand soothes, smoothing hair through her fingers, her hug secure. "No matter what, I couldn't stop loving you."

Llysereth should be happy. They're being all romantic again. "I'll do stupid things in the future too, no matter how hard I try to avoid them... But I havn't stopped, and I won't stop loving you." An echo of her words, in essence. Releasing her from the hug he pulls back, yet still stays close. His smile is broad as he looks at her, his gaze travelling down. "And I thought the possibility of being Weyrleader one day was daunting..." His chuckle is soft, before he leans in for a tender kiss, sweet and almost tentative.

Llysereth's tail is still twined about Zymanth's, but she's been watching this exchange from her lofty perch with interest, her eyes whirling their soft, faceted gaze, turning slowly blue again-- content, soft, satisfied once more. "Parenthood," begins Lydiere, but it's something she doesn't manage to complete-- instead, she returns that kiss, responding with a soft, almost shy touch. "Is the most daunting thing of all. But I know you'll be a wonderful father."

There are other eyes that might be visible, not entirely content over at the side of the bowl, looking in. Ahreluth has finished with his swim, and sits there stealthily, sulking to himself. "You'll help me, right? You know having been through it all before? Or is it just as daunting the second time?" Once he's spoken, he presses in for another kiss, less tentative this time, but he pulls back after a moment to let her respond.

There's hesitation from Llysereth. Zymanth, Ahreluth. Zymanth, or Ahreluth? Why not Zymanth /and/ Ahreluth? A low croon carries across the bowl, inviting her ledgemate to come on home, her tail untwining from Zymanth, her comfort object, to encourage the other bronze. "Daunting enough," admits Lydiere, before accepting that kiss, lips meeting lips with warm encouragement. "But I'll try. It's been ten turns, and I'm not seventeen anymore, even so."

Ahreuth wasn't aware that he had been seen, and pulling his head back from his vantage point, he doesn't exactly trust another bronze on his ledge, who had his tail around his weyrmate. It's just not right. Why has this jealous streak not come about before? Perhaps because last time, G'wain dragged Ahreluth away, so he didn't see it. G'wain keeps his arms around Lydiere, content to just stand there a while like that. "I wonder what Keidire'll say..." Tilting his head to the side, G'wain has questions starting to flood his mind. "I wonder if it's a boy or a girl..."

Llysereth emits another low, encouraging croon, her hulking mass hunched over the edge of the ledge, expression, if a dragon can possibly have one, plaintive. Zymanth is just a friend, after all-- she doesn't remember mating him, and would probably prefer to forget it, even if she did. Snuggling in to G'wain, Lydiere allows herself, for the first time, a grin: "He'll be thrilled, I'm sure. He always wanted a sibling. I-- I don't know. Which do you want, do you think?"

G'wain very suddenly feels the cold. "We should go inside, where it's warmer. This cold can't be good for the baby." Oh no, he's not going to be one of /those/ kinds of fathers, is he? Well, perhaps not - at least he will be until Lydiere goes and sees the Healer. Glancing over to Ahreluth, he smiles a little. "He's worried that she doesn't like him anymore, and that she likes Zymanth better. If I were her, I'd go over to him." Ahreluth's hiding behind the wall... at least his head is. Silly dragon... Zymanth is in his 'spot' afterall.

"Cold, but-- Fardles, I'm fine, G'wain. At least," she gives a steady, somewhat rueful, smile, "I'm fine until I start throwing up again, and that has nothing to do with the cold." She acquiesces, however, with a shrug, a glance made towards Llysereth, and then across the bowl in Ahreluth's general direction. "Mm. She'll worry herself sick over him, if she doesn't." An expectant glance is given towards her lifemate, who warbles softly, lifting up into the sky without a backwards glance for Zymanth, gliding towards Ahreluth. See, she still likes him!

And if G'wain could explain how much Ahreluth's heart lifted at such a simple movement (Ahreluth was peeking around the corner), he would. "That worked." G'wain comments to Lydiere as they make their way into the weyr. Ahreluth lifts his head as Llysereth makes her approach, his mindvoice tentative, but then, it's always been that way, something less than a touch on the mind, mere tendrils laying thoughts. << I saw Zymanth... I wasn't sure. >> And indeed, he still isn't.

"So I see," says Lydiere, quietly, sparing only the shortest of backwards glances towards her lifemate and Ahreluth. Llysereth's touch is no stronger-- flutters of snowflakes, patterning in shimmers of silver, palest purple, her thoughts that require no words to be absolutely clear: It is Ahreluth she wants, of that there can never be doubt.

Stepping forward, Ahreluth moves to nuzzle Llysereth. G'wain wonders idly if Llysereth will hate him for making Lydiere 'fat', though he'll protest that she's beautiful the whole time. Slipping inside with Lydiere, G'wain makes sure everything is nice and warm, and Ahreluth just might even be coaxed back the the lidge.

<< Zymanth could move over, >> offers Llysereth, quietly. << He stays, because his rider wanted him to. He'll probably leave, soon. >> Her eyes whirl, encouragingly, as she nuzzles the bronze back, wings lifting in readiness for the short glide back across the bowl. Lydiere follows G'wain, striding up the bowl, into the weyr, at last a smile of honest relief pressing itself into place upon her lips. Home, at last.