Being bonded with Hirlath had cracked W'ren's stoic shield somewhat, and emotion did leak out now, from time to time, but he was still a dedicated man who didn't get bothered by much at all.
The day came when W'ren and Hirlath's contract with Alabaster Weyrhold expired. It had been a great two turns, filled with new experiences, like Betweening and flaming for the first time. W'ren had even manages to do some gardening at Alabaster, and when that freak storm toppled trees, he'd replanted the ones that hadn't been broken with the help of Hirlath.
Now, it was time to go. Everyone was sorry to see the stoic brownrider leave, but it was his choice.
W'ren was cinching up Hirlath's straps before fastening his bags for the trip when someone ran by. "W'ren!" they called, "Catch!"
W'ren turned in time to see the rider throw something in his direction. The brownrider caught the soft hide pouch, it's contents clicking softly together.
W'ren opened it, and shook it gently. A farmcraft mark smacked into his big hand, but was soon covered with a small strip that read:
If you're as good at Ryslen as you were here, they'd be fools to let you go. Good luck, W'ren.
The note was unsigned, but the marks spoke loudly of Lord Holder Engell. W'ren hadn't expected to be paid for his services at Alabaster.
Taking it in stride, W'ren pocketed the pouch, and finished loading.
A sevenday or so later, once they were settled in and working well with the rest of the dragonpairs at Ryslen, W'ren was approached by Wingleader Im'mel.
"I've been watching you, W'ren, and your burly brown too." the wingleader said, W'ren didn't respond, but listened. "You're dedicated, hardworking, and are a good leader."
This wasn't news to W'ren, he'd known that for a good long time.
"I suppose you want me in your wing then?" W'ren asked, his entire self not betraying a bit of emotion.
"No," siad Im'mel. This single word striking W'ren like a blow to the face. "I want you as my Wingsecond."
W'ren didn't move, but Hirlath on his sunny ledge roared, expressing enough excitement for both of them.
"Should I take that for a yes?" Im'mel said, eyes twinkling.
"Yessir, Wingleader. We'd be honored to join you." W'ren siad, a trace of a smile on his once stoic face.
W'ren!
Time passed, and life fell into a routine at Ryslen.
More time passed, and that routine became an endless rut. Im'mel did spice things up from time to time, but there was something missing in W'ren's life. And it was something he couldn't put his finger on.
It came to pass one afternoon when he was digging a hole to plant a tree that he saw her - not some spectacular beauty, but a woman with sharp features and an almost sour expression on the lakeshore. She was occupied scrubbing a... W'ren's eyes tracked, and he almost dropped the shovel. A queen.
Arosambyth, daughter of Yainolith, daughter of Litayth. Hirlath said, his eyes never leaving the saplings he held protectively. Her rider is Jhetarya, cousin of Brown Fivrith's rider Al'jan.
W'ren wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He'd worked with Al'jan several times - he was a rider who knew the meaning of the word work, even if he was nearly as cheerful as J'rin.
Could anyone be as cheery as our J'rin? Hirlath almost purred (a habit he'd grown from his little 'furries')
"Maiahn has him well in hand, I'm certain. Their boys will be a handful, if I dare say so." W'ren said, and returned to his shoveling. Priorities, priorities.
Time passed, and as it did, W'ren noticed her around Ryslen more and more, and yet there was nothing he could do about it. He chided himself for his foolishness, and spent his time working on whatever needed doing, and with what was required from him in the wing, he was wearing himself ragged.
She was ill, W'ren. That is why you did not notice her before. Fivrith says so.
"He does, does he?" W'ren said, throwing a sack of firestone into the pile.
"He does." a voice said from behind him, and W'ren turned to face the man who'd spoken. Al'jan stood there, hands on his hips. "And just how long are you going to pine over my dear cousin before you do something about it?"
W'ren was speechless. You've been tattling on me, have you?
Not I, W'ren. I've said nothing. Fivrith offered the information freely.
W'ren was skeptical, but Al'jan wasn't going to give up. "I've seen the way you look at her, and then tear her eyes away. Admit it, W'ren. You're attracted to her." W'ren didn't flinch. "Look, W'ren. If you need a reason to speak to her, sign your brown up for Arosambyth's next flight. She'll be on the flight list soon enough. Once Hirlath's listed, you can use getting to know her better 'just in case' as an excuse to get to know her better."
W'ren's stoic expression did not change. "I don't know what you're talking about." He said, and returned to piling firestone sacks. Al'jan took the hint and left his fellow Ryslen brownrider to his chore.
Time passed, and Arosambyth's name appeared on the flight list. Quickly and quietly, word made it's way around Ryslen, and possibly beyond, that Jhetarya would not have a one-night-stand. Not this time. It was decided that Arosambyth had agreed to reject any suitor whose rider rejected Jhetarya, and thus the chasers side of the slate remained blank day after long painful day, as those dragonesses after her gained more suitors than Jhetarya cared to count. How depressing it must have been for her to face the fact that no one at or near Ryslen was remotely interested.
As Arosambyth's rising neared, Hirlath made one last attempt - W'ren, I want to chase. W'ren just looked at his dragon. I'll need you to sign me up.
W'ren didn't move. "You haven't as much as looked at a female in months, Hirlath."
You have. Hirlath responded coolly.
"Hirlath." W'ren said, his voice harder than usual.
She needs suitors, W'ren.
"She'll get them. They always come." W'ren responded, slamming his mug to the table.
Have you been past the flight list, W'ren? It's blank. Arosambyth needs suitors; Jhetarya needs YOU.
"Will you just drop it!?" W'ren snapped suddenly. Hirlath did not respond, nor would he. It was time for his stony stoic rider to have a taste of his own medicine.
After quite some time of silence, W'ren walked out of their weyr. Every part of Ryslen was overly silent in the nighttime hours, and soon enough, the warm light of the hatching sands drew W'ren, and there he looked upon the flight list for the first time he could ever remember. His hand reached hesitantly towards it. "Jhetarya..." he murmured to himself.
"That's my name." A voice snapped, laden with unidentifiable pain and anguish. W'ren turned to face her, and was lost in her cornflower blue eyes. He could not speak; his throat had gone dry. He could not move; his whole being had gone numb. "Did you want something, or are you just being..." she trailed off, apparently as Arosambyth spoke to her. She turned without another word, her long black braid almost creating a whipcrack as she exited.
In seeming slow motion, W'ren reached a hand after her. "Jhetarya..."
He would not see her again that evening, nor in the days to follow, and as his heart lay heavy, her anguish pained him worse than Hirlath's silence. Wordlessly, he wrote himself and Hirlath in on the flight list. If no others came, at least Arosambyth would have one suitor. If Jhetarya would look upon him again, W'ren knew not.
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