Who: Aerishani, O’rlen, Amorenth, Roreliuth
When: Month 13, 201 AT
Where: Weyrleaders’ Weyr
What: Roreliuth claims Amorenth again.
They had a conversation about it, once. Still, maybe even O’rlen might have been surprised by the message that Aerishani pinned to the notice board in the living cavern shortly after Amorenth began to glow. Signed with her name and rank, it simply read ‘Bronze and Brownriders of Honshu: Make other arrangements for Amorenths’s rising’. Since then, she’s been seen here and there, while Amorenth slowly tightens her grip on the Weyrhold as a whole, disdainful of the male attention she garners while simultaneously demanding more of it. It’s a bloodbath when Honshu’s senior queen makes for the pens, slaughtering and draining more beasts than strictly necessary, no interest taken in the flesh left behind, the blood more than enough to fuel her far into the skies. And Aerishani? She doesn’t go to the flight weyr, as before. She stays in her own weyr, trusting that none but the one she wants will dare to walk through the door.
Roreliuth has been an attentive viewer of his mate’s glow, though his view does not extend to jealousy as other males push and shove to gain her favor. He bides his time, waiting, and unfailingly patient. When she goes to blood, he follows with the other pack of males. His strategy leads him to fell one beast, taking enough blood to sustain him and no more as others snarl and claim more than one beast. His eyes follow Amorenth as she launches into the sky and then he follows, letting others push harder and faster than he. He bides his time. O’rlen dares to walk through the weyr’s entrance, his shirt unbuttoned, and his shoes already being kicked off at the door as he enters. He’s cautious as he moves through the space in search of her, much as Roreliuth’s flight takes him on a winding journey through the skies. He does not call. He hunts.
Surely Amorenth cannot remember that her last flight was termed something of a failure – but for the presence of a golden daughter – but perhaps Aerishani remembers for her, since she focuses more on gaining height than on evading her suitors. It nearly costs her a time or two, one bronze getting near enough to touch his nose to her tail before a brown physically barges him out of the way, yet she ignores all of them, pushing herself to dangerous limits in her effort to fly higher and higher. In the end, it will leave her at their mercy, her energy spent, but at least she will have done her duty. Right? From the back of the weyr, Aerishani emerges, her hair a cloud of curls from where she’s been unsteadily pulling pins from it as she waits. Her eyes seem to darken when they fix on O’rlen, distant though her gaze is, her thoughts mostly with Amorenth. Still, there’s enough of her left that doubt creeps in. “Will you still want me if you don’t catch me?” Her. Amorenth. Them.
“I want you to be my future,” O’rlen does not hesitate in his answer, the heart of him overpowering the heat of his bronze as he closes the distance between them. He is fully present in his mind as he grabs her shoulders and tugs Aerishani against him. “If another catches her and leads, it does not replace you at my side. We are one.” He tips her face up and captures her lips with his before he draws her against him once more. As his bronze flies above, O’rlen focuses on drawing Aerishani towards her bed to cuddle and kiss. He is playing the gentlemen suitor, showcasing more of his bronze than he might another time. Roreliuth lets the other males fight each other. Even though it might cost him to hang back, it is the strategy that the young bronze takes. As that brown and bronze tangle each other, Roreliuth surges ahead and through their flapping wings as he spins and reaches up to grasp hold of Amorenth from below. His neck and tail twine tightly against hers, the crispness of autumn and the scent of apple cider and damp earth greet her. << Thank you >> he tells her, extending his reach to tap against her walls. He’ll take them down slowly and carefully, waiting until that earth can greet them.
In those few moments that pass when she might make reply, Aerishani becomes too much Amorenth to string words together and too distracted by O’rlen’s kisses to do anything but become pliant in his arms to curl and twine herself against him, nothing like the force her queen is in the skies. Until she //is//. There’s an initial hiss of sound from Amorenth when she feels that someone has grasped her, the beginnings of her trying to shake away the touch with the last of her strength, yet upon recognising Roreliuth through the haze of that which drives her on, she ceases her struggling and lets him capture and claim her, walls of silver flickering away to nothing for him and only him. It means that the Weyrhold is suddenly exposed to a sharp burst of the light and flame that passes for affection from her, usually so well hidden, and has Aerishani pinning O’rlen beneath her with none of the demure submissiveness of her maiden flight. They may be the ones who are caught, but she sees to it that she’s the one in control; that she holds O’rlen down and takes what she wants while giving him what he seeks.
Roreliuth’s joy radiates against Amorenth’s flame, enhancing that light with his own offerings of autumnal reds and oranges. He is //hers//, he understands her, he cherishes her. That the whole Weyrhold feels that love for //him// draws his attention ever closer. O’rlen is pliant beneath Aerishani, glazed-eyes unseeing and seeing her above him. He is sweat soaked and beyond words as her nails may graze his flesh and her hips and his hips find a rhythm that leads them to completion. A roar releases – his? Roreliuth’s? – and then it is over. Roreliuth takes Amorenth to a quiet place where he might offer her shelter beneath his wing away from the prying eyes of others. O’rlen is caught in his bronze’s mind, seeing golden hide, and red hair, as he opens his gaze and looks for Aerishani. “My queen,” he murmurs, voice raspy from use. “My wife.”
Away from the gaze of others, Amorenth allows herself to curl up beneath Roreliuth’s wing, gently fitting herself closer little by little, weaving her tail with his in a neat braid of bronze and gold. With a soft sigh, she noses against the curve of his neck, sleep taking hold of her and dragging her exhausted body down into the peace that it needs to recuperate from her efforts to prove herself. Still hazy, Aerishani remains over O’rlen for several long moments, utterly unwilling to move as she sighs out something that sounds an awful lot like, “Sharding right,” and Amorenth when he calls her his queen. Still, trembling legs demand that she move, rolling to drop down beside him, where she tries to catch her breath, a soft, dreamy smile given him as he refers to her as his wife. She doesn’t respond in anything but lifting a hand to thread fingers through his hair, perhaps assuming he doesn’t know what he’s said. Or reluctant to find out.
O’rlen’s eyes remain closed in contentment as his breath slowly begins to ease into a normal pattern. He lifts their threaded hands to his lips for a kiss before he turns his head to open his eyes and make eye contact with Aerishani’s. “Let’s do it,” he tells her, thumb making idle circles on her hand. “Let’s get married. That way, should someone else catch Amorenth, there will be no doubt in your mind that it will be //me// who meets you in the bed.” He lifts himself up then and hovers over her, drawing a finger along the edges of her jaw. His hair is sweat-soaked and shoved off his forehead in a reddish mass of curls and his eyes are still bright and full of his love her. He tips down and kisses her gently. “If you’ll have me,” he murmurs against her ear and then shifts himself onto his back once more. He won’t say anything further, uncertain of what she might say, and not wanting to push her too far.
Aerishani draws up a knee to gently rest against O’rlen’s hip as he hovers over her, smoothing a hand across his shoulders and up to the nape of his neck while he kisses her, any trace of her smile gone and leaving in its wake an open vulnerability that she still wears when she follows him and lifts herself back over him again. “Of course I’ll have you,” she says softly. “I’ll keep you forever, if it’s what you want.” She noses against his jaw in some distant echo of her queen, ducking her head a little more as she confesses, “…I was going to ask if maybe I shouldn’t go Between. I thought maybe,” all the maybes, “it would be nice to experience it with Amorenth, if it sticks. Maybe it’d encourage her to care more about her own babies.” There’s another tiny, shy smile from her, the confidence of minutes ago continuing to elude her.
O’rlen smiles back in answer to Aerishani’s shy one, his more full of confidence and brightened by the joy in his eyes. “If we truly want to make a baby of our own, it may take more than one try,” he tugs at her earlobe playfully, an action he must have made many times before for it’s familiarity. “I wouldn’t be opposed to trying at all.” He draws his hands down to her hips and then upwards, fingertips dancing along her spine and back. “I can’t say I’m ready to try again now,” he laughs good-naturedly, dropping a hand to prop behind his head and grin up her more boyishly. “I’m not often able to do that. But tonight…?” he teases his other hand along her chest. “I’d be more than willing.” On to that other subject. “Shall we make it a grand affair? Like the Holders do?”
“I can’t say that //I’m// ready to try again now,” Aerishani replies through soft, murmuring laughter, draping herself over O’rlen with little care for whether he can still breathe or not by the time she’s done. Casting a leg across him, she settles down and sets her fingers to idly tracing over skin. “Are you saying you’d like to thoroughly scandalise any of those who think our sort shouldn’t be married at all? Weyrleaders getting married in a fashion to rival a Lord and Lady, with the bride potentially expecting?” It truly sounds like she’s teasing him until she makes a purring sound low in her throat and declares, “I love it.” She lifts herself up to drop a kiss to the curve of his neck, then another to his lips. “And I love you. Thank you for saving me from my lonely life. Amorenth might have chosen me, but… it’s not the same.”
O’rlen’s chest rumbles with laughter as his hand plays up and down her spine. “We are the Weyrlady and Weyrlord, are we not? It’s time Holders realized dragonriders can rival them in style and precedent. We’ll have Amorenth be your Maid of Honor and Roreliuth can be my Best Man.” He’s laughing after saying that but there’s truth behind his words as well. “We’ll instill fear into the heart of C’aol and the other stiff-legged conservatives that it means Amorenth’s flights do //not// dictate the leadership of Honshu.” He’s got seriousness in that delivery as well, though he’s careful to tread away from it for now. “I didn’t save you,” he tells her, drawing his arms about her to hug her to his chest. “We saved each other.” He kisses the top of her head. “And Honshu is thriving in our care. It’s undeniable you are a good Senior goldrider. My leadership? Pah… it pales in comparison to yours.” His tone is full of pride. “I’m the luckiest man on Pern.”
“You need to stop putting yourself down,” Aerishani insists, tipping her head up again to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “It’s okay to be proud of me, biased though you are, but it’s not okay to be at your expense.” Snuggling back down against him, she gives a soft sigh and lets her eyes drift closed. “If I’m going to be your wife, I’m pretty sure that’s something I can make you vow at our wedding. You are a good Weyrlord. You’re //my// Weyrlord.” She doesn’t manage to cling to consciousness for much longer, too content to fight the blend of warmth and security that tells her she’s safe, moving only to adjust blankets or curl closer to O’rlen over the next few hours. By the time evening falls, both the lingering memory of the flight and the need to be physically close to him that has never quite gone away has her letting him hold //her// down this time to do as he pleases with her, before spending the remaining hours doing nothing more taxing than lounging about in the warm currents of the bathing pool.