Who: Jet, M’tan, Kyramith, Sirhyth
When: Month 8, 205 AT
Where: Court of Shadows, Honshu Territory
What: Jet and M’tan consider the eggs and matters of the Court.
Given a few days to get used to the idea, Kyramith has taken up residence on the Court’s Sands as if the eggs that make up the small clutch are hers, what instincts seem to lie dormant in green dragons and function intermittently in forgetful green firelizards drawn enough to the surface that now she refuses to leave for any reason but concern for Jet. She’s had to make no such decision to abandon the clutch this morning, for Jet has wandered down to join her, more grey than pale though she is as nausea maintains its hold on much of her waking hours. The Sands are not so hot that curling up on Kyramith’s forearms is outright uncomfortable, and it’s from this perch, leaning against her green’s shoulder, that Jet looks out over the clutch and mechanically attempts to make herself eat a handful of dry crackers.
Sirhyth has kept a constant perimeter around the Court, doing sweeps that M’tan might have done with him in another life. He’s been busy handling the questions of their people, their excitement and eagerness for the prospect of becoming a dragonrider growing more feverish as time passes. It takes the involvement of their Headwoman to silence further questions, her firmness with those she watches over clear enough that none will bother M’tan for some time. They’d never dare to even approach Jet with such questions. He comes into the Court’s Sands with a tired carriage of his person, his movements sure-footed as he navigates the hotter pockets of the sands to reach Kyramith and his wife. He presses a kiss to Jet’s forehead after noting her consumption of the dry crackers. “The Healers can offer nothing to help with nausea?” he asks gently.
Jet closes her eyes and tips her forehead to touch M’tan’s for a long moment before she looks up again and shakes her head a little. “They keep trying different teas. Some of them ease it for a while but smell so awful that drinking them is an effort in itself.” The twitch of her lips is not quite a smile, but the sentiment is there all the same. “I’ll be fine. It should settle soon enough.” So she hopes. “We’ll have these babies arriving before ours, anyway,” she goes on, casting her gaze to the eggs. “And we’re going to need someone to train them. Arlet is likely capable of helping out, but I’m not sure that she’s… comfortable enough in herself to take it all on. There’s only a short window during which I can go Between before Kyramith and I will be here more than anywhere else, so we could help here and there, but the rest…”
M’tan rubs his jaw, considering the eggs as he ponders the one part of the equation he has yet to solve. “I don’t think J’kson and Malynth will be able to train them. I doubt they got quality training themselves. I could do it… but that doesn’t leave them with much. The Weyrleader and Weyrwoman doesn’t outright train their weyrlings. I mean, I know the Weyrwoman will train her juniors… which never quite made sense to me,” he shrugs, “since it makes them seperate and special compared to the others. We don’t want that here.” He rests his hand on Jet’s shoulder and then moves closer so that he can tuck his arm about her shoulders. “I could solicit a dragonrider from another Weyr. By now I’m sure J’kson knows a few disgruntled riders. The question comes – do we want to bring in someone new to train them?”
“Malynth seems interested in the eggs. Even if J’kson isn’t able to train anyone, Malynth might be a comforting presence for the dragonets.” Kyramith lowers her head just enough to skim her nose along M’tan’s shoulders as her rider tucks herself in against her mate, but it’s the only demonstrative thing that she shares. “Can we trust someone new with young minds and new riders?” Jet thinks aloud. “If we took someone from Fort or Honshu, we’d be likely to set either Arlet or J’kson or both of them on edge. Ideally, if J’kson can locate an independent rider up to the task, it might be worth investigating. Someone who has already rejected Weyr life is not apt to report back to any of them.” She tilts her head a fraction to rest it against his. “If any greens hatch, we’re going to need males in the same clutch or more interested in living here… Malynth can’t chase, which leaves Akanyth… and Sirhyth…”
“Malynth is a rather sweet dragon, isn’t he? Reminds me of a young and eager Sister,” M’tan replies with a laugh as he tucks Jet against him and offers a smile up at Kyramith. “I don’t want to ask Arlet to do it,” he tells Jet, “though I think she could. She needs time to heal. I believe letting her handle the transfer and confront O’rlen was good for her.” He doesn’t linger on that thought long, moving forward with the implication of needing more males at the Court. “I’ll have a conversation with him. I haven’t seen anyone hanging around when I visit the taverns. No reports are given to me of a dragonrider living in the Southern hemisphere without a Weyr. Maybe there are some in the North. I can set out inquiries for it.” He gives Jet’s shoulder a squeeze. “Many greens have risen and never held Sirhyth’s interest. I am not concerned he will chase another. Nor do I want him to.”
“To be absolutely to the point, I think if any green and her rider tried to catch your and Sirhyth’s attention right now, I would probably contemplate gutting them, the way I’m feeling.” Jet touches her lips to her husband’s cheek and drops her head back down to his shoulder. “But, speaking of… When I feel slightly less horrendous, I need you to spar with me on a regular basis. Having this baby and Sihrajet so close together… It’s too much downtime. I’m going to get slow and you’re the only one I trust to be good enough to actually help and not get me hurt.” Slowly, Kyramith loops her tail around one of the eggs of middling size, encasing it in a protective ring of green without acknowledging having done so at all.
M’tan’s hand lifts to calmly draw his fingers through Jet’s hair as her head settles against his shoulder. He shifts his footing to better support them both. “You know I want to tell you no,” he tells her at her mention of sparring while pregnant. “If I do, you’ll gut //me// I’m sure. Yes, when you are not feeling so nauseous and ill, I will spar with you.” He kisses her forehead. He watches as Kyramith moves her tail about the egg. “How bold are we,” he wonders aloud, “to demand and receive eggs from a Weyr and claim them as our own. The Council will utterly shit themselves in a panic if they realize a ‘Weyrhold’ they do not formally recognize is growing in size. Arlet handled O’rlen perfectly,” he tells Jet, “you should’ve seen her. The man makes me want to slap him every time I see him and she let him know his worth without much effort. I am sure his Weyrlady is furious with hiim.”
“Thank you,” Jet murmurs, shifting only enough to gently bump her nose against M’tan’s jaw. “You never know. You might get your way after all. The Healers suggested that, if I continue to feel so ill, it could be an indication of there being more than one, and not only one just a little too soon.” There’s too much of a matter of fact slant to her words for her to be teasing, but she does manage the faintest smirk. “Even I might relent and resign myself to a more sedate pace, if that ends up being the case. It will still be utterly your fault, however.” For that, she hums a low, almost predatory, note against his throat and bares her teeth with a moment’s laughter. “…Maybe there’s something to be said for letting Arlet exorcise her demons. Perhaps we should let her loose on the others who have hurt her. Council included.” Weary eyes take on a somewhat savage glint as she suggests, “Maybe it’s time they saw her as a threat and not a victim. Like us.”
M’tan doesn’t know what to make of the possibility of twins and so he holds on a bit more tightly to Jet. “More than one?” his voice hitches a little at the end, causing him to clear his throat and continue on in a more normal fashion. “I hadn’t thought of that at all when I said I wanted a little girl.” He grins as her teeth find their way towards his throat. “One cannot help that you are beyond desirable, love. I will try and restrain myself more in the future.” He presses his lips against Jet’s forehead once more, taking in the idea of Arlet facing the Council. “No,” he says, firmly, “I made a mistake before. I think having her face those stodgy and hidebound lunatics would not be healing. They may not be as… respectful of her right to yell as O’rlen was.” He considers Jet’s gaze and the savageness there. “When you know she is at her best with steel, I will consider it. For now, I do not want to risk how dismissal and words can hurt as much as a blade in your back.”
“If you try and restrain yourself, //that// I will gut you for,” Jet declares, unrepentant in her supposed threat. “…I’ll be better about remembering to go Between more than once after flights,” she says, sobering a little. “Just the jump from High Reaches to here isn’t enough, it looks like. Not that I’d change anything now.” Her amendment brings her arms subconsciously around her middle. “I remember better when it’s… just us. There must be something more muddling about flights.” She touches her lips to M’tan’s cheek, keeping them there as she adds, “They are pretty amazing,” against his skin. Resting her head back against his shoulder, she wrinkles her nose in a reluctantly dismissive fashion. “…Arlet can do some decent work with a sword. She’s not good with daggers. Yet. I might try her with bigger knives.” She sighs. “As for the other kind of steel… Honshu’s leaders are something of an easy target, I suppose. I thought she and I were making some kind of progress, but she’s hardly said a word to me since the Court found out I was pregnant.” Lifting a hand to brush her fingers against Kyramith’s nose, she makes to step away from her green and draw her husband with her. “I’m going to try and nap. You can tuck me in, if you like?”
“I imagine she’s still hurting about how her own pregnancy was,” M’tan supposes, “and that you haven’t told her yourself? I don’t know. She still hates me,” he seems resigned to that fate. M’tan is easily led out of the Sands, his arm moving to loop around her waist as they walk. He finger-waves at those Court resident’s that they pass, giving a cheeky wink to some that make a clear effort to stay out of their mistresses way. He moves Jet within their quarters and takes her to bed, where he settles her down and removes her shoes. He takes the time to gently massage her feet and calves, quietly talking to her about future plans and this and that regarding their children, fire lizards, and canines. Once she’s asleep he watches her for some time, enjoying the sight of her curled amongst their blankets. When she wakes, she’ll find more of the crackers she was nibbling on and cold tea by the bedside with a note that says, “I love you.”