Runnersweat (closed)

[Restrenon]

The smell of hay and runnersweat was thick in the air, the usual aroma of the summer afternoon, just when the sun had landed in the center of the sky and Restrenon had fled into the stables for the indoor portion of his chores. The Lord's personal runner was gone, as were a number of the others, as he was away on some sort of business. Restrenon had asked why and gotten the usual bat on the ear and 'is that your business?' to which he had replied 'no' and had been told 'why don't you get back to your business then?'. Then the well-meaning boot aimed at the butt and away he went.

With so few runnerbeasts in the stable, Restrenon had the opportunity to take some extra time with his favorites. The sweet red roan female got all the scratches on her chest that she wanted. A fat, short thing, she mostly ponied the Lord's youngest children around. A few times he had secretly taken her out himself. He would have had a sore back if anyone found out, but Restrenon was clever enough to hide his occasional indiscretions, and his indiscretions were rare enough that nobody at the Hold ever had cause to suspect them.

He rested his chin on the runner's fat shoulder and breathed in.

[Rom]

"Go fast," Rom had been instructed. "The Lord's away. They won't be expecting you. Pick up whoever you can."

The Weyrleader's command bounced off the walls of the Seeker's head as his dragon soared through the air, a blue and white streak darting through clouds. This was one of the best parts of being a dragonrider, he thought. In times before the bleaching, long travel like this would have taken place between, but crouching over Imith's immense shoulders with the warm summertime wind blasting past -- Rom couldn't think of anything nicer.

"I can't fly any faster," Imith said goodnaturedly. Rom was torn between wanting to rush as commanded and wanting to relax and enjoy the travel, and he chuckled somewhat at her intonation. "But we're almost there. Look."

With his own eyes, Rom couldn't quite make out the finer details of the Hold ahead of them, but Imith could. She provided him with a good view of the great walls and remaining towers of Baron Hold, the smoke rising out of the houses within, the ant-sized people walking about. Rom leaned to the side, looking over Imith's shoulder.

"We ought to land near the stables," he reckoned, fiddling with the various straps and buckles in his saddle to prepare for landing. "Someone's bound to be near there, and there's enough room for you to walk if there isn't. Think you can land on the wall?"

Imith chimed gleefully in Rom's head. "Of course I can."

In short order, Imith descended from the clouds, enormous wings outstretched to slow her fall. She brought herself almost vertical as she landed, rear feet contacting the stone wall before her forefeet, the bricks straining under the impact. The thud was unmistakable. A Seeker had landed in Baron Hold.

"Oh. Lucky landing." Imith buzzed with excitement, like she always did when-- "In the runnerbeast stable."

With Imith's help, Rom dropped to the dirt, making long strides through the livery. He'd shown up unexpectedly, and hopefully a few young stablehands would be caught unawares. It'd make his job easier. In the stables, he could hear runnerbeasts squealing and whinnying, no doubt alarmed by the great sound of Imith's landing. And sure enough, as Rom rounded the corner, he laid eyes on a surely very surprised teenage boy.

The boy was ropey and fit, but still freckled -- well, Rom was still freckled, that was just luck -- probably about 16, the same age he was when he was taken to the Weyr. Rom widened his stance, blocking the doorway with his long legs and looking about as imposing as he could. If there was only one boy in the stable, this was definitely the one Imith was talking about.

"You." Rom's voice dropped to the most commanding register it could, managing a little bit of a growl. "You're coming with me."

[Restrenon]

The runners began screaming and rioting in unison. Restrenon barely had time to back out of the stall to avoid the flinging hooves of what had been his good friend only seconds earlier. Baffled, he looked down the rows at the terrified animals, and it was only by virtue of youth and inexperience that it took him more than a second to realize what such an uproar meant.

Dragons.

The gutpunch that hit him was a funny one, halfway between the terror that had been bred into the boy and a halfway to a sudden, painful need to see dragons. Dragons! In the flesh! He imagined their unimaginable size, all the visions his brain had cobbled together of claw and wing and whirling eyes, and insatiable curiosity took over. His duties (shut the doors, report the panicked runners, help herd possible candidates to their places of hiding) abandoned him as if he had never been taught them.

Restrenon ran for the doorway, only to nearly bounce off of the man standing inside it. An impetuous anger drained from the boy as he stopped to stare at the stranger. A stranger in the Hold was a strange thing in and of itself, and this man was alien in more ways than one. He was only insignificantly taller than Restrenon, who was tall for his age anyway, but he was more muscular, older, and dressed all in rough wherhide. If Restrenon had been less ignorant, he would have recognized it as the garb of a dragonrider. But even for an ignorant runner-tender like Restrenon, it wasn't difficult to put two and two together.

"You," said the dragonrider. "You're coming with me."

For a moment all Restrenon could do was stare. He managed one word.

"What?" he said.

Outside, he could hear fresh screaming, the screaming of his people. Then real anxiety built up inside him. His brothers--his sisters. Not understanding what the dragonrider was saying, but knowing the threat he represented, Restrenon shoved him hard in the chest.

"Get out of my way," he snapped.

[Rom]

It seemed to take the boy a moment to process the command. Rom was about to repeat himself when he found that the prospective candidate did not, in fact, process the command. The wind rushed out of Rom in a grunt as the boy's forearm collided with his chest, and his brows furrowed -- as well as some lines wrinkling in his nose, which took the edge off of his expression.

Still, one gloved hand reached up and snatched the stablehand's arm, long-fingered grip remarkably firm. He had to grip a saddle for a living, after all.

"I said, you're coming with me." Rom's other hand reached for the tender's collar now, trying to get him under control before things got too nasty, or someone came to his defense. He could tell this one was going to be a fighter, so he tried a bit of damage control. "Save your energy for the trip, unless you want to make it in my dragon's claws."

[Restrenon]

The dragonrider grunted but was otherwise unmoved, probably the first sign that Restrenon was out of his depth. Not that knowing so would have stopped him. The dragonrider grabbed his arm with strength surprising even for his appearance, his fingers digging in like he had dragon claws of his own. Restrenon tried to wrench away without success.

When the man reached for his collar, Restrenon reacted automatically, his body following the routine fisticuffs of the boys of the Hold, and he threw his free fist up and directly into the dragonrider's nose.

[Rom]

For a second, Rom was blinded, a hand flying into his face and connecting with his nose. Tears clouded his vision as his sinuses reeled, and dark blood immediately began gushing down his face and over his mouth. He reeled back but didn't release his grip on the boy's wrist, shook his head like a dog stung by a bee, and glared at the little brat with a look that could kill.

Fine. If the idiot farm boy was going to be like that, Rom could be like that.

He wasn't heavy, but he still had the advantage over a gangly teenager, so Rom threw his weight towards the stablehand with a snarl. His first goal was to grab him -- wrap his arms around the boy's and squeeze them down tight. He wanted this over quickly, without much care for either of their dignities. If he could just restrain him and drag him out of the barn, Imith could take care of the rest.

"You must be pretty fucking stupid to pick a fight with a dragonrider, boy," he hissed.

[Restrenon]

The dragonrider didn't realize him, even as his head shot back and blood ran down his nose, actually splattering on Restrenon's shirtfront. It took the man only a moment to recover from the blow, and then looked down at him totally unshaken. His face reminded Restrenon of the stablemaster dealing with a particularly obstinate nag. He could almost hear the smack of a belt on flesh.

The man tried to grab him once more, and again they grappled. Restrenon had ceased to have thoughts at this point. His only reaction was struggle, and anger. He felt the dragonrider's arms locking his own down by his sides, and none of his holderboy strength could raise them. He had one last move and he went for it - slamming his whole body forward into the dragonrider, tipping them both off balance, backwards, through the doorway and into the suddenness of full sun, to crash onto the ground outside of the stable.

[Rom]

Aha, he had him. Rom's grip was tight around the stablehand, and he could feel him struggling but unable to escape. All he had to do now was drag him out front. He couldn't form a coherent sentence, but he communicated to Imith that he'd be on his way back in a moment, until the sensation of falling suddenly clouded his brain. Rom yelped as he tumbled to the ground, still gripping the stablehand against his chest, and wheezed when all of the air was forced out of him from the impact plus the weight of another person pressing down on top of him. "Imith--"

In the full daylight and open sky, Imith became completely visible. She was small for a Blue dragon, but it's not like it mattered much. She was still enormous and shimmering, sapphire blue with great white patches that reflected the light like a pearl. Her giant eyes, glaring down on the tussling humans, shifted from yellow to orange as she watched them, and a rumble started in her that couldn't be heard as much as it was felt. Rom was breathless, but in his mind, he thanked her. Surely a sight like that could intimidate a simple farm boy.

Groaning, Rom tried to roll himself on top of the little shit, pin him into the dirt and make him stare at his dragon until he got the picture. "Are you... done yet?" He was wheezing, clearly the worse for wear out of the two of them but not even remotely discouraged. What did he have to worry about with a giant dragon, his dragon, looming overhead? "You can come with me willingly... and sit in the saddle. Or she can carry you to Tazum Weyr in her claws. Make your choice."

[Restrenon]

The rumble got to him before anything. Restrenon couldn't tell if the rumbling came from the air, or if it was in his ears, or his chest, or his mind. He had never heard, or felt, anything so deep or so baffling to his senses. It was surprise more than strength (although strength definitely finalized the victory) that got Restrenon rolled over onto his back, the dragonrider pinning him down into the dirt. With the sweat on his forehead, the blood running down his chin, and that expression on his face, the man was a terrifying sight.

But Restrenon barely saw him. He was looking beyond, his mouth hanging open, at the enormous cascade of color perched upon the wall. The dragon was immense. And Blue--well almost blue, mottled throughout with that fearfully-whispered-of white. Its eyes were radiant, fireball orange. Staring down at him above immense jaws, above immense claws. Its wings arced over its head. All of Restrenon's reactive anger dissipated.

"That's a dragon," he marveled stupidly.

As he marveled, one of the doors of the Hold flew open. The man who emerged was not his father, or his mother, but the stablemaster. He marched out with the rigid shoulders that usually meant a walloping.

Seemingly unafraid of rider nor dragon, Gamil seized Restrenon by the shoulder and hauled him up.

"No Search has been announced formally to the Hold," barked Gamil. He was old, old enough to remember the times before the death of the Weyrs. He unleashed on the dragonrider on the ground. "Not in the presence of the Lord! No notice given! Is this how you Seek prey for your hatchlings now, dragonrider? In secrecy, in ambush, dragging boys from their homes? Has your Weyr lord no shame? No honor?" He spat openly in the dirt, and then he looked up at the dragon lividly, without any of Restrenon's appreciation. "Riding great spotted monstrosities--we used to await the Searchdragons with excitement, provide them meals, and send them our best, and with honor, and with gladness!" There was grief mingled with his rage. He looked at the bloody and now dusty dragonrider with disgust.

It was only then that Restrenon fully caught on to his circumstances--the Weyr. The Search. He realized in one bewildering moment that his life had changed. Oddly he thought only of that fat red runner, the itchy spot along her crest, and before he thought of his family, his friends, his bed, he realized that he was never going to scratch that itchy spot again.

He looked at the dragon this time in dawning horror. Gamil was bent nearly half his height with age, but suddenly Restrenon wanted to hide behind him, like a child.

'You can come with me willingly... and sit in the saddle. Or she can carry you to Tazum Weyr in her claws.'

[Rom]

As the stablehand gawked, Imith stepped down from the wall to approach. Her blazing eyes didn't leave him as she took heavy yet precise steps closer, over fences and between hay bales. "You're hurt--"

"I'm fine," Rom thought to her as she stopped just overhead. The farm boy spoke in awe, and Rom's expression shifted slightly into amusement. He would have been too young to have been taken on the last Search, and must never have seen a dragon before. He could feel Imith beaming. For just this moment, she savored being marveled at like a Queen. "We got him, that's what matters."

Suddenly, a door swung open and slammed against its frame, and Rom drew tight as a bowstring as his head jerked to the source. An old man was driving towards them furiously, and Rom planted the toe of his boot into the ground, ready to stand and fight some more. As tiresome as it would be. He stared at the stablemaster like he was an inconvenience, a nuisance, and let the boy be dragged out from under him. Rom took the opportunity to wipe the blood off his mouth with his sleeve while the old man accosted him.

"If we announced a Search, you would hide your Candidates. Unfortunately, this is the only way we can get anything done," he said, exasperated, and stood. Imith lowered her giant head, refined and equine, yet with the enormous front-facing eyes of a hunter. Rom folded his arms and continued, "The Weyrleader's honor has nothing to do with it. You brought this on yourselves. I'm just doing what I'm told."

He wasn't totally unaffected, though. Rom had been born after the heyday of the Weyr, and had never known a time where the Dragonriders were treated with anything more than disdain at best and outright hatred at worst. He knew that things had been different before, of course, but to hear it barked at him, to be cast as the villain of that sad tale? Inside, Rom felt hot with shame and something like grief, but his face never betrayed it other than for a twitch of his mouth. That feeling dissipated as the stablemaster leveled an insult at Imith, and his expression hardened. The eyes of the dragon above him turned a bloody red for a moment, and a more insistent rumble boomed through her like thunder.

"Watch your tongue," Rom threatened. "Who knows what an angry monstrosity might do?" His voice was thick with venom as he repeated the word to the stablemaster. He'd heard that word and all its brethren his whole life. It was his now. With blood still seeping from his nose, Rom turned his attention again to the boy standing dumbstruck at the stablemaster's side, and stepped in to grab his shoulder.

"There's still honor in the Weyr." This part sounded rehearsed and emotionless, like he'd said it countless times. He was looking at the stablemaster as he said it, though it was technically directed at the farm boy. "You have been chosen by Blue Imith to attend the next Hatching as a Candidate. We are leaving at once. You will be supplied with necessities when we arrive at Tazum Weyr."

Now he looked at the stablehand directly and saw the fear of a child. Rom felt his stomach sink, but showed nothing. With the hand not gripping the boy's shoulder, he jabbed his thumb back at Imith.

"Come quietly or ride in her claws. Your choice."