Fort Weyr - Dragon Infirmary
This huge cavern of smooth stone arches upwards to a rounded ceiling, high enough for even the largest of Golds to fit comfortably. Along the walls of the cavern are many carved out and worn smooth couches for injured dragons to rest on, most with a cot alongside for the dragon's rider to sleep.
Tables line the other walls, movable so they can be taken to the dragon instead of making the dragon come to it. Bolts of cloth, thread, needles and cabinet after cabinet of remedies and equipment take up the rest of the space. Two huge double doors lead out to the Center Bowl.


It was a simple enough thing. Practicing the flamethrower from dragonback, preparing for the Games. The blasted, thrice cursed flamethrower that Nyalle now loathes and fears. Flying with it, swooping at a target up at the Glacier Lake, something went wrong. A draft, a shift in the nozzle, Faranth only knows, but the flames blew back across Kayeth's neckridges, singing them /just/ enough to burn, causing Nyalle to drop the flamethrower in the lake and wink between back to the weyr, forcing her young queen to the infirmary. Kayeth reached out to two bronzes, her thoughts their usual beach-side warmth, but with a slightly singed, reddish tint to them. With feelings and images, rather than words, she shares what happened. It's faster, and she is distracted and hurting.

Velokraeth is within Fort Weyr on this particular day and not out at Ista Weyr for the Weyr Games. Which may or may not have the ugly, stunted and pale bronze a touch irked and grouchy. Alas, his rider is Weyrleader and a Weyrleader has his duties and Th'ero was required here today to attend to a few things. Play and fun will have to come another time. When Kayeth's thoughts reach to him and another bronze, it will be he who answers first and swiftly when he senses the wrongness to the queen's mind. A concerned inquiry is sent and the images are observed and understood. Velokraeth sends what comfort he can and the reassurance that his rider is on his way. Th'ero is, indeed, storming his way through the Weyr at that very moment as he hurries from the Wing Lounges and across the stone bridge and down to the centre bowl. Not quite a flat out run (he doesn't want to draw attention), but it's obvious enough from his expression that wherever he's going it's 'Not Good'.

Ignorant of dragon calls Hazelon is alreay in the dragon infirmary when the gold arrives. He has a broom in hand and is cleaning, though he is careful to keep the dust in check, rather then allowing it to billow out with less careful strokes. When the important! people arrive he stops brooming, steeping backwards and carefully out of the way.

Nyalle is fretting, pacing back and forth and wringing her hands as the Dragonhealers stand on chairs to tend to Kayeth's singed neckridges, bathing them in redwort and numbweed, and then bandaging them to keep them safe. "…shouldn't have been practicing…shouldn't have betweened…get me the measuring stick, will you? Did she lose any width? Any length? Any tissue gone? Is it healthy? Will we need to cut anything away?" All those swirling questions from the various Healers has Nyalle looking positively ill, despite the calm, controlled atmosphere. /She/ is not calm, or controlled, and it's not helping Kayeth either as the young queen grows more agitated with her rider's agitation. Shifting, Kayeth's tail flicks dangerously close to poor Hazelon, the queen's focus elsewhere.

There is no (easy) escape! If Hazelon isn't already trying to dodge Kayeth's tail, the poor young man will likely almost bump into Th'ero as the Weyrleader arrives not long afterwards. He'll try to place a hand to Hazelon's shoulder, if he doesn't move away to evade and the gesture is meant to be reassuring and steadying. Better for Th'ero to get nailed by an errant tail than an innocent, right? "Careful," he murmurs with a faint smile and begins to move on, only to see the state Nyalle's worked herself up into. "Mind seeing if there is a stool or an extra chair and bringing it here?" he asks of Hazelon, likely confusing him to be an aid or helper to the Dragonhealers at work. His mind isn't exactly entirely focused here and Th'ero steps forwards, his hands raised slightly in a calming gesture to Nyalle. "Weyrwoman? Nyalle. Try to calm down… what happened?" Even though he has an idea thanks to Velokraeth and Kayeth is visible proof, he figures he best hear it from the source.
Tale dodging isn't actually on the list of things Hazelon has learned to do in his life so far, but he manages it well enough until he has bumped into the weyrleader's hand. "Oh, sorry," the soft words roll from his lips as he steps to one side to get out of Th'ero's way. "Um, yes, sir," eyes look around to scan the room and perhaps find a chair. When one is located Hazeleon puts aside his broom (safely out of thrashing dragon way) to go and fetch it. It might take him a bit, as he is giving the gold a wide berth so as to avoid being stepped on.

Nyalle whirls around when Th'ero arrives, the young Senior looking mortified, guilty, ashamed, and scared. "Sir," she stammers, hands clasping tightly as she takes a deep breath and lets it out, looking at her fiery queen. "We were practicing. For the Games. The flamethrower event." Stupid, /stupid/ flamethrower. "It…the flames shifted, they singed her neckridges…" And she shudders. She'll never forget the feeling of pain across /her/ neck, as those flames touched that autumn-kissed hide. Looking around again, she spots Hazelon and the approaching chair, and gestures to him. Once the chair arrives, she'll sink into it with a grateful sigh, clutching at her skirts.

"Thank you," Th'ero murmurs to Hazelon and smiles faintly and crookedly again for the young man's apology. No need to worry there! No harm done. Watching as he hurries off, the Weyrleader's attention is drawn then to the mortified and guilty looking Weyrwoman. "Flamethrowing? Have you ever used one of those before?" he asks, but his tone is gentle and not accusatory. There's a grimace and a sympathetic look for the rest and he will try to reach out to gently take Nyalle's arms in his hands in a comforting manner and brief gesture. "That would explain why Velokraeth was speaking of burns then…" he murmurs and as Hazelon returns with the chair, he'll see that Nyalle is comfortable before turning to him again. Poor guy! Innocent bystander and now set to tasks and errands! "My thanks again, lad. One more request? A pitcher of water and some glasses, please…" he murmurs.

With the chair safely settled under the weyrwoman's tush, Hazelon was just about to fade back into his protective shadows when the weyrleader captures his attention with his soft words. "Yes, sir." Shifting around the gold dragon again, the black haired lad goes to a corner to fetch the glasses and water, hands shaking just slightly as he pours. It takes him some time to find a tray to carry two glasses back, but he does and upon divesting it of all materials that had been thereon, brings it back, careful to not spill the contents. "Ma'am," He offers it first to the shaken woman.

Nyalle frowns at Th'ero's question, bristling just a tad at it. "Of course I have! I'm just…I'm not very /good/ at it, is all, but I've been practicing, I took lessons from the Smiths…" She's just too afraid of it to use it properly. This isn't helping either. She watches Hazelon go and return, looking at the water with a small frown. Still, she takes it. "Thank you. What's your name?" Hi, I'm Nyalle, this is one of the worst moments of my life. Nice to meet you? At least she's calming down, as is Kayeth, the queen now settled but still watching her rider closely as the Healers continue to tend to her ridges.

Th'ero will cast a brief look to Hazelon when the young man moves off and then he has his hands full with placating and comforting the Weyrwoman. Kicking himself mentally for such a poor choice of words, he clears his throat. "I'm sorry, that was unkind of me to assume," he tells her, honest in that sense at least. "It was an accident, Nyalle." Th'ero adds, attempting again to gently rest his hand on her shoulder and very gently squeeze. Was water a bad idea? Stepping back as Hazelon returns, he will take the other glass from the tray. "Thank you." he murmurs before drifting silent to hear his answer to Nyalle's question. Nothing like a charged and tense moment to start some new introductions, right? Or all a clever plan? Who knows! But if Kayeth is calming down and Nyalle is distracted… Th'ero will roll with it.

Hazelon is caught quite off guard when the attention of the weyrwoman fixes on her. He freezes under the combined gazes, totally out of his element. "Um, Hazelon, ma'am. It's no worry, was just cleaning, nothing what cannot be picked up easily. Um," His gaze flicks backwards towards the gold dragon resting more or less quietly now. "If you don't mind me asking… is she alright?"

Nyalle likes her water hot. With tea in it. But she'll drink the plain water anyway. "It was my fault," she says, quietly but rather firmly taking the blame for this. She doesn't seem to react to Th'ero's touches. Not positively, but not negatively either, as she glances towards the door. Looking for someone, perhaps, as she stares at it for a long moment, and then looks back to Kayeth quickly as the queen takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, relaxing more as the Healers finally apply the main coating of numbweed. Nyalle relaxes too, her shoulder slumping as their shared pain eases. Looking back at Hazelon when he speaks, she stares for a moment and then flushes. "Weyrwoman Nyalle." Duh. "Well met. Thank you." Another look at her lifemate, pain and worry in her eyes. "I…do not know." Oh please, way to be dramatic. It's not /that/ bad.

Th'ero is just fumbling with his mistakes today, isn't he? The Weyrleader should know by now that Nyalle prefers tea, but his mind was thinking of the easiest and quickest thing to bring as refreshment. Hence, the water! Standing beside her and a little behind, he will clasp his hands in front of himself, his posture a bit stiff and proper. Which means he's feeling awkward and out of place. "Accidents happen, Weyrwoman. You didn't mean for this to happen and thankfully both you and Kayeth are alright." He does not catch her look to the door and sadly, no one comes walking through it — not yet, anyways. "Well met," he echoes to Hazelon. "Weyrleader Th'ero. Thank you again for your help." Glancing back to Nyalle, he quirks a brow but does not comment on her dramatic statement. "We've a good team of Dragonhealers to attend to her." he murmurs.

A faint, "Well met," Hazelon's words echo out after the two weyrleaders. Perhaps he doesn't notice Th'ero's unease, finding himself more than a bit discomfort himself at being near the two leaders in a moment of distress. One hand stays on the tray while the other reaches up to rub at his neck, glancing between the two of them. "Can I get either of you anything else?"

Nyalle turns her head to look up at her Weyrleader, and then back at her lifemate, who is beginning to drift off into a doze. "Thankfully, yes," she murmurs. "The next time you're in Ista would you be so kind as to scratch my name from the flamethrower competition?" Looking at Hazelon, the young Senior considers for a moment. "Tea. From the kitchens. They'll know how to make it. Please, if you don't mind?" She looks almost uncertain about asking, as if she's afraid she's asking too much of the young man.

"Are you certain you wish to forfeit?" Th'ero begins to say, only to grimace and instantly regret that choice of words. Taking a steadying breath, he will nod his head. "I'll be sure to find the lists and remove your name. But if you change your mind, just let me or anyone on their way to the Games, know?" Turning back to Hazelon, he'll offer the young man another small smile. A touch reserved, but not overly so to be considered unfriendly. "I'm fine, thank you. Be sure to grab something for yourself too, if needed." Since he's already done a bit of work, unquestioningly, for both of them. Seems only fair?

Hazelon will just stand patiently as the two leaders continue their conversation, making a good show of being a statue, other then that hand that rubs at his neck. When their attention turns back to him and the request is made, he'll smile faintly though, and take a step backwards. "I can do that ma'am," Th'ero gets a swift glance, and maybe a shy half-smile too, before Hazelon sets off out the door, pausing only long enough to set the tray down on a table near the door. His footsteps, quiet already as he steps, fade quickly.

Nyalle watches Hazelon go, eager at the prospect of having tea soon, as she sets the ill fated glass of water aside. "I am," she says to Th'ero's question, giving him a slightly odd look. Why /wouldn't/ she forfit? "Thank you," she says quietly. "I would also like to request the next two days off, to make certain Kayeth is recovered."

Th'ero will wait until Hazelon's footsteps have receded and then he murmurs in a quiet undertone that Nyalle is likely only to overhear. "Good lad, that one. Only… I thought he was one of the aides to the Dragonhealers…" Oops? Who did he recruit, then? He has a name, at least? He looks at her, confused for a moment for her odd look. Oh, right. The competitions! Shaking his head, he just sighs and chuckles, trying not to look too amused for her request. "You don't have to request it, Nyalle. Take all the time you need, if you need more than just two days."
It is quite a stretch of time before Hazelon returns. The tea is carried with the utmost care upon another tray, (perhaps he should have kept the first one), so that he doesn't cause it to wobble and spill the hot liquid upon himself. There has been enough burning today. He keeps his gaze upon the tray as he walks towards the weyrleaders again. "Sorry it took so long ma'am." And he offers forth the tray to Nyalle.

Nyalle shrugs, "I don't know who he is." Well. She knows his /name/, just not…anything else? And he's bringing her tea. Looking at Th'ero, the young Senior is a bit sheepish for a moment, clearing her throat before she gets to her feet and walks forward to gently rub Kayeth's muzzle. "Thank you." Spending that quiet time with her lifemate, she looks up only when Hazelon returns, eagerly reaching out for the tea like a woman reaching for a life raft. "Thank you so much, Hazelon, thank you. Is there anything I can do for you, in return?" TEA = FAVORS.

Th'ero will dip his head politely to Nyalle, watching as the Weyrwoman gets to her feet and then steps to spend a quiet moment with Kayeth. The Weyrleader will keep his distance, not wishing to intrude but his concern for both making him linger. It's only when Hazelon returns that he seems a little more reassured. Good! And he's got the tea. "You've been a good help," he adds and then glancing towards the entrance, he will nod to the young man and then execute a half-bow to Nyalle. So proper and formal! "If you'll both excuse me? I have something I must attend to. Well met again, Hazelon. And I hope Kayeth's recovery is swift and with minimal discomfort, Nyalle. Excuse me…" And then he's turning to stride briskly out of the infirmary, gone almost as swift as he arrived.

Ignorance is bliss, and Hazelon is more than ignorant of the conversation about him that has passed between the pair. With the tea taken Hazelon tucks the tray up under his arm for easier carrying. The exiting weyrleader gets a polite nod, dark hair brushing over his eyes as if he is looking for someway to hide in plain veiw. The nod turns into a headshake for the weyrwoman. "No ma'am. It was my pleasure to help. I probably ought to get back to work though…" he fades out, a slight frown or worry stretching upon his face, "unless you would rather I wait to finish sweeping for a space?" He'll hover there, uncertain, until she gives him leave to go back to his work, or say no, at which point he'll leave.

Nyalle dips her head as Th'ero leaves, her hands occupied and preventing her usual curtsey. "No, Hazelon, please. Go back to your work. And thank you again." And she'll turn back to Kayeth, who, despite sleeping, is still being lavished with attention from her worried, guilty rider.