Fort Weyr - Th'ero and Velokraeth's Weyr
…The last entrance set at the end of the hallway leads into a bedroom of a slightly more modest size. Pushed against the far wall, the bed is low and large enough to comfortably fit two grown adults. It's piled with pillows and cushions near the dark wooden headboard and a thick blanket rests overtop, with more furs and spare blankets folded and resting on top of an old and worn chest at the foot of the bed. A dresser has been set to the right of the entrance and across from it a full length mirror rests. Like the living area, shelves have been carved into the stone, as well as more of the small recessed alcoves that hold more glow baskets. No decoration or tapestries hang here, leaving the bedroom rather sombre and neutral for color, save for the dark green vine like plant from a high shelf just below the low ceiling and has been trained to grow along it and then down either side of the wall.


Afternoon in Fort and it's a quiet day. A good day. The weather is clear even for autumn and the harvests are coming in. Preparation for the Weyr Games are underway. What possibly could spoil this? Th'ero's personal life even seems on a good uphill swing. Kyzen grows stronger and brighter every day, as do the twins who are now in their fifth month of life. He's got a loving and wonderful weyrmate. In fact, he's just finished having a wild, delightful little romp with said weyrmate since his afternoon had 'free time'. Free time, plus Kimmila being conveniently home? Well. They both knew where that was going. Not that Th'ero hides his intentions anymore. At least before the chaos hits the proverbial fan, he's able to enjoy a passionate moment with her and he's just beginning to enjoy the afterglow and her lingering presence when everything goes to hell in a hand basket. If Pern had a hell, that is. "… what the…?" Th'ero grunts mid nibble and kiss to Kimmila's shoulder and neck and suddenly he's stiffening, just as the watch dragon can be heard crying out and the reports come filtering in, along with the messages pouring in. 'Sr. Apprentice Harper wounded in forest attack. Eldest Stonehaven, Rayathess, wounded by arrows. Currently being treated. Holdless suspected as culprits. Camp known to be nearby sight of attack. Fort Weyr is called to alert…" And it goes on and on, with Velokraeth sending it through to Varmiroth.

Kimmila was happy to be home and happy to be had, and she doesn't even care that he no longer hides his intentions. Sure, sometimes coy and flirty is fun, but other times it's just a look and a 'do me' and things are off to a great start. She shifts against him, soft sounds of pleasure at his nibbling, until he stiffens. "What is it?" she asks, instantly on alert. Bye bye afterglow, as she forces herself to be patient. Varmiroth always gets things seconds if not minutes after the other dragons. "Rayathess? In…holdless…what?" she demands, sitting bolt upright in bed, the covers falling to her waist. An old fear has her eyes widening, turning to stare at her wingmate. "It can't be." Not Laris. No, she sternly tells herself. He's dead. She saw him die.

It would have been a great evening too, if things had progressed as they normally did. Instead of being blissfully relaxed while twined with Kimmila in the bed, he's sitting upright, tensed and alarmed and stunned, his eyes glancing sidelong as she reacts too. He meets her gaze and similar thoughts are already filtering through his head. "He's dead, Kimmila. I killed him. It can't be him. It's impossible. And his people are broken, scattered…" Or so he thought. Swearing, he slides from the bed and storms about the room, finding his clothes and pulling them on. "And what's the Stonehaven kid doing out in the middle of shardin' no where needlin' holdless camps?" he growls and something sparks at his temper. Once, twice and then it ignites and his anger surges. Anger for having his time with Kimmila disturbed, anger for the distressing news and so soon after news of Seryth's accident and now THIS? Holdless murding folk again on his territory? "I thought we took CARE of those lot! I thought we were DONE with this! Shards and shells and of all the stupidity…" And on and on. Th'ero is NOT HAPPY.

Kimmila bounces herself off the bed, grabbing her underwear and bra, wrestling both onto her body with a growl. "Yeah, well, apparently they're not," she snaps back at him with a swift frown. "Put your armor on," she snaps, stomping to his wardrobe and yanking open the doors. "Where is it? Didn't you say you put it back in here? I don't know /what/ Rayathess was doing out there, maybe he was trying to find some old friends." Harsh! "Should have just exiled all of them," she growls. /Her/ armor is where she put it, and she begins to swiftly pull it on, practiced fingers remembering easily where the buckles are and how tight to make them so she's comfortable. She didn't think she'd have to use this again…

"Why're you snapping at me like it's my fault?" Th'ero fires back, his accent thick and gruff in his already angry tone. "What?" he says, having already grabbed his tunic and was just about to slide it over his head. He'll watch as Kimmila gets hers and fumbles it on, all while ranting away. "Rayathess ain't one of 'em and exiling the children was NOT an option." he states flatly, only to eye her again and scowl. "Why d'you want me in my armour? Laris is dead!" So he doesn't need it! Stupid man. "And it's in the chest by the bed, where I keep my old Guard uniform."

Kimmila just scowls at him, stomping to his chest and opening it, finding his armor. "Wear it," she says firmly, her eyes daring him to argue with her. "Wasn't talking about exiling the children! Just…everyone else…who would shoot a Harper?" she demands, thrusting his armor at him and even taking a step closer if he doesn't take it right away.

Th'ero isn't in the mood for games or for arguing, but he'll do it anyways because he's ANGRY and when he's angry, he acts like a child. A stubborn child, at that! "Plenty of people would shoot a Harper," he mutters darkly and then glares at her when she insists on thrusting the armour at him. He snatches it from her hands, but doesn't immediately begin to put it on. "Is it really necessary? It's not like they're storming our gates! And we don't even have the full details yet! Holdless don't kill without good reason." Or they're just stark raving mad. Th'ero's in a mood now and one that increasingly grows more frustrated when Velokraeth begins to ask if he's done yet and if he could get out here? Still holding the armour, shirtless, he'll stare long and hard at Kimmila. "You're serious about this?" He's still not sold on WHY she insists.

Kimmila lets the armor go when he takes it, turning to pull on her clothes, adding her knives and grabbing her bow. Hair in a braid where it won't bother her, she jerks her head back at him. "/YES/ it's necessary!" she shouts. "Once we leave this room Faranth only knows what'll happen. We're going on sweeps to look for them, and if we find them, we can't just say 'hang on a second I have to hop between back home to put my armor on'." DUH, Th'ero!

DUH is right! Th'ero glares at Kimmila, not angry at her but angry at himself for not cluing in. He can sense that she's afraid and worried and he's not so thickheaded as to be clueless as to why. He knows full well why she's upset. "I'll put it on," he growls and does just that, managing to slip it into place and buckle it firmly without too much fumbling, trying not to fidget at the feel of the simple pieces of leather. It's not true armor, no where near the sense of the word. Just a visible reassurance, a hope and comfort. Then he'll slip on his tunic, and then a heavy leather vest for good measure. Does that make her feel better? "WE may not go anywhere, Wingmate. WE have a Weyr to organize." Which really means HE has to do it. Of course Kimmila will volunteer to be out with Thunderbird's first sweeps, wouldn't she? And that seems to rile Th'ero's temper further, but now it's fed by HIS fears. Even though he's scowling at her, he steps forwards and sweeps her into a tight and fierce embrace. ANGRY (but not) hug! He has to prepare himself to be ready to act as Fort's Weyrleader during a crisis again and yet he's hanging on the cusp, his concern for her and his love for her making him teeter on that balance. "Kimm…" he whispers against her hair. Not again. Not all this again. He can't go through another Laris.

Kimmila watches him put his armor on, /and/ the vest, with a firm nod. Yes. Good weyrmate. Kimmila will go where HE most needs her, if he's intelligent enough to ask for it. She meets his embrace, returning the angry (but not) hold tightly and fiercely. "We'll be fine," she says firmly, face against his tunic, comforted by the feel of his armor beneath. "It's not him, we'll be fine."

"What if it's another like him," Th'ero growls, his voice thick for many reasons other than his accent. "Another copycat or… or worse than him. I don't want Turns of this again, Wingmate. Of all the fear and the unknown and the tensions and grief and loss…" He's getting old. Not THAT old, but he's up there and not getting any younger. There's no use to drowning and brooding in fear though and eventually he'll rein in his temper and frustrations enough to think logically. For now. "I'm going to go see Nyalle and see what she wants to do in response to this. While I'm with her, I want you to go and organize the Wingleaders with D'ani. Get a unified plan going between all Wings. Plans, even… Time is against us, again, in this matter. Sooner we can start grid sweeping, the more likely we're to find the bastards…"

Kimmila shakes her head, looking up at him. “We don’t know anything yet,” she whispers. “And if it is, this time it’ll be different. We /know/ better this time.” No more mistakes. When he starts giving his orders she nods, pride rising in her to see him take charge - again. “Okay.” Yes, sir. “We’ll meet in the Council Chambers, come when you’re done with Nyalle.”

Th’ero takes comfort and reassurance from her words. She’s right. They DO know how to handle this. For all the grief and trouble Laris brought them, they did gain experience and knowledge from it. Learned from their mistakes. “It’ll be different.” he says firmly, believing in that and he’ll use that to power through this. Never again will Fort suffer through a crisis like that. Not while HE is Weyrleader! “We’ll meet there.” he agrees and before they step away from each other, he will lower his head to kiss her and for a moment reverts back to himself. “Why do these things keep happening right as we’re enjoying each other?” he sighs with a smirk. It was such a lovely afternoon! Stupid holdless. “Be well, love.” he adds swiftly and then steps away to clip his dagger to his side and after a moment of pause… goes to get his sword.
Kimmila leans into his kiss, and then she snickers. It’s soft, but it’s there. “Because we’re /always/ enjoying each other,” she teases. Watching when he grabs his sword, she nods and then she’s heading out, down to the council chamber while Varmiroth requests the presence of the weyr’s leadership so they can begin to plan.

Th’ero chuckles as well to her reply and once his sword is secure at his hip, he will follow Kimmila out onto the ledge and down the stairs. While she’ll go to the council chambers, he will go to the office to meet with Nyalle, provided the Weyrwoman is within. A private talk with her, since this will be her biggest test of all.