Do I Have Your Support?

Zhirazoth and Mr'az skulked back to Fort Weyr the moment they were cleared by Mirinda and the Dragonhealer's brought to the sight of the forest fire. The bronze can Between, but his flight is uncertain with his wing still smarting. So it's to the dragon Infirmary for him, where Mr'az now tends to his life mate's minor wounds. "Serves you right," he mutters under his breath while Zhirazoth grumbles and snorts. "Yeah, well? Sometimes there's a better, less risky way to things! We'd done the job…" He continues to mutter, a jar of numbweed in one hand and a heavy frown on his features. He's already dreading the strip that'll be torn out of him once Abigail returns and he's so focused on THAT that he forgets there is someone else who may be displeased.

Nyalle is more worried than displeased, and she makes her way to the dragon infirmary as swiftly as she is able to, after making sure things are running smoothly in the bowl. Kayeth is up on the rim, directing things and passing along messages, but she spared a mental *prod* for the bronze, a fond « Idiot » for him as Nyalle approaches slowly. "Mr'az?" she asks, looking worriedly at Zhirazoth. "Is he okay?"

« We saved the forests. » Comes Zhirazoth's smug and pleased reply. What are a few battle scars? Not that he'll scar in the slightest bit. He's only singed and lightly burned on his underside but nothing that won't heal within a day or two. "Nyalle!" Mr'az exclaims and is startled out of his half-coherent mutterings. He gives her a lingering look and then up to Zhirazoth's exposed underside. "Yeah, for all his brashness he'll be fine. Nothing a bit of numbweed can't fix."

Nyalle exhales in relief as she comes closer, reaching out hesitantly to touch Mr'az's back. "I'm so glad. Kayeth is so busy, she couldn't give me details beyond that he was hurt…" She looks at the bronze again, brows furrowing. "He was brash?" Not that she's the least bit /surprised/ by this… "What did he do?"

Zhirazoth exhales heavily and groans as he stretches out more comfortably with the last of the numbweed finally seeping in and dulling the sting of his burns. Some of the tension eases in Mr'az too and Nyalle will feel it as she places her hand to his back. "Did I hear right too that Kouzevelth has gone to the Sands?" he asks, memory prompted by mention of Kayeth. He shakes his head, grimacing as he wipes his hands clean and closes the jar of numbweed. "What do you think? He plunged right into the thick of things before I could gather enough of the situation and of course he was assured nothing ill would happen. Only that it HAD to be done and we had to do it THEN."

Nyalle steps a little closer to Mr'az's side, with a quick glance around the Infirmary. "Yes, she did. Fourteen eggs, too," she says proudly. "Not bad, for the sire's first gold flight." There's a sigh then, and a look to the bronze. "Well I'm just glad you're both okay…"

Mr'az whistles low, "Fourteen is a good number." he admits and smiles a little for the pride Nyalle shows. "No. Not bad at all, considering." he agrees and reaches out to give Zhirazoth a fond pat and caress to his uninjured hide. Already the bronze is dozing, exhausted from the day's events. "We'll be fine. He'll be fine. I'm likely to have my hide tanned by Abigail later. Niumdreoth was injured too…" Again.

Nyalle nods. "It's a very good number. I'm pleased with it." Looking around again, she gently slides her arm around his waist, seeking to give and receive a hug. "Was he? Goodness…not because of Zhirazoth's actions I hope?"

"Now we'll just have to see what Hatches from those eggs, hmm? Maybe a good chromatic spread," Mr'az murmurs casually, a cover for his otherwise still tense and troubled thoughts. Her arm sliding around him startles him and he looks down at her, his expression softening. "Nyalle…" he breathes, whisper soft as his arm slips around her in return and he hugs her to him. "… Yes." Why bother hiding the truth?

Nyalle leans against him, her body tensing at his words. "Oh, Mr'az…" she whispers with a sigh. She won't interfere. Nope. That's Abigail's job, and Th'ero's. Not hers.

Mr'az's expression falls when Nyalle tenses on him and he looks grim, "I know." he whispers gruffly in return and for a moment frustration flares in his eyes and anger but it's brief. He cannot bring himself to hate Zhirazoth or even truly be angry with him. The bronze is who he is and is bound so deeply with Mr'az and truthfully may be what the bronzerider is too afraid of showing. It will be Turns yet before the pair balance each other out. For now, they remain the opposites of two ends, a ying and yang still twisting towards a mutual centre. "He didn't mean to, Nyalle. He never does. He just has so much heart to him and good will and intentions but his pride is blinding…"

Nyalle nods. "I know, I know…" she says, looking up at her boyfriend, pained. "But you know I won't interfere, right?"

Mr'az sighs heavily, "No but…" Does he have her support at least? "Can we go to your weyr? If you do not mind my company? I cannot get to my ledge with Zhirazoth resting…" And he's not about to call on another dragon unless he absolutely has to.

Nyalle tilts her head with a small frown. "But?" He wouldn't ask her to go against Abigail or Th'ero, would he? Then she nods. "Of course we can, Mr'az. Now? Is he settled?"

Mr'az just shakes his head and glances about the Infirmary. He doesn't want to discuss it out in the open. "Zhirazoth just fell asleep. See?" And he motions with a gentle tilt of his head to where the bronze has stretched out, his side rising and falling in a steady rhythm of sleep. "Now. I know it won't be long before I will have to answer to Abigail… and possibly Th'ero too."

Nyalle nods. "Okay." With another look around, she removes her arms from around his body but reaches for his hand as she leads him up the steps and into her weyr. "Wine?" she offers, moving to the cabinet to remove a skin.

Mr'az takes her hand and grips it firmly as he's lead up the stairs to her ledge and weyr. He does not hesitate in following her inside and while she moves to the cabinet, he will close the door and ensure their privacy. "Please. Thank you," he murmurs as he shuffles over to the couch and flops down. She might have to prompt him again on what he didn't discuss with her.

Nyalle pours him some wine, but only takes water for himself. Returning to the couch, she hands him both glasses before she sits beside him, tucking her legs up beneath her, smoothing her skirts, and then she reaches for the glass of water. She is quiet for a long moment, brows furrowed. "But?"

Mr'az takes both glasses in hand and waits until she has settled before offering hers back. He's just enjoying the first sip of his wine when she prompts him and he sighs, lowering the glass to his lap. "But I hope to have your support? Even if you cannot interfere or speak out against Abigail and Th'ero." For so many obvious reasons.

Nyalle frowns slightly. "My support in what? I can't condone what Zhirazoth did…"

Apparently that is what he was looking for support in and Mr'az is visibly crestfallen by her answer. Yet is he really that surprised? No. "I'm not asking you to condone what Zhirazoth did. Just… to support me. That what I did wasn't purposely done, no matter what Abigail and Th'ero may think. I'm not going to cower from whatever punishment they see fit to give me but…" It'd still be nice to know Nyalle understands.

Nyalle winces when he's crestfallen. Faranth, she's so awful at this. "Of course I support you," she's quick to say. "I know it wasn't done on purpose, it was an accident. Zhirazoth was just trying to help." In his own, over zealous way.

Mr’az looks a little more relieved when Nyalle is quick to assure him that he hasn’t lost her support. “I know he’s not perfect,” Don’t let the bronze EVER hear that! “But I try hard to keep him in line. It just seems that no matter what, Zhirazoth causes as much bad as he does good. I worry that I will reach the limit someday with Abigail.” He doesn’t mention Th’ero but it’s there, left unsaid and shown in the worry flickering in his eyes as he gazes across at her before sipping at his wine.

Nyalle sips at her water and nods. “He is a challenging bronze. Always has been, but you handle him well.” When he’s able to handle him. “I don’t think he will. I mean…you and he are good THunderbird riders. No one is perfect. Look at how often Abigail gets injured. It’s a hard wing.”

“You think so?” Mr’az seems surprised by her compliment. He knows full well that his hold on Zhirazoth is often tentative at best. His brows furrow together and he considers her words in a moment of silence. “Maybe you’re right but that still doesn’t excuse Zhirazoth’s behavior. Niumdreoth and Abigail were hurt because of him, no matter how indirectly I may try to put it. It IS a hard Wing to be in but we’re supposed to be…” Well trained? Level headed? “… not full of bravado.”

Nyalle nods. “I do,” she says, offering him a small smile. “Well no it doesn’t, but perhaps this will be a start for him to learn how reckless he can be, and how he needs to stop because it can hurt himself and others.” She pauses. “Maybe she or Th’ero will give you training to do that will help…”

Mr’az returns her smile and reaches over to gently rest his hand against her thigh. “Maybe?” he says with a hint of hopefulness and then sighs again, mouth set and grim. “We’ll see, won’t we? I’ve tried so many ways to explain it to him and he seems to grasp it but cannot help himself in the moment.” he mutters and then snorts. “Or just a good dressing down?” Yeah, he’s so not holding his breath.

Nyalle covers his hand with hers and gives it a gentle squeeze. “We’ll see,” she says quietly. “He is so…passionate about things. It’s hard because I don’t want him to lose that. Just to control it.” She winces. “Or that, perhaps.” Probably.
Mr’az squeezes her hand back in return and lifts his glass of wine to his lips again to finish the last of it. “I don’t want him to change either, Nyalle but there has to be a limit and… some control. Or else…” he falters a moment, glancing to her hastily before looking away. Hating himself a little for bringing it up but it’s already hanging there unsaid. “Or else there will be that one time where he is seriously hurt or we… we don’t come back.”

Nyalle nods, and then she sighs, shifting to lean against his side, her head resting on his shoulder. “You have to come back,” she says quietly. “We’ll fix it, we’ll figure this out. Some way to make him stop and think and listen before doing things…”

Mr’az slips his arm around her shoulders as she leans against his side, holding her close and resting his cheek against her hair. “I’ll always come back, Nyalle.” he promises though part of him knows full well that just one mistake, the dreaded fatal one and he’ll break it. He knows better though to air that fear. “And until then I will just have to weather Abigail and Th’ero’s disapproval then…” he mutters but when he smirks, there’s almost a hint of humor there.

Nyalle closes her eyes, resting against him with a soft exhale of breath. She knows he can’t truly make that promise. She knows that one slip between, one mis-judged jump, one moment of recklessness…and he could be lost to her forever. She presses closer, snuggling against his side. “You will,” she says quietly.

Mr’az shifts on the couch, leaning in a way so that he can draw her up against him comfortably and his hand idly but gently caresses her side where it rests. “I know I will. It helps knowing I have your support… even though I know that you cannot stand in my defense.” he murmurs softly.

Nyalle nods. “I can’t…” It’s just one of many, many difficult things about her position. “I’m so glad you understand, Mr’az. it’s…I know it’s not easy to be with me.”

“Hey,” Mr’az whispers softly and gently sits up as his arm slides from around her shoulders to rest at her side instead as he turns to face her. “You’re worth it, Nyalle. Alright? I know that as Weyrwoman, it’ll mean we both face some difficult decisions sometimes but I know that you have to treat me like any other Wingrider.” he murmurs and again, there’s a ghost of a smile curving his lips. “At least… in public.”

Nyalle sits up as well, leaning forward to set her water glass on the low table in front of the couch. A light brush touches pale cheeks. “In public,” she agrees with a gentle smile and a nod. She glances away again. “You’re too good for me, Mr’az,” she says quietly.

Mr’az’s fingers gently brush along her back as she leans forwards to set her glass on the table. His head tilts a bit and he catches just a fleeting look of that light blush. Enough that he smiles softly. “Am I? I only try my best to keep you happy…” Now he’s sounding like Zhirazoth. “… because I care for you.”

Nyalle nods slightly, brushing hair away from her face. “I know. And I still don’t understand why. I can’t…I feel like I can’t hardly offer you anything. I can’t stand up for you to Th’ero, I hardly have time to spend with you… I feel like you do far more for me than I do for you.”

Mr’az shakes his head and his smile does not falter as he reaches to gently press his hand to where her heart would lay (or close enough to it). “Becuase you don’t have to offer me anything. So long as I know how you truly feel, behind the Weyrwoman’s knot, that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t want you to stand up to Th’ero for me. We both know that’d cause dissent and… there’s been enough of that of late.” Stupid Jajen. “As for time… at least we have some?” Better than none, in his books.

Nyalle lifts her hand to cover his, looking down and then up again. “That’s why you’re too good for me,” she says quietly. Scooting forward, she meets his gaze and then she leans in to offer him a gentle, sweet kiss. “I love you, Mr’az.”

Mr’az takes her hand in his and holds it firmly. “Why am I…?” he begins to protest with a faint chuckle to his voice but she’s scooting forwards then and he returns her gaze before kissing her back, gentle and sweet. “I love you too, Nyalle.”

Nyalle blushes lightly, leaning back to smile at him. “Stay with me?” she asks softly, rising to her feet and giving his hand a gentle tug. It’s obvious what she means by that. “At least until you’re needed? It shouldn’t be right away…” She is thinking they have a little time at least, to enjoy each other’s company.

Mr’az would be an idiot not to know what she means by tugging at his hand and he looks up at her, smiling back (and a little hopeful!) as he stands. His empty wine glass is set aside and then he’s smoothing out his tunic. “I would love to stay with you if you’ll have my company,” he replies formally and yet so casually as he reaches out to loop his arm around her again. “No. Not right away. We have a little time.” he murmurs.


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