Who F'inn, K'zre, Holder Woman (NPC)
What F'inn and K'zre stop at High Hill Hold while on Sweeps. It's not a pleasant visit.
When Winter - Month 2 of Turn 2719
Where High Hill Hold, Fort Territory

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High Hill Hold - Courtyard
Originally built as a defensive hold, High Hill only grows enough food to support itself while spending still most of its time on what it sees as the duty to watch over the region and many of the holders here leave for guard duty to other holds. The rest of the holders are wary of strangers, concerned when to them, others arrive.

Winter is (was?) one of K'zre's favorite seasons. But flying through a snowstorm is no one's idea of fun. There's just enough snow in the air to make the experience somewhat miserable, but not enough to ground them. After a few hours, K'zre makes an executive decision to land them, if just so that he can try to work some feeling back into his extremities. Yasminath is happy enough to oblige, and Kez is pretty sure that F'inn would also welcome a break, but just to make it a bit more "official", he opts for the little cothold on the hill and uses the excuse of 'checking in' as reason enough to land. So down they go, opting for the field outside the Hold because the courtyard itself does not even appear big enough for one, let alone two, full grown dragons (and one of them a GIANT bronze).

F'inn has always been a fan of the cold. Even so, there is a vast difference between cold and HOMG that wind cuts like daggers cold. By the time they land, he is all to eager to dismount and leaps off Nymionth's back barely halfway to the ground. "Gah!" Immediately, he unwinds his scarf, shaking the snow out before carefully rewinding it arounds his face. "I think my eyes are frozen," he calls out as he makes his way across the clearing to Yasminath and K'zre. Nymionth, however, is fine. Niether to cold, nor to warm and croons in amused tones to Yasminath and her rider. "It is not funny, Nym," F'inn mutters under his breath. Course, despite his complaints, he's unbuttoning his coat, fully aware of the fact that if he is cold, K'zre has to be an icicle.

It's a little funny. At least, Yasminath thinks so. Of course, the dragons are made to go Between; what's a little snow compared to that? But she stands still and patiently waits for K'zre to dismount before shuffling over to tuck herself beneath Nymionth's wing and steal his warmth (even if she doesn't NEED it). "I… don't think that is possible," decides Kez, glancing over at F'inn with an apprehensive gaze. He's already brushed as much snow from himself as possible, stuffed his hands back in his pockets, and stomped his feet a few times to try and get some circulation to his toes. He's definitely a little winded and, despite having covered himself almost entirely in weather appropriate gear, his cheeks and nose are *still* somehow pink beneath the scarf he's cocooned his face with. There's a hat, too. And a pair of goggles, though those have been yanked down to hang around his neck now that they're grounded. "I wonder if they'd share some Klah…" he muses of the modest hold, heading for F'inn but turning his gaze toward the courtyard.

Nymionth is all to happy to give Yasminath all of his warmth, his wing draping over her back, his tail stretching out to curl around her cuddled form. "Probably not, but it feels like it," F'inn points out. Stepping over, he opens his coat, enfolding K'zre in his jacket and arms and briskly rubbing his back. "We'll go ask in a moment," he assures. "How are you doing? Do you need my scarf?" He'd give it up in heartbeat without even thinking about it.

"I am alright." And he is. Definitely cold, but not about to let F'inn give up his scarf. It doesn't stop K'zre from stepping right in to his arms and even going so far as to tuck his face against his neck to try and steal a bit of that body heat as well. Even if there's a fair bit of fabric between them. "I just need to move around a bit," he assures, even if K'zre is doing nothing but standing there, letting F'inn rub some warmth back into him. "I love flying," he argues, casting a glance toward the pair of dragons, "But sitting still for that long…" it gets a bit uncomfortable, especially in the cold. "Do you know what Hold this is?" Kez is pretty sure he knows, though the snow does change the landscape a bit.

"High Hill," F'inn provides. For a few moments, he continues to rub warmth into his weyrmate's body, his head lowering to touch his brow to K'zre's. "There might not even be anyone here," he murmurs. "They go to do duty at the various holds in the area." Although, it is likely that someone has stayed behind to keep things in order. With K'zre's reassurances that he's going to be alright, F'inn shivers, tightening his arms for a moment, before sighing. "We should talk to N'sir about getting you some warmer leathers. Maybe something lined in fur? But first, lets go see if we can beg some klah." Stepping back, he rebuttons his jacket, immediately hunching against the cold. "We can also do something about your seat. Something with thicker padding would work."

"Hm," for the Hold, and the potential lack of people. "It never hurts to check…" especially if there is the potential for a warm beverage. Though the confirmation of what Hold they landed at has him dubious about the reception that might be waiting for them. Hands stuffed in his pockets once more, slides into step beside F'inn as they approach the courtyard, contemplating the options available to him. "It's not a matter of padding," he decides. "It's a matter of… immobility. It is just a good idea to take a break, to move and stretch." But he won't argue against fur-lined leathers. "A dragonrider that I knew had a jacket with a removable lining. It stayed very warm in the winter, but he could remove it in the summer and not require a second jacket."

"That's a brilliant idea," F'inn notes with an easy smile. "Maybe a couple different linings for colder weather, as well." Walking with K'zre toward the hold, his gaze sweeps the area, one hand shielding his eyes as he peers up at the building. "Someone is here," he notes. "I can see candlelight in the windows." Of course, that does not guarentee a warm welcome, at all. As they get closer to the building, F'inn rolls his shoulders, caution inspiring him to step in front of K'zre just in case. "If anything goes sideways, you get straight to the dragons," he notes firmly. "No dicking around."

Shoulders hunched against the (admittedly mild) wind, K'zre sticks close enough to F'inn to rely on his guidance rather than paying careful attention to where he's going. The mention of candlelight has him peeking up, squinting toward the stone wall and the windows to seek out the glow. But the warning has him hesitating, a briefly confused and then apprehensive expression flickering across his expression. "I fight better than you do," he points out. Even if 'fight' is probably not the best word for it. A moment of consideration, however, and he's agreeing with an echoed, "Straight to the dragons. Though I don't think they'd try anything…" Still, he'll heed the warning if just to appease his weyrmate.

"It's not about fighting," F'inn points out. "If anything were /ever/ to happen, I stand a better chance at holding an attacker back while you go for help." And there is no way he would allow it to be the reverse. Ever. That much is clear in the entirely to serious look he turns on K'zre's face. Once he's convinced that his weyrmate intends to cooperate, he reaches up and bangs on the door with one gloved hand. "Hail the hall," is called loud enough to be heard within. It takes a few moments before the door creaks open, a stern-faced women peering out into the cold. "Fort's duties to High Hill Hold," F'inn offers in formal tones. "We come in hopes of a bit warmth and to, perhaps, beg a meal and klah if you can spare it?" For a long moment, the woman stares at him before snorting and pushing the door open wider. "We can spare it." Within the hall is small, barely a quarter of the size of Fort's living cavern. Even so there is a broad hearth with a roaring fire and the smell of meat and bread and human sweat. "Our thanks," F'inn assures as he steps inside, moving over to let K'zre join him. "F'inn, rider of Bronze Nymionth and K'zre rider of green Yasminath." In the wake of the introduction, the woman stares a K'zre for a long moment snorting as she pushes the door closed and latches it. "Foods on the tables, you'll serve yourselves."

K'zre very much wants to argue this. It's clear in the brief flash of his eyes, the tightening of his jaw, the swift little inhale that is held just a bit longer than is necessary. But rather than speak, he just accepts it. A brief glance at the dragons assures him that they are on the alert, and he knows beyond a doubt that Nymionth would tear through stone to come for F'inn. When they are greeted (if one can call it a greeting), his attention turns to the woman at the door and her eventual allowance for them to enter. A murmured, "Thank you," comes as he steps into the warmth of the Hold. Even the long stare does not faze him, if just because Kez is not the sort to find it at all uncomfortable. Pulling his gloves from his hands, he at least offers a nod of his head in acknowledgement for the food, stuffing them in his pocket before reaching up to pull at his scarf. But while the notion of a meal (and especially Klah) is very enticing, he'll wait for F'inn to move before heading that way himself.

F'inn notices the stare, his nostrils flairing mildly as he gives a shallow inclination of his head. "Our thanks." In return, the woman glances between the two of them, giving both men the visual once over before returning to her seat at the table. "Why are riders from Fort so far out on a night like this?" The question is uttered curtly, her eyes narrowing mildly as F'inn pulls off his gloves and shoves them in his own pockets. When he is free of scarf and goggles and hat, he rests one hand at the small of K'zre's back, guiding him to a seat at the long wooden table. "Sweeps," is provided. "With the snow coming in earnest, it's better to know well in advance where an avalanche might be coming." For a long moment, the woman's attention is firmly rooted on the hand at K'zre's back, her expression bordering on a sneer as she finally looks up to meet F'inn's gaze. "I see. And did you find one?"

Slowly unwinding his scarf, K'zre steps forward and toward the table at F'inn's urging. The heat is a very welcome change from the cold, though the sudden warmth of the fire is enough that, once his scarf hangs loose, he's unbuttoning his jacket as well. The almost-sneer gets a look from the greenrider, a little frown that is more contemplative than disapproving. "No," comes the short answer, for likely avalanches. "Not yet," is perhaps a better answer. "It is also Fort's duty to provide assistance to those within her coverage area…" even if he's not going to /ask/ her if there is anything they can assist with. Even Kez can pick up on the feeling that they're less than welcome here, though he's not terribly surprised by this. A moment of thought, and he opts to leave his jacket on rather than drape it over the back of the chair and, while he does sit, it is in the posture of one who could easily rise if needed. Not on edge. Just not relaxed.

F'inn does take his jacket off, very pointedly draping it over the back of the chair as he takes a seat, as well. "We'll continue to keep an eye out, however," is uttered as he leans forward and fills two mugs with steaming klah. Passing the first to K'zre, he sets the other before himself before gathering up both thier bowls to fill with stew. While the company might be cold, the stew is clearly hot as is the bread F'inn tears chunks off and sets atop each bowl. "Goat?" he directs toward their hostess. Immediately, the woman stiffens, her eyes narrowing sharply. "What of it?" It is in the midst of taking a spoonful that F'inn smiles and shakes his head. "My mother makes a fantastic meat pie with goat. It's good." The answer mollifies the woman for the moment, dark eyes flicking between the two as she turns her attention to her own meal.

"Thank you," comes with the acquisition of that Klah, bare hands curling around the mug to warm them through before K'zre lifts it for a tentative sip. Drawing silent, brown eyes drift between woman and weyrmate, the subtle twitches of muscle at mouth and brow his only contribution to the conversation. But he is alert, if just because of the prior warning issued has him somewhat skeptical and prone toward pessimistic thinking rather than hospitality. A second sip of Klah, and then he's setting it aside in favor of that bowl of stew. Once F'inn is settled and eating, Kez allows his attention to drift around the hall, though he's never unaware of their unwilling hostess. A few bites in, and he offers a murmured, "It /is/ good," for the stew. A brief, slightly longer study of the woman at the table, and then he's looking around again; mild curiosity apparent as he takes in the unfamiliar surroundings.

"Mm." The hostess' response is coupled with another sharp look for K'zre, dark eyes narrowing as she glances between the two men. Eating her own food, she lapses into sullen silence for a time before looking pointedly at F'inn. "It doesn't bother you?" Confused, F'inn pauses midmouthful, one brow arching mildly. "Riding sweeps?" "No," the woman snorts. "Riding sweeps with…" Trailing off, she jerks her head toward K'zre, clear distaste on her face. A flash of anger immediately rises in F'inn's eyes, shining there for a moment, before being abruptly replaced with a shockingly charming smile. "Ahhh… Well, I admit, he can be quite the frustrating distraction," he notes around another mouthful of stew. Reaching for his roll, he tears it in half, sopping the bread in the juice before pushing it into his mouth. "Distraction?" Clearly having other words in mind, the woman shakes her head. "More then frustrating, I'd wager." Again, there is the briefest flare nostrils to indicate temper but F'inn's smile remains firmly in place. "It can be," he allows. Taking another mouthful of stew, he chews and swallows before gathering up the klah and draining it in one long swallow. It is as he gets to his feet, and pulls his jacket off the chair, that he notes. "He makes up for it, however, the moment we are home alone and I can get him out of his leathers." "Excuse me?" The woman's tones are immediately shocked and more then a little offended. "I would," F'inn assures in cool tones. "But somethings are simply inexcusable." Without missing a beat, he looks down at K'zre and smiles. "Ready?"

Kez is… confused. He's lost, and it shows in the flicker of his gaze between woman and F'inn; in the furrow of dark brows and the hint of a frown that touches his expression; in the tension that tightens his shoulders. At the back and forth, at the clear distaste for his person (though Kez is struggling to figure out what it is he's done that has offended her), at the discussion of distractions, and frustrations. There's a distinctly warm, prickling sensation at the back of his neck — the one that very clearly tells him he's missing something — and after another bite or two of stew he finds he's got no more appetite for it and pushes the bowl away. The Klah is drunk, because he wants the warmth and the stimulation that comes from it, though it's debatable whether he's tasting any of it. It's the last that has his ears turning pink from something other than cold, shoulders hunched as he sets the mug back on the table. He's quick to join F'inn when he stands, very eager to get out of there just as fast as he possibly can. But even so, there's a moment of hesitation and a murmured, "Thank you for the stew. And the Klah," because once upon a time, someone instilled manners within the greenrider, and those are lessons not forgotten. He's heading for the door (and means to go right through it) even before his jacket has been buttoned or gloves pulled on, scarf only half wound around his face and neck before he's out in the snow and heading for Yasminath.

F'inn is two steps behind K'zre, no thanks offered as he pulls the door closed. The moment it is, he picks up his pace, longer legs carrying him forward until he is front of K'zre and reaching out. "Stop." If he doesn't, he's going to slam into F'inn's chest. Which, all things being equal, is fine. F'inn's attention, however, is on winding that scarf and pulling K'zre's jacket closed and getting it buttoned.

He stops, only because K'zre is not interested in slamming into anything. It's a jolted halt, a half-step taken to regain his balance. And then he's swatting at the hands that seek to help with his scarf and his jacket, a sharp, "I can do that myself," coming as he yanks and pulls at the scarf to get it settled where he wants it before focusing on the fastening of his jacket. "Button your own coat," he huffs, though he hasn't really bothered to look to see if F'inn's jacket is open or not.

F'inn draws his hands back, holding them up palms out as he draws back a step. "Why are you mad at me?" Confused, he immediately frowns as he works on buttoning up his jacket, pale blue eyes narrowing as he glances back toward the hold doors. After a moment, he sighs and shakes his head, there is no chance that he'll apologize.

It is not something K'zre will be able to articulate. It is not something Kez can even explain to /himself/, let alone attempt to put into words to explain to someone else. He just knows what he feels, and right now it's a whole lot of irritation and animosity. And a very familiar but unwelcome reminder that he just does not get people; that as much as he might want to understand them, might want to participate, he just… doesn't. Can't. That an entire conversation could take place around him — about him — and he couldn't follow a single word of it. So, there's just a shake of his head, and a sullen muteness as he pulls his gloves from his pockets and works to put them on, moving to step around F'inn so that he can continue on the path to where their dragons wait, huddled in the clearing. An affectionate rub of her head against Nymionth's shoulder comes before Yasminath slips out from beneath his wing drifts away to greet her rider, a low wuffle offered.

F'inn exhales a sigh as K'zre steps around him. "She was ignorant, K'zre," he calls. "Ignorant and rude." Frustrated and still annoyed over the encounter, he moves to follow his weyrmate, noting in tones that are a bit more quiet. "I know you are frustrated, but it is not fair to punish me for shutting that down. I.. I love you, there is no way I could sit there and let her go on." Sighing, he scrubs his hands over his face and shakes his head as he moves toward Nymionth. Immediately, that big bronze head comes down, nudging F'inn toward Yasminath and her rider in a very pointed motion. It's in the wake of Nym's information, that F'inn turns around and moves directly toward K'zre, his expression tight. Unfortunately, despite knowing how Kez is feeling? He has no idea what to do about it. "I love you." That's about all he can say.

Bundled up, Kez still takes a few moments to attend to Yasminath, gloved fingers drifting over moonlight-kissed eyeridges as he studies his dragon and listens to F'inn. Because he /is/ listening, even if his eyes remain on his green and not the bronzerider. It is only after he leaves, and then returns, that he offers a fleeting glance. But it is still a moment or two before he can bring his thoughts into enough order to put them into words. "I didn't… I don't even know what you were talking /about/," he admits, frustration evident in his tone and expression. "Except that it was about me." And that it wasn't positive. He picked up on /that/ much of it. "Ignorant and rude…" he repeats in a low murmur, repeating earlier words used to describe their unwilling hostess. "But you called me a frustrating distraction. Like I wasn't sitting right there…" He heard it, he just doesn't understand it. And he definitely didn't understand the subtle nuances and the hidden undercurrent of that entire exchange.

F'inn exhales a sigh, scrubbing one hand over his face. "She was commenting on your being a greenrider, K'zre. On sex… with men. And she was not commenting nicely on it. People do that shit all the time, toss around insults couched in seemingly normal conversation. I guess," he allows as he draws closer. "She assumed because I ride bronze that I was not inclined toward men. I put her straight on that score. And you are a very pleasantly frustrating distraction in all the best ways," he assures in softer tones.

"Why couldn't you just…" But it's an irritated exhale that comes instead of any suggestion about what F'inn 'could have just' done. For a moment, the swell of emotion is too much for K'zre to speak, the muscles along his jaw tensing as he clenches his teeth in frustration. His shoulders hunch, rolling forward in a very protective posture as he devotes his attention to tracing the subtle crescent moon on Yasminath's 'forehead'. It is a long silence that will stretch out before Kez can find his voice again, the anger replaced with resignation when he murmurs, "It's fine." Because he's used to it. Or was used to it and is now reacquainting himself with the feeling. "Let's just… let's finish the ride."

F'inn cannot change the world for K'zre, although he would, if could. And the knowledge that there is very little that he can really do to change the way people interact is frustrating. "I don't want to finish the ride," he states flatly. "It's not fine. I know it's not fine even without Nymionth to help me. I can't…" Pausing a beat, he brushes his tongue over his lips, drawing in a slow breath and holding it before finishing the words. "What should I have done?"

"You should have talked to me," decides K'zre, the frustration coming back into his expression and his tone, voice elevated. "I was sitting there. I was there," he points out in a needless reminder. "I don't… I don't /care/ about her," he declares, one hand lifted to gesture in the vague direction of the Hold. "But you both spoke as if I wasn't… as if I couldn't hear you." Not that he understood a word of what was being said. "I would rather… I'd rather people talk about me when I'm not around. When I can't hear them. Rather than…" Rather than sit in a room and be very aware that he is being talked about, and very aware that he isn't following along or understanding it *at all*.

F'inn frowns, a variety of emotions flashing over his face. In the end, he settles on tired and sighs. "Alright." Drawing back a step, he does his level best to swallow his frustration. "We should head back, anyway." It's getting to cold to stay outside and the snow is clearly picking up. Drawing back a step, he starts to turn to walk back to Nymionth but glances over his shoulder. For a long moment, he just looks at Kez before flicking his gaze toward the hold. "I'm sorry for irritating you." That certainly hadn't been his intention.

"I'm not irritated." But that's a lie. So, after a half-second of pause K'zre amends it with, "At you. I'm not irritated at you." He's hurt. But it's not something he can express. Not verbally. Because it is just all a bundle of conflicting feelings that manifests itself in anger when what he really wants to do is run and hide and maybe have a good cry with Yasminath. But first they have to get home. A final brush of gloved fingers to green head, an answering croon from the dragon, and then Kez is moving to her shoulder to pull himself up to strap himself in. He'll still wait for F'inn and Nymionth before going further, because whatever his feelings in the moment, it is the bronze pair that is the leader in this little wing.

"I don't like it when you are irritated, at anything," F'inn notes in quiet tones. And he /hates/ knowing that his weyrmate is bordering on tears. He hates it more that the desire is to run away from him and hide to let the emotion out. But, it is far to cold to continue the discussion here. Climbing up Nymionth's side, he straps in and guides them both into the air. The moment that he is sure K'zre and Yasminath are ready, they turn and head back toward Fort. Under different circumstances, he'd opt for between, but with emotions high? It seems like a bad idea. It is not until he is directing K'zre toward the ledge, and waiting for Yasminath to land safely that he follows suit.

Elysion Garden Weyr

The well-worn pathway leading from the ledge opens onto a cavern that is nearly as massive in scope as the one before. To the left of the entrance, a hearth adorned with ornate stonework affords glimpses of the dragon hollow beyond. The hearth, itself, is massive in scope, more then large enough for two full grown men to stand side by side, arms akimbo. To either side of the hearth towering shelves have been carved into the wall, the upper portions reachable only by narrow ladders affixed to the wall. The exterior edge of the mantel has been carved with a depiction of a pair of dragons in flight, the intricately crafted dragons depicted in perpetual pursuit of the full moon resting dead center. From the hearth, the room sweeps out in wide half circle, the cavernous space more then large enough to comfortably house a modest-sized dragon (although there is no way a dragon could navigate the pathway). It is immediately noticeable that this weyr is not equipped with electric lighting, although there are numerous nooks for glows and fixtures for candles and torches adorning the walls.

To the right of the entrance, the room sweeps into a gentler arc, an ancient hearth for cooking dug directly into the stone. To either side of the hearth shelves have been carved into the walls, a taller opening leading to long narrow room that is clearly meant for storage. At the far end of this area, almost directly opposite of the entrance, an opening leads to spiral staircase— carved directly into the stone— that descends deeper into the weyr.

Before the hearth a plethora of soft, lush furs have been added, massive pillows in bronze trimmed green and green trimmed bronze added for additional comfort. A pair of sturdy, comfortable chairs in dark wood are arranged before the hearth, a small table bearing a glass sconced candle resting between them. Each of the chairs is complete with comfortable, dark green cushions and matching footrest. Upon the hearth graceful candlabras are arranged, a massive beveled glass vase in the shape of a crescent moon, with two small crescents dangling by bronze links, and filled with lush red roses, settled dead center. Not to far from the 'kitchen' area, a long wooden table with four sturdy chairs has been arranged. Near the western most wall, a sturdy dark wood couch and coffee table have been arranged atop a plush carpet in forest hues. Opposite it, tucked out of the way, along the eastern wall, a potters wheel, kiln and a pair of easels have been arranged. Settled along the wall within easy reach are canvas, barrels of clay and a set of shelves containing numerous paints, glazes, brushes and dyes.

F'inn takes his time with Nymionth, as well. Even so, he's finished before K'zre, crossing the ledge and stepping in to wrap his arms around his weyrmate from behind. Without a word, he lowers his head and brushes a kiss behind K'zre's ear, his arms tightening in an attempt to keep him firmly against his chest. Unfortunately, he cannot change the way things are, even so, he whispers in quiet tones. "I will make a concerted effort to never do that again." At the end of the day, he let his own irritation with the women get in the way.

K'zre is easily pulled in, leather abandoned (carefully) to the ground as he's held against the bronzerider's chest. His eyes close in response to the kiss, teeth clenched briefly in an attempt to push down the swell of emotion that rises from such a simple gesture. A second of pause, and then his arms fold over F'inn's. It's still a moment or two before he can speak, and when he does it's stuttered and disjointed, a mishmash of half-spoken thoughts. "It's…" fine. But it's really not and Kez doesn't want to say it again. "I'm…" used to it. Except he's not. Not anymore. Not with F'inn. So after a deep breath and a tight swallow, there's simply a low, "Alright," that acknowledges the words and the implied promise within them.

F'inn exhales a breath, his head tilting to rest his brow against K'zre's temple. For a long moment, he remains there, just holding the greenrider tightly against his chest. "I'm not perfect," he whispers in quiet tones. "I want so very badly to be perfect for you." And that is just not possible, and he knows it. Swallowing tightly, he widens his eyes, forcing back an unaccustomed threat of tears. It is that sensation of wanting to cry that has him turning K'zre in his arms and bury his face in his hair.

"You're human." Which is as good as Kez saying that perfect is impossible without actually saying it. The words are not meant to chastise, but rather to acknowledge that sentiment and perhaps offer reassurance. Twisted around, K'zre's arms are quick to encircle F'inn's waist and hold him back, face pressed against his chest despite the layers, fabric and leather, that keep them separate. A few shaking breaths come before he's stable once again. Another moment of pause and he murmurs a somewhat muffled, "I don't care what people think. Only what you think."

"I think my world… our world," he adds with a faint nod toward Nymionth. "Would be empty without you." Tightening his hold, he draws in a slow breath, releasing it on a sigh as he gets himself back under control. "I think you are the best thing that has ever happened to me." And he means it. Still, he's shifting his hold, gently, but firmly guiding K'zre into the weyr and settling him in one of the chairs before the hearth. Without a word, he steps away, getting the hearth lit and a kettle on before returning to perch on the arm of the chair.

The words are taken entirely to heart, and the weight of them is deeply felt. It is not something that K'zre is afraid of. Not anymore. But there is something about it, about knowing how deeply F'inn cares for him, that is vaguely frightening. Because Kez is keenly aware that he does not always say the right thing, or behave in the expected way, and he would never want to do anything that could hurt F'inn. Arms briefly tighten, whatever he speaks in response is so low and muffled as to be indecipherable. Guided into the weyr, settled on his chair, Kez watches his weyrmate at his tasks while pulling off jacket, gloves and scarf. These are carefully folded and set aside to be put away later, besocked feet coming up rest beside him in the chair. And once F'inn is within reach, those arms are winding around him once again, Kez shifting until he's got his head pressed against him. "I love you."

F'inn glances down when K'zre speaks, his weight shifting as he slips into the chair and carefully pulls him into his lap. Rather then speak, he combs his fingers through dark hair, his head turning to press a kiss to the greenrider's brow as he settles in to let the fire warm them both up. At the end of the day, he knows exactly who he is in love with and he wouldn't change a single thing about him.

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