Nyalle and Kayeth's Weyr

The morning dawns, and Nyalle awakens, shifting in her bed…and bumping gently against another. Freezing for a moment, the newly made Senior turns her head to peer at her bedmate, and a moment later her thoughts catch up and she exhales softly.

Mr’az. Faranth, am I lucky to have him here, she thinks tenderly, watching him sleep for a moment. She remembered falling asleep in his arms, the bronzerider having come to her after her disastrous attempt at being Th’ero’s mate.

Stupid. Stupid and foolish. How else has High Reaches warped me? How could I have thought that was right? Proper? They told me it was. They taught me that was what was expected of a goldrider. So they could control me. So they could turn me into the mate of whoever won Kayeth’s flights. So they could use me to their advantage. She seethes for a moment, hatred and anger and embarrassment chasing themselves around her thoughts.

Her mind reaches out and brushes against Kayeth’s, finding her fiery queen sleeping in the wallow, curled up with Zhirazoth. If they move here…

Then what? If they move, she will have her best friend back. Her lover? Her mate? She wasn’t sure about that.

Why am I not sure? she asks, carefully slipping out of bed and pulling a robe on over her black nightgown. Slipping her feet into the slippers she silently leaves the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind her so Mr’az can sleep as long as he wishes to. Why did I not jump into his arms and into bed with him last night?

Sure, the bronzerider had slept with her - but he had slept with her. Held her while Kayeth soothed her troubled thoughts until she could actually sleep.

Her footsteps carry her to the hearth and she crouches down, finding the hot embers and gently coaxing them back to life. She’d told the drudges she did not want anyone in her weyr before she’d left for the day, so the morning chores fell to her. And she liked it that way. It gave her some time to compose herself. Easing the fire back to life, she sets her iron kettle on to boil, and moves to the little kitchen area to pull down some dried fruits and meats, and a few precious flat breads from the night before.

Despite all the puttering around, she still doesn’t have an answer to her question as she sits at the table to wait for the water to boil. I missed him. That she couldn’t deny. Too much change too soon, probably, she thinks, rubbing a hand over her face and resting slouched against the table. A posture she’d never show in public.

Too much. Far, far too much. Is that it? I have so much going on that I balk at the idea of taking a lover too? Probably. Her thoughts are filled with meetings and plans, not on romance and private interludes. She’d be lucky if she and Mr’az got to have a cup of tea together before he was called back to Reaches or she had her first meeting with her Juniors. Priorities, she thinks then with a low sigh. That is my duty. My duty to the weyr, not to myself or my romantic desires. This is my lot. Kayeth rose first. This is my job, and I will not take it lightly. I just need to believe that Mr’az understands that. That it’s not a slight against him, it’s just…I’m the Senior Weyrwoman of Fort Weyr. I need to do this right. I need to do this well.

Even though she was scared and insecure. Even though she didn’t even know if she could talk to Th’ero without it dissolving into an argument about that bluerider. Even though she worried some of Kayeth’s offspring would have Velokraeth’s twisted looks. Even though the weyr was still short on supplies, and winter was heavy upon them, and the snows thick and Search and Rescue out daily digging out cotholds and farms, and several of the older residents were in the infirmary with deep chest colds the Healers didn’t think they’d recover from.

Even though. She still had to do this well. For Fort, and especially for Kayeth. For her amazing, stunning, beautiful, powerful, glorious queen. I still don’t know why you chose me, beloved, she thinks, but it is a private thought and not shared with the sleeping queen.

Rising, she goes to the kettle when it begins to boil, and pours herself a cup of tea. And if Mr’az awakens soon, they’ll be able to say a quick farewell before she needs to bathe and get herself dressed for the day, and down to her office for the morning meeting with her Juniors. Her thoughts are already moving swiftly with what needs to be done that day, and her plans for the weyr, and there is little time to think of herself, or of romance.

She has work to do.