Who F'inn, K'zre
What In the midst of a blizzard, F'inn and K'zre have an unpleasant awakening.
When Winter - Month 2 of Turn 2719
Where Elysion Garden Weyr, Fort Weyr

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Fort Weyr - 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 noticable 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.


Being pleasantly exhausted and wrapped around his weyrmate had made falling asleep in front of the hearth as easy as breathing. With Nymionth and Yasminath cuddled up on the ledge (and occassionally taking the time to sweep the snow over the edge with their tails), K'zre exhausted and happy, and the hearth fully stoked, everything was calm. Outside, however, the blizzard was only picking up force, the swirling snow thick enough that it was impossible, and incredibly dangerous, to even consider wandering outside. The world was hushed, wrapped in a blanket of white that mutes even the loudest of the sounds. There is nothing to disturb the sleeping dragonriders, no sound to startle, no call to answer. Still, in the wee early hours, before dawn has even thought to make an appearance, F'inn sits bolt upright with a earth shattering scream. That sound is painful in it's intensity, thick with loss and pain and followed by gut wrenching sobs that have the bronzerider huddling forward to wrap his arms around his calves and press his face into his knees in a gesture that is instinctively self protective. It is distinctly unpleasant way to wake.

K'zre was asleep. He was very soundly asleep. Beyond even the touch of dreams. Until that scream has him jolted awake, twisting and reaching for something that just… isn't there. It's an unconscious thing, an action taken before the greenrider is even aware that he's awake. But it doesn't take him long, clarity coming in a few (very rapid) heartbeats, a startled and much concerned, "F'inn!" issued. And then he's twisting the other way, reaching to put hands on bare skin while his eyes search for obvious signs of trauma. "What happened, what…" But this is where words fail him, the shock of being so awoken, the fear at finding his weyrmate in such a state, the uncertainty of what it is, exactly, that has happened. And it has Kez defaulting to what he knows best: Healing. Looking for physical things that he would know how to handle. "Where…?"

Unfortunately, F'inn is currently too lost in the current of emotion rocketing through him. It doesn't matter that it is not his own. It doesn't matter that he does not know it's source. The only thing that matters is the unbearable weight of heartbreak and loss that feels like it is crushing his mind. The hands on his shoulders inspire his shoulders to hunching, his arms tightening around his calves as a gutteral cry breaks his lips. It is coupled with a shudder that is equally violent, his muscles tensing as he does his level best to curl in more tightly on himself. It is only the last that has his head raising, pale blue eyes stricken with a grief that robs him of voice. Pale eyes are swollen and awash in tears, the sort of tears that are just never attractive and are raw in all the worst possible ways. There is, however, only a blink before his arms are reaching out, attempting to capture K'zre and pull him into an embrace that is probably bordering on painful. And, while no words come, there are no immediate signs of damage or sickness.

For one impossible moment, the terror that K'zre feels is clearly wrought across his face. And then it's gone, replaced by that mask of neutrality cultivated while learning his craft. To call it professional detachment would be taking it too far. There is nothing detached about K'zre in this moment. His attention is entirely devoted to F'inn, his own emotional state tied closely to that of the bronzerider. But he's shoved back whatever it is he's feeling and focusing on the source of the problem. If he can just find it! When his hands find no evidence of physical damage, no wounds to tend, a little bit of relief comes. But only a little. The shuddering beneath his hands has him freezing, briefly frightened that he's inadvertently caused pain, until it becomes clear that the pain is emotional. A staggered inhale for the grief that plagues his weyrmate, and then he's reaching for the nearest blanket, fur… whatever he can get his hands on to wrap around them, tossing it over F'inn's shoulders even as he's pulled into a too-tight embrace. Being held, and holding him back, is definitely something that K'zre can do. He presses himself into F'inn, arms wrapped around him in an embrace that is not near as crushing but is certainly fierce. He wants to say it's alright, that everything is fine… but he's not sure if that would be a lie or not. So instead, there's just a murmured, "I'm here."

F'inn sucks in a shuddering breath, attempting to hold it in order to calm himself down. He KNOWS it's not his emotion he's feeling, but it makes the feeling no less real, no less powerful. It is only the fact that K'zre is moving and talking and that his arms are wrapped around him that keeps him from panicing entirely. Still, he draws back, just enough to check the greenrider for any sign of injury. He knows it's foolish. He knows there is nothing, but his head and his heart are not, at the moment communicating. The act of making sure that it is not his mate who has died serves to bring a measure of calm to the bronzerider, although when he opens his mouth to speak, it is only a sob that escapes his lips. Immediately, he tugs K'zre back in, his hands smoothing down the length of his spine to press him closer. Slowly, he manages to drag in breaths between the sobs, the shaking in his limbs subsiding to light shudders.

K'zre is oblivious to the source. He knows, on some level, that it is coming from Nymionth. Or through Nymionth. That it is someone else's suffering that F'inn is feeling. But that does not give him any further understanding on how to alleviate it. And that's what he wants to do. He wants to fix it, he wants to make it better! It's his job as a Healer, and his desire as a weyrmate, to take away that pain. When hands start wandering him, assessing him, there's a murmured, "I'm fine. I'm alright," because he is. He is physically just fine. Warm and healthy and strong. And very much alive. It's a firm but gentle assertion; meant to help relieve some of that concern. His own hands lift, palms skimming over tearstained cheeks in an attempt to catch his face in his hands; to search his gaze and show with certainty that he, K'zre, is fine. Back into his embrace, and the greenrider is just as quick to wrap his arms around him again, drift his hands along shoulders and back in a caress that is intended to be soothing. Supporting. As is the murmured, "I'm fine. Breathe…" that comes in quiet repetition.

The assurance stirs a watery exhale, F'inn's head dipping in a nod as he struggles to get his breathing back in order, to get his shields back firmly in place. There is no mistaking the moment that he succeeds. It's accompanied with a violent shudder and sob that has nothing to do with someone else's pain and everything to do with his own. "I'm sorry," he whispers in hoarse tones. "We…" They. He, and Nymionth, were not expecting it to hit so hard, so quick, so unexpectedly. Even as the words are uttered his hand raises to scrub over his eyes, his shoulders giving a sharp shake as he sucks in a ragged breath. "That.. that was bad…" He's pretty certain that someone in the surrounding area has died. Unfortunately, the knowledge does nothing to ease the emotional overload.

Deep, steady breaths. They are both to settle his own heartrate as well as to encourage F'inn to do the same. K'zre watches him, as much as he is able, eyebrows in a knot and a deep furrow etched across his forehead, concern in the downward slant of his mouth despite his best efforts at keeping his emotions hidden. Because this is not some stranger on a healer's cot. This is his weyrmate. And when it becomes clear that those walls are back, that F'inn is feeling his own feelings and is no longer caught in the storm of someone elses, there's an exhale of relief and some of that intensity leaves him. "Don't," comes for the apology, K'zre's head giving a quick shake as he reaches up to smooth his fingers through pale blond hair. "Don't apologize for that." And once he is assured that the worst has past, there's a shift and shimmy so that he can sit more on his own and really assess F'inn. "What…" happened? But the question dies before he's completely formed it, deciding perhaps that now is not the best time to ask. So instead, he finishes with, "… can I do?"

F'inn feels a surge of panic rising in his chest the moment that K'zre starts to move away, his head giving a sharp shake as he reaches out and draws him back in against his chest. "Don't go away." Right now, he can't take it. Even with his shields in place, the memory of that pain and loss is still dancing over his nerves, a fact that is visible in the shudder that abruptly runs the length of his frame. "Talk to me," he whispers in hoarse tones. "About anything." It doesn't matter what, right now, he just needs to hear his weyrmate's voice, to feel his heartbeating, to be absolutely certain that that pain is not his own.

"I…" but whatever K'zre was going to say, it dies before it makes it from thought to word. And maybe he doesn't even know. Maybe it wasn't even a complete thought, but simply an expression of surprise when he's drawn back in. But he complies instantly, settling himself snugly within F'inn's arms. "Talk?" The request immediately has him going mute, producing the entirely opposite effect if just because, put on the spot, Kez can think of *nothing* to say. Nothing. His mind goes blank. One moment. Two. A deep breath meant to settle him; to aid in the collection of errant thoughts. "I think… I think I'm going to ask N'sir to help me with my costume." It's not exactly the first thing that came to his mind, but it's definitely the first non-healer-related thing. "For the masquerade. On the Yokohama." Unnecessarily offering information that F'inn already knows, considering he's planning it all. "I thought… it might be easier than…" Than trying to figure out what he's going to wear, for himself.

The moment that K'zre complies, F'inn closes his eyes, his head lowering to rest his brow against K'zre's. "What are you going to wear?" The words are still hoarse, still thick with an emotion he just cannot shake. "N'sir… it's a good idea," he sighs as he tightens his arms. Sucking in a shallow breath, he gives another reactive shudder, his arms momentarily tightening before he forces himself to loosen his grip. Hunching under the fur, he slips in a bit closer, his legs stretching out to wind around K'zre's form. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"I don't know," admits the greenrider, hands drifting along his weyrmate's skin, along back and shoulders and arms in a manner that is meant to be comforting. "I have… I have a couple ideas," he murmurs after a moment of thought. But speaking about costumes is not where his attention is. He's still worried, still entirely focused on F'inn. On his breathing. On the tightness of his arms, and the shudders that might rack him. On the hoarseness of his voice and the emotion contained in it. But he's trying. He's trying. If just because it is the one thing he can do right now that might help. Because it's asked of him. "But I think… I want it to be a surprise," he decides, seizing on the thought as it comes to him. "For you, I mean." A twist of his head comes in an attempt to catch his face, his gaze. K'zre's expression is one of concern, motivated entirely by love. It is a worry that is slowly ebbing away but won't entirely dissipate. "I know," comes in answer to the last, tenderness in the touch of his fingers and the tone of his voice. "It's alright. I don't… I don't mind being woken up." Though he certainly minds the way he found his weyrmate. "Are you… okay? Is Nymionth alright?"

F'inn exhales a breath, his hand raising to cover K'zre's as he presses a kiss into his palm. In the wake of the gesture, he opens his mouth to speak, but ends up leaning to steal a tender kiss, first. "We're alright," he sighs. "It's just.." Shuddering, he draws in a slow breath, swallowing tightly before lightly clearing his throat. "Some times it sneaks up on us," he sighs. "Nym… Nym is… he understands that I won't be able to find out who lost someone until this storm is over." He'll do it, as soon as he can, of course. "He knows there is nothing we can do… It just.." Shaking his head, he tries to surpress his shudder, his arms moving to wrap tightly around K'zre's form. "I couldn't take it if something happened to you." It would kill him, he knows that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

K'zre knew. He knows how Nymionth is. But the reality, actually experiencing it, or at least witnessing F'inn experience it… that is entirely new. A thorough study of his weyrmate's face, dark eyes intent as they focus on F'inn's expression in the wake of that kiss. "I will help you," he asserts. "Once the storm has past." Because leaving now would be suicide, and Kez won't allow it. "…Hurts," he supplies for that unfinished sentence. His gaze drops as he's once more wrapped tightly within his arms. It is one of his favorite places to be, and he has no wish to be free of that embrace. Even if he very much wishes he could take away the pain that inspires it. "Nothing has happened to me," he murmurs. "I am fine. I am right here," he continues, wiggling back until he's firmly pressed up against F'inn and all but surrounded by him. Head tucked beneath his chin, face turned so that he can breathe in the scent of him and press soft kisses to the hollow of his throat. "I am not going anywhere. You are the reckless one, remember?" he offers in a weak attempt at humor. "I am overly cautious and boring."

F'inn exhales a ragged laugh at the suggestion that K'zre is boring, the sound accompanied by a firm shake of his head. "There is nothing boring about you," he whispers in tones that are still hoarse and raw. "It's.. I knew you were alright," he whispers. "Logically. I could see you, feel you, but…" Trailing off, he clears his throat, swallowing another unwelcome surge of emotion. "The emotion… It was like being strangled." Pausing a beat, his arms tighten, his breath catching before he gets himself under control. "I'm shielding," he promises. "I am. I just…" Exhaling a sigh, he brushes his tongue over his lips, doing his level best to supress another shudder.

Quiet and still, but not immobile, K'zre leans into F'inn as best he can. There's no resistance, no protest for the tightening of arms around him. It is not an uncomfortable thing, and even if it were, Kez would bear it in silence. Because comforting his weyrmate is more important to him than his own physical comfort. He's silent for a bit longer before he decides, "You don't have to do that. You don't have to… to make… to sound… You don't have to apologize," he eventually manages. "For feeling what you feel. I understand," he assures. "It's alright. You can do… whatever you need to do to feel better." A little squirming, and he twists enough to be able to get his arms back around the bronzerider's waist, holding him as best he can. "It's okay… if you're not okay." A frown, and Kez considers whether that makes any sort of sense before he attempts to clarify with, "If you're upset, it's alright to… to feel upset. To be upset. I don't /want/ you to be upset, but if you are… it's alright. You don't have to explain."

F'inn exhales another shallow breath, his head giving a little shake in an attempt to banish welling tears. "I have to be able to handle this stuff," he protests. Frowning, he buries his face in dark hair, inhaling K'zre's scent until he's calmed himself down. Silent a beat, his hands trail down K'zre's arms, lightly squeezing his biceps before drifting to wrap his arms around the greenrider's waist. "Sometimes it's just very… overwhelming." Clearly. Fortunately, that hasn't happened when he's in public. A thing for which he is impossibly grateful. Exhaling another breath, he grimaces mildly as he shifts his weight, trying to pull K'zre back down into the furs with him.

"But… this is handling it," protests K'zre. "You are handling it… you're not… not…" but a mildly frustrated exhale comes in lieu of words, the greenrider unable to form his thoughts into words. To explain what he's trying to say. The trail of hands is distracting, the wrap of arms at his waist enough to steal his attention away from perceived inadequacy. Drawn down, he twists in F'inn's arms until he's facing him, if just to bury his face against his chest, tucking his head beneath the bronzerider's chin. It's there that he finds clarity, and after a moment of consideration, murmurs, "You feel it as if it was your own pain. Would you begrudge the true bearer of that pain for expressing it?" He knows the answer and does not wait for it. "You are handling it," he repeats. "And you don't need to apologize for feeling it." A gentle nuzzle of his nose to soft skin, the press of lips in a kiss that lingers. "I love you. Don't apologize for… being you."

F'inn closes his eyes, drawing in a slow breath before lightly clearing his throat. "I love you," he whispers in tones that are finally steady. It means the world to him that K'zre is okay with it all. Turning his head, he drapes one leg over his weyrmate's body, his arm sweeping out to pull the furs back over them before he, again, wraps him in a warm embrace. "Lets try to sleep," he whispers before burying his face in dark hair.

And sleep they will.


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