Who: Candidate Rohawn and former goldrider Kesara
Authors: Heather Dudley and Beth Warick
Where: Starts in Infirmary. Ends in Weyrbowl. Roleplayed at Cibryen Weyr
When: 07.09.2539 What: Kesara, bereft of her dragon, is watched over by Candidate Rohawn
Notes: For those of you who don't remember, or weren't here, Kesara was my goldrider, former Weyrleader G'brel's (also now deceased) sister. I killed her dragon first, thanks to a deliberate "accident" in threadfall. This was co-written with Beth Warick, former member who unfortunately vanished. Her candidate Rohawn was one of the best written characters we've ever had. Anyway, I thought I'd share this with you. It's one of my favorite pieces, and I have Jenny to thank for saving a hard copy way back when, and holding on to it all these years, and then doubly for being kind enough to scan it in for me. I retyped it, fixed a few grammatical errors (and one plot inconsistency), and now I present it to you, in its nearly 6 page glory.
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The Infirmary was quiet. Deathly quiet. At this hour of the night, no even stirred, except for the occasional cough or rustle of bed sheets. Kesara stared at the glowbasket, concentrating all her might on snuffing the glows. The accursed light. She wasn't surprised when the glows didn't snuff, but it gave her something to think about. Something to drive other thoughts from her mind. Something to distract her, however inadequately, from the empty hole in her soul.
There was no golden voice to greet her when she awoke. She couldn't focus on anything, or anyone. She'd managed to finally convince the Healers to leave her alone. Well, they didn't bother her, at least. She was never allowed to be alone. Lyson was always there, with Lysara. G'brel, Celaena, Kimana. They all murmured meaningless nothings to comfort her, to cushion the blow that couldn't be spared. Only Lyson didn't. He knew. He also knew what terrible urges roiled in her chest, and feared them. He feared losing her most of all. She couldn't bring herself to face that, though. He'd finally gotten exhausted, and gone back to their weyr to put Lysara down to sleep and get some rest himself. He'd left the smith boy candidate to watch over her. He was a sweet enough kid, though.
She had to get out of here. She needed air. Kesara stood, stretching muscles that hadn't been used much in weeks now. She looked in the mirror, and sighed at her haggard face. Nothing would erase weeks of sleeplessness from her expression. Nothing would ever take out the sadness. She inhaled deeply. Sharding infirmary air. Always smelled sick.
Just outside her room, Rohawn was tinkering with his newest creation, keeping his mind busy while he watched over the Infirmary. He remember Kesara well, remembered her gold – the little beauty – and he remembered how much he had envied her when he'd arrived in the weyr. She'd been so confident so brave – a real dragonrider. One of the first he'd met, when he'd been dropped off. He doubted she even remembered him, but he remembered her.
"Rohawn?" Kesara called quietly through the curtain that separated her private room from the rest of the infirmary. She poked her head out, and found the smith sitting on a chair beside the door. A guard to protect her from herself.
Rohawn's head snapped up, eyes focusing on something other than the tiny gold threads attached inside the mechanism he'd been working with. At first, Rohawn instinctively tried to hide his work, but then he grinned. It was just Kesara, and she was up and about. That was good, right?
"Yes'm," he said to her, glancing down so he wouldn't see her in her sleeping gown. "Need anything? Anything at all?"
I need Aserith, Kesara thought viciously, then quelled the thought as unfair. He wasn't a dragonrider. He couldn't understand. She hoped he'd never have to understand what it was like to lose a dragon.
Rohawn knew that when someone's dragon died, they were upset. Sometimes for weeks. Some people never forgot it. Then again, some people didn't have the constitution of a smith. It couldn't be that bad, right? Rohawn thought to himself as he got up to see what Kesara needed. I mean, of all the people who lost their dragons – they used to live just fine without a dragon. They didn't have a dragon for years and years. What's the big deal? Yes, it had to hurt – anytime you lose a friend, it hurt – but their were women losing children and men losing wives all across Pern, and they got along fine after they had time to adjust. That was all Kesara needed. Time to adjust.
Crafter-born, untaught and naïve to boot, Rohawn looked down at slender Kesara and smiled sheepishly. "I didn't want to wake you… but I made you something." In the smither boy's hand was a small golden dragon made of metal plates and shining golden thread. The toy moved like a dragon, its eyes blinked and its metal tail coiled and writhed just like a real one. The wings spread out – though it was far too heavy to fly – and it had a regal bearing. "I thought you might like the company. They said you oughtn't be alone, ma'am, and now you won't have to be. You can keep her with you." His innocence and genuine good nature shone in his hazel-brown eyes. Rohawn held the toy out to her, hoping against hope that he would see her smile.
Kesara choked back a sob, and reached a trembling hand to touch the little toy. It was exquisite. The way the wings hung, just so. She lifted the dragon carefully, a single tear streaming down her cheek. She smiled sadly at Rohawn, genuinely grateful. If only…
"Thank you, Rohawn. She's beautiful. I will cherish her. I've never seen something so beautiful –" except Aserith. She didn't say it. No need to make the boy feel sad. She held the little dragon up to her face, and smiled again. Not so sad this time.
Rohawn's own face broke into a wide grin as some of the tension seemed to leave Kesara's shoulders. That's what she needed – something to take her mind off the pain. Had to be horrible, losing a dragon – but she'd get over it. Wouldn't she?
"Rohawn, I really need to get some air. I'd like to see the Star Stones. I can't fly anymore… maybe if I get to the Rim, I can be a little closer to her. I need to walk." She wasn't even sure if she was making sense. She just knew that if she could get up that trail to the Rim, maybe she could hear Aserith. Just maybe.
Rohawn pondered this. She wanted to go up to the Rim? At night? Rohawn thought that might be a bad idea, but… He looked again at her hopeful face, and his chest puffed out a bit. "I'll take you there, Kesara, if you want to go. I know you're unhappy, so whatever I can do, I'm glad to help. But I can't leave you alone. I promised G'brel I'd stay by your side no matter what. But I don't think he'd mind if you went for a walk, as long as I kept with you."
Rohawn went back to his little table, and picked up a thick cloak from the hook on the wall. He held it out to Kesara. "Here, wear this. You'll catch cold, going out in your sleeping gown."
After making sure she was ready, Rohawn opened the door to the infirmary and led her out into the Weyr. Forge flitted above them, crooning cautiously into the soft wind.
Kesara accepted the cloak gratefully, and followed the candidate Smith into the chilly night air. The sky was clear, and Belior shone high in the sky, illuminating wispy clouds that hung high in Pern's atmosphere. Kesara paused for a moment to breathe the clean, non-infirmary air before following Rohawn up to the winding path that non-riders used on the rare occasions they wanted to reach the Rim. It was a steep, treacherous thing, but any time she found herself slipping, Rohawn was there to catch her. She held the little golden dragon against her chest, not wanting to damage it in their trek up the weyrbowl.
The higher they climbed, the harder the wind blew, and Kesara pulled Rohawn's cloak around her more tightly. They reached the Rim, where the Star Stones announced the coming of Thread each Pass. The air was thinner here, but to Kesara, it was heaven. She closed her eyes for a long moment, simply letting the wind lift her hair, cloak and bed gown, and whip them around her body. She wasn't cold anymore. All that had happened was that her outside matched her inside. She opened her eyes, and walked over to the Finger Rock. She ran a hand over the cold stone, marveling at the craftsmanship that had created them. So smooth…
Rohawn chattered lightly, trying to keep the goldrider… ah the lady…'s mind off her woes. He told her stories of his time at Telgar, of his crazy older sisters who used to chase him with brooms, and of his beloved younger sister Merian. "I don't know if you have ever done any weaving, Kesara," he said gently. "But if you wanted to go to Boll, I mean now, I mean – I know Merian could make you feel better. She's smart that way. She always knows just what to say to make everyone's woes go away." Merian was one of Rohawn's favorite topics, but he didn't go on about it. Something in Kesara's face seemed too deep, too sad – like a sorrow that would never leave her.
"Kesara?" Rohawn asked gently. "Do you ever think that sometimes, our futures go wrong? I mean, I was supposed to be a smith. I'm built for it. I'm big, I'm not bright, and I know everything there is to know about smithing. But I'm here. And you… you're supposed to be…" He paused, unable to say it, realizing that somehow his words were wrong. "You've got a new future now. Like me. Everything is new, and you can go anywhere, do anything. But how do you know what to do? How do you know what future to choose? Do you know, Kesara?" Rohawn's questions were low, gentle, genuine – like everything about the big, innocent youth.
"Do you think our futures just… find us? Or do we find them?"
At that moment, a gust of wind along the rocky cliffside blew his cloak away from Kesara's slim, fragile-looking shoulders. "Oh no, you'll get cold. I'll get that for you!"
He stepped away, chasing the cloak that skittered along the ground at their feet, catching it just before it could fly off the high precipice. His back was to her for just a second, only a moment. "I caught it!" he grinned, turning back to see her. "I caught it, Kesara…"
Do you think our futures just… find us? Or do we find them? The thought rang in Kesara's mind, not realizing it had come from Rohawn. Find her future… she had no future. Aserith was gone. She looked at the little gold dragon in her hand, no longer fighting the tears streaming down her face.
I will find my future. I will find Aserith, Kesara thought. So high here. She could fly, with Aserith. She could fall. Aserith always caught her. Always. If she flew, Aserith would come, and catch her. Clutching the little golden dragon toy to her chest, she walked to the edge, no longer even aware of the smith nearby, no longer cold, no longer sad. Only hopeful.
"I will find you, Aserith!" Kesara was flying. Wind rushed through her hair, her gown, drying the moisture on her cheeks. She smiled, a quiet peace enveloping her soul as the roar of the wind filled her ears. Aserith would catch her. Aserith always caught her. So many times she had flown, with Aserith. Now they would fly again, together, as always. The dark sky wheeled above her, and a flash of dragon green crossed the panorama. Then gold. A smoky, dark gold, not shiny like the other dragons. She knew that shade. She could have described it blindfolded and asleep. Warm, whirling blue eyes filled her heart.
Let's go home, Kesara. I've missed you so much.
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On the floor of the weyrbowl, the broken body of the former dragonrider lay lifeless. Her eyes gazed sightlessly at the clear sky, and her lips were stretched in a tender, loving smile. Still held gently to her chest was the little golden dragon toy, unharmed by Kesara's final flight.
Golden threads twitched and the tiny Aserith flapped her tiny golden foil wings in the chill Cibryen night wind.
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Images. It seemed like the world was full of images. Rohawn was barely aware of them. He saw Kesara, on the edge of the Rim. A half smile on her beautiful face. The cloak, falling. He bent to pick it up, staring over the edge at the rocks far below. The rough nape of cloth against his big hands. So strong, he pulled the cloak out of the wind and turned in victory. He opened his eyes to see the Finger Rock… the empty Rim… the world slowed to a crawl, and then everything in it seemed to stop moving.
She was gone.
Darkness, and Rohawn felt the world slow down. He hurled himself to the edge of the Rim, staring down into the void, into the darkness and the cold, bitter wind. The Rim stared back at him, gaping open like a laughing mouth. For a moment, Rohawn felt relief, but then he saw it. Far below, far on the rocks of the weyr, a small white speck. After a second, he could make it out, a sleeping gown, like a pale specter enveloped in a black halo of hair.
"Kesara!" He screamed, screamed again, and Forge began to howl. Rohawn staggered back, away from the edge. His firelizard's forlorn cries seemed to echo in the wind, mocking its emptiness.
The world jolted, and time started again. Without thinking, Rohawn raced down the flights of steps, falling twice, maybe more, as he pelted down the stairs. So many stairs, all standing between him and her – in the way. Damn ineffective weyr, poorly built, not like a smithers hall at all, no it wasn't… too many steps… too many steps. Rohawn burst out onto the rocks at the bottom, below the Finger Stone. Above him, he could hear Forge's screams were beginning to wake the weyr. Soon, they would all know.
His hands were bloody, his knee scraped to the bone from a fall down the stairs that had nearly killed him, but Rohawn did not notice. He fell to the ground, staring into her still-beautiful face. Crawling on the rocks, he pulled himself beside her and reached out a hand to stroke her dark hair. I wish I could fly, he thought. I wish I could have caught you. I tried, I tried, I tried… I didn't know…
"Kesara…" he said, and his voice felt like it was scraping over broken glass. "I can't leave you. I can't leave you alone. G'brel said… I can't…" after a moment, he spread the cloak out over her body. Some thought inside his mind wanted to keep her warm. Had to keep her warm. It seemed imperative. She'd catch cold. Kesara…
Gone. Like Aserith.
Tears flowed down Rohawn's sunburned cheeks, falling in torrents. He couldn't see. Couldn't see her injuries through his tears, but he didn't need to. He knew she was dead. Rohawn wept like a broken child. He could hardly look at Kesara and the little gold dragon still clutched in her fallen hand. Aserith… Aserith. The little wings moved in a simulation of life. Movement, where there was no life – only a dull reflection, a simple toy, designed to mimic the motions of being alive. Had Kesara's whole world been that empty, that false? Had it just been a simulation, tiny threads pulling her along when her real life was already over?
He would wait here, beside her, like he'd promised G'brel. He'd wait, and someone would come and tell him what to do. He was just a candidate, just a boy, and the wind was cold and laughing. He had promised he would stay with Kesara, never leave her alone… and a smith never broke a promise. Someone would come… someone would make things better again. He was just a smith, just a smith… he wasn't… he didn't know… he just knew he had to stay with her. He'd promised…
"Be with Aserith, Kesara. Forever." Rohawn reached out to close the dragonrider's eyes, and pressed both her hands to the little statuette.
But there was no answer, and there never would be one.