Celebrations after Cayselanth's went on long into the night; from his bed in the dorms, even with the doors closed and the curtains pulled tight, Nikalin could hear the revelry going on around him. He wished he could shut it out, somehow, pretend that it wasn't going on, hadn't happened, was still months in the future. Six times he'd done the calculations on his fingers, and six times, the result had been the same: Cayselanth's eggs would hatch a mere four sevendays before his fifteenth turnday.
Four sevens. That was all that stood between him and his chance on the Sands.
On its own, that would have been bad enough, but that wasn't the only thing - not by half. Two months was all that separated Nik in age from his half-brother - just two months. Two months that mean 'Ven gets to Stand, and I don't. They'd been the best of friends - rivals, enemies, brothers - for just about forever, competing over everything, and now the elder of the two would get his chance, and Nik...
He buried his face into his pillow, trying, but not succeeding, to hold back the hot, bitter tears that were soaking into it. It could be turns and turns before there was another clutch for him to Stand for, and by then, most likely, Kasaven would be a full rider, probably a Bronzerider, like his father, and the difference between them would be insurmountable. He'd never catch up.
Probably, by the time there was another clutch, Nik's younger brother and sister would be old enough to Stand, too, and he'd be relegated forever to being one of the 'younger' group. The idea of it was intolerable.
The sound of footsteps outside, and then the pull of the curtain, froze Nik. There was no one he wanted to talk to right now; no one could make this better.
"Nik?"
Kasaven sounded concerned, and awkward, too. He must've done the calculation, too, must've worked out what it meant.
"Go 'way."
"Not likely." 'Ven sat down on the edge of the cot; Nik could feel his brother's gaze on him. "Could just not Stand. This time, I mean. Could wait, and then we could Stand together. Everyone says Cayselanth'll probably clutch a queen this time, so it'll probably only be two or three turns until the next clutch, right?"
Nik attempted to wipe the tears from his face surreptitiously, though he suspected that his brother already knew they were there. He lifted his head from the pillow, but stared at the stone wall behind him, rather than turning to face Kasaven. "Don't be a dimglow. You're old enough - you've got to Stand. What if your dragon was out there and you weren't?"
"What if yours was, and you weren't?"
"I won't be old enough. Mine can't be there."
"FOUR sevens, if that. Like your dragon would know the difference. Maybe if you asked, they'd let you Stand, anyway. It's only a couple of sevens. Dad could make it happen, easy as anything."
Nik turned his head to consider his brother with a dubious expression. "You reckon?"
"I reckon. Why not? Bet he'd be so proud if all three of us Impressed in the one hatching, you know?"
Surprised, Nik said, "I didn't think Linadra'd want to Stand. Always figured she wanted to follow in Mama's footsteps."
Kasaven shrugged, stretching out his legs so that his feet rested on his own cot, the cot next to Nik's. "Reckon she might have eyes on that gold egg everyone's been talking about as a possibility. Would've thought it'd be weird, being a goldrider with your step-father as the Weyrleader, but maybe she figures he's not her real dad, so it doesn't matter? Anyway. Who knows what that girl thinks, half the time."
Nik nodded, thinking on this. Linadra was the oldest of them - his half sister, but not related to Kasaven at all, though they'd been raised more or less as siblings. It made it even kind of worse, though, if he couldn't Stand: left behind by both of his older siblings.
"Who knows if she has any chance at all, though, anyway. Maybe she'll just get a green."
"I'd take a green. Over nothing, I mean."
Kasaven considered for a moment, pursing his lips, then nodded. "So would I. Being left Standing... that'd be awful. So embarrassing, you know?"
Nik knew. It was hard enough being the Weyrleader's son at the best of times, but for the Weyrleader's son to be left standing? It was a thought Kasaven seemed to share, because he said, after a moment, "Dad was fifteen when he Impressed. And then Weyrleader at seventeen. We already have a lot to live up to."
"We'll never live up to that. Dad's not going anywhere, and, anyway, Cayselanth just rose. Even if you Impressed a bronze from this clutch, it'd still be turns and turns before she rose again to let you take Dad's place."
"Yeah."
They lapsed into silence, thinking. It seemed unlikely that they'd ever be able to do anything to beat their father. K'dan had done everything; it hardly seemed fair.
Finally, Nik broke the silence. "I'm going to bed."
"Yeah. Me, too, I think. Night, Nik."
"Night, 'Ven."
Nik waited two days before going to see his father, assuming, probably rightly, that there'd be enough else going on that he'd get more time if he delayed. He found K'dan in the Council Chambers, hides spread out across the enormous, round table, a mostly-empty glass of whiskey sitting beside him.
K'dan didn't look up as Nik entered, leaving the boy to traipse around the table, and to reach for the glass in hopefulness. A hand on his wrist stopped him: "Put that down, Nik. You know we'd rather you waited 'til you were sixteen."
Obediently, though reluctantly, Nik did as he'd been told, though he lingered at his father's elbow.
The Weyrleader took a moment more, shuffling through something, before he set his hides down and turned his blue-eyed gaze onto his son. They looked alike, father and son: both tall, blue-eyed, fair, though Nik's hair had more red in it than his father's. "What'd you want, Nikalin? I'm all ears."
"I want to stand for Cayselanth's clutch. I'll only be a couple of sevendays short- not that much, really! Can I?"
"Nik..." began K'dan, awkwardly. It was answer enough; Nik's shoulders sunk, his gaze lowered to the floor. "Sit down, Nik, and let's talk."
He sat, gingerly, conscious of the hardness of the chair beneath him, the solidness of the stone table below his elbow. "Kasaven's only two months older, and he'll get to. Why can't I? No one'd question it. You're the Weyrleader."
"And that means I got to play fair, Nik. If I said yes to you, then I'd probably half a dozen people your age asking to, or complaining that I give special treatment to my sons.
"But you never do. We never get special treatment. What's the use of being the Weyrleader's son if you don't?" Nik tried, but failed, to keep his frustration - his anger - out of his voice. "Why'd I have to be born two months after 'Ven? Couldn't you have timed it better? It'll be turns and turns before I get my chance, and 'Ven'll be, like, a Bronzerider or whatever. And I'll be no one."
K'dan placed one of his hands on top of Nik's, gripping his son's fingers. "You'll never be no one. And I know it's not fair; life rarely is. But rules are there for a reason. It's our rule that a person must be fifteen in order to Stand for Impression, and so, I won't let anyone who isn't fifteen onto the Sands. Not you, not anyone. And I'm sorry... but it is what it is."
Nik could feel the tears welling up in his eyes again, despite his desperate attempt to keep them back. He wouldn't cry. He WOULDN'T.
His father gave him a long, sad glance, then pulled him over, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. "It'll work out, Nik. You'll see."
But Nik just couldn't see how.
Cayselanth laid fifteen eggs, including a queen: an excellent result for an Interval clutch. The weyr buzzed with excitement, and Nik drew in on himself, tighter and tighter, as if by sheer force of will he could pretend that nothing was going on. Kasaven and Linadra both requested to Stand, and were granted permission, along with - it seemed - most of Nik's other friends. Searchriders brought in candidates, most of them girls, from outside the Weyr, filling the caverns with excited young people.
It was a beautiful summer, that turn, but Nik paid it little attention. He felt only scorn for the dreamy wishes of his younger peers, as though their envy over those old enough was nothing compared to his own plight. Eventually, it seemed as though everyone wanted to avoid him entirely, too wary of his sharp tongue, his bitterness.
He was sitting in the common room, alone, one afternoon, when he met Her.
Not that he noticed her enter, nor wander around, confused; he didn't notice her at all until she sat down right beside him, let out a sigh, and said, "I'll never find my way around this place; I'm convinced of it. Do you know where the Store Rooms are?"
Nik lifted his head - and it was as though he'd just seen a vision. It wasn't that she was particularly beautiful, really, so much as she was radiant; perfect. He must have stared at her for several seconds too long, because her dark eyebrows raised, a glint of amusement visible across her expression. "Er," he said, finally. "They're closer to the kitchens. Through the cav- I'm sorry, are you new here?"
"I would have thought," she told him, in a low, amused voice, "that that was plainly obvious for anyone to see. I'm Mirian. Mirry."
Mirian. Perfect.
"Are you Standing, too? M'varis found me at High Reaches Hold. I'm not sure my father was terribly pleased, but it is an honour, isn't it? I couldn't say no."
He could have cried. Of course she was Standing. And now she'd think... she'd KNOW. He swallowed, heavily. "I'm Nik. Nikalin. And... No, I'm not Standing," he admitted, finally. "I won't be fifteen until after the hatching. My brother's Standing, though, and my sister. I'll- stand next time, you know?"
There was something comforting in her sympathy, though no one else's had made any difference whatsoever. "Oh, how utterly unfair. I'm sorry, Nik. Hopefully, there won't be too long between clutches, and then you'll get your turn, too."
"I hope so."
"I'm sure of it."
She held his hand as he walked her through the caverns to the storerooms. When he took his leave, she stepped up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, eyes gleaming.
He was never going to wash that cheek again.
It had always been... well. Everyone knew K'dan had had a reputation for being a lady's man, once upon a time. That he'd gone from bed to bed for turns and turns, even after he and Nik's mother had gotten together. That was how come Nik and Kasaven were so close in age. Most people talked as though they were surprised K'dan only had the four children, and three of them with the same person at that!
But Nik wasn't entirely like his father. He thought about girls - a lot. That was definitely true. But actually doing stuff with them? Kasaven was far ahead of him in that area. Just one more thing that he'd been beaten at.
Mirian was different, though. She wasn't someone he wanted to duck into an unused cavern with, to make out (or more!) up against a wall with, the way 'Ven did with his girls. He wanted... he'd known her for fifteen minutes, and he wanted so much more.
Not that... Not that he didn't think about her, later that night, alone in his bed in the dark with his hand creeping down beneath the covers.
But he wanted more.
It was Mirian who convinced him to come and sit in the Galleries with them - "Just for a little while." He would've done a lot of things to get more time with her, and though this one hurt like nothing else, it was soothed, too, by her presence. Nik sat next to Mirian, who sat next to Linadra, who sat next to Kasaven. The two girls were talking about another of the female candidates, a girl from Crom whose father was related to someone, and- well, whatever the relationship was, she seemed to consider herself better than everyone else.
"Knowing our luck, she'll get the queen," moped Linadra, moodily. "And then we'll never live down her family connections."
"Can't you play up your family connections?" asked Mirian, as she reached her hand out to rest it atop Nik's. It made his breath catch, just having her touch him like that; he worried, silently, that if she touched him for too long, he wouldn't be able to control his reaction.
"What family connections?" said Linadra, shaking her head. "My mother's the Headwoman, sure, but my father's just a nondescript bronzerider. I'm not like these two- no Weyrleaders in my family!"
'Ven leaned around Linadra to watch Mirian's reaction, laughing. "Is it confusing you, our convoluted family tree?"
"More than a little," admitted the holder girl. "I'm not used to this kind of complication. At home it's just... you have brothers and sisters, and maybe step siblings sometimes, but only because one of your parents is dead."
"Dad's family is like that," Nik told her. "Everyone married, with just one set of kids. Weyrs are different, though."
"So I've discovered. Does that mean... Linadra, you and Kasaven aren't related at all?"
"Right," agreed Linadra. "Though I still call him my brother. It's easier that way, and since we were all more or less raised together, well, it feels like it's true anyway."
Mirian shook her head. "I'm amazed you all keep it straight. I suppose that's why you all get named after your parents - so that everyone knows the relations?"
"Presumably," Kasaven agreed. "I think it's mostly tradition, too, at this point. I mean... look at Nik. He's the oldest of K'dan and Linian's kids, so you'd think he'd get one of the obvious names: Kasvelin, or Lindan, or whatever. And instead they mixed it up a bit to get Nikalin, and didn't use Kasvelin until their youngest. So it isn't always entirely obvious."
"Shells," was Mirian's conclusion. She looked as though she intended to say more, but she was interrupted by the arrival of a short, dark woman in her middle age: the Weyrwoman.
"Egg watching, Candidates?" She sounded amused.
Nik shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"They're lovely eggs, Weyrwoman," Linadra said, the first to speak up. "We've been looking at them and explaining some things to Mirian here. She's from High Reaches Hold."
Weyrwoman Alise's gaze lingered on the holder girl for a moment, then swept along the row of them. "Welcome to the weyr, Mirian. Cayselanth's in a good mood- did you all want to come and get a closer look at the eggs?"
"Could we?"
Nik could have punched his brother right then and there: it was so unfair! Again, however, he felt Mirian's hand on his; he glanced at her, and she smiled encouraging at him.
"Of course. I wouldn't invite you if I didn't mean it."
"What about Nik?" asked Mirian. "He's not Standing."
The Weyrwoman hesitated, glancing in Nik's direction, her expression uncomfortable; he suspected she'd forgotten. "You'll have to stay off to the side, Nik, I'm sorry. We can't risk-"
"I get it." Nik sounded glum. Mirian's hand tightened on his.
But even she abandoned him to get onto the sands, to touch those rapidly hardening eggs. He hugged his knees, wishing he'd never come out here, wishing he'd been born anywhere but here.
He watched as Kasaven reached out to grab her arm, pointing her at one of the eggs and murmuring something at her. He watched as she followed his lead, smiling brilliantly at him as they conversed.
He wanted to kill his brother. Is he going to get everything, and me nothing? It's not fair!
After that, he avoided them all. He ate dinner early, or in the kitchen, or outside under the stars. He went to bed early, or late, pretending he was asleep when his brother came in, or making sure that his brother was asleep before he did. He caught Mirian's glance once, and she gave him a sad, hurt kind of glance, one that he ignored entirely, turning the other way and walking out. Kasaven could have her. He could have all of it. He was going to have all of it, anyway - what was the use of fighting it?
He hadn't intended to go to the hatching at all, but as the dragons began their humming, he ran into his little sister, quite unexpectedly.
Kalinda grabbed at his hand, apparently intending to drag him with her. "Come on, Nik! The eggs are hatching, and we're going to go cheer on 'Ven and Linny."
"But I-" In a moment, he gave in. What was the point? He'd upset Kali, and probably their mother, and he'd have to find out the result, anyway. He followed, obediently, trying to block out most of her eleven-turn-old ramblings.
The galleries were much more full, now, and the atmosphere was one of excitement. Nik could see his father down on the sands, murmuring gleefully to Alise as they pointed out the movements of different eggs. Cayselanth hovered protectively in front of the golden one, but, for the moment, it lay still. Then, the candidates arrived, a long line of white-robed figures, uniform in dress, but still identifiable, even from a distance.
Mirian looked solemn, intense, but not entirely able to restrain her frisson of excitement.
Kasaven couldn't stop grinning.
Linadra was- serene, surprisingly. Intent, though; Nik could see the way she kept glancing at the gold egg, and at Cayselanth.
He lost sight of them for a while, after that, as the first two eggs broke into pieces, and the first hatchlings - a blue and a green - began roaming the sands. How anyone had ever kept up with clutches of thirty Nik couldn't comprehend: even with fifteen, he was soon lost.
It was Kalinda who grabbed his arm to point out the brown standing in front of Kasaven. Nik felt the breath catch in his throat, and strained forward to try and hear. "Did he say the name? Did you hear?"
But there was too much going on, and before they knew it, Kasaven and his brown were being led from the sands. A brown. So I could still do better than him? A brown! I was so sure he'd get a bronze. He wondered, suddenly, how Kasaven felt about that.
Before he had time to really consider it, though, a wave of excitement passed through the crowd of onlookers, as Cayselanth's gold egg rolled over once, and broke, releasing the spindly gold creature within. Nik's breath caught; he felt Kalinda beside him do the same. The little queen was on her feet and moving in a moment, prowling between the candidates with intensity, her unhappiness echoing through the cavern.
Nik watched as she approached Mirian - he couldn't breath, couldn't think - and then, his eyes widening, watched her turn from his friend, and instead seek out the joyful gaze of his sister.
Even had it been possible to hear the name through the noise, Nik doubted he would have. All his attention was on Mirian, on seeking out her expression, her reaction. Was she upset? Was she relieved? Was she- but Mirian was not left behind for long. Nik watched as the last of the hatchlings approached her, bowling her over in youthful clumsiness, the little green ending up tangled with the girl, but undeniably Impressed.
S'ven and brown Miermath, Linadra and gold Suranith, Mirian and green Feilanth; it didn't take long for Nik to find out these details, in the aftermath, and to imprint them on his brain. So that was it. Over the course of, what, half an hour? He'd been left behind. Linadra would be a Weyrwoman, 'Ven would Mirian would be in training together - none of them would really miss him.
He avoided the celebrations in the cavern, and instead, took a long walk around the lake, trying to clear his thoughts. What would he do? Should he leave the weyr? He could, he supposed, go and stay with his father's family in Tillek. His cousins were all nice enough, and it would be - different. Separate.
He sat on one of the large boulders and stared out over the water. It would be autumn, soon, and eventually, the lake would freeze over. He had vague memories of the last clutch, five turns ago, and how the little dragons slid over the ice. He supposed Miermath and Suranith and Feilanth would slide over the ice, this time, and play with each other. And everyone would laugh and talk about how sweet it was.
Nik felt like he was turning into a horrible person, but how was he supposed to think of anything else? It just didn't seem fair.
"Nik?"
Mirian's voice behind him nearly made him fall off the rock. He turned, sharply, and there she was, still wearing her white robe, though it was distinctly grubbier, now, her dark hair still pulled back into a long, tight braid.
"Mirian? Shouldn't you be with Feilanth?"
"She's sleeping," explained the new weyrling, crossing the remaining distance between them, and, without so much as a further word, hoisting herself onto the rock next to him, seeking for his hand with hers. "And I asked, and someone said they'd seen you come this way. I don't want you to keep avoiding me."
"Stick to Kasaven, Mirry. You're riders, now - you need to stick together."
"Kasaven?" Mirian was silent for a moment, and Nik could feel her gaze on him. "I don't want to, Nik. I thought you and I were friends. I didn't think friendship between riders and non-riders was forbidden... In fact I know it isn't, because look at your parents. S'ven and I are just friends, Nik. And I didn't come out here to talk to you about him."
Nik was silent.
"Do you not want to be my friend anymore, Nik? Because if that's the case, just tell me, and I'll leave you alone. I just thought..." Mirian sounded hurt.
Nik swallowed, trying to find the right words. Nothing came.
"Fine," she said, finally, taking her hand back, and sliding back down the rock. She sounded as though she was about to cry. "Have a nice life, Nik. I'm sorry I bothered you."
He wanted to run after her, to kiss her and tell her how he felt, to explain everything- but he didn't. He didn't even watch her go.
Nik had his father take him to Tillek the following day, telling him, simply, that he wanted some time away from the weyr. His family was kind to him, and didn't ask too many questions as to why he'd left the home he'd been so boastful about, on previous visits. He had to work hard at the hold, and he found it suited him: it felt like he was doing something worthwhile, something meaningful. His uncle was full of praise.
For the most part, he avoided hearing too much about home, though it was hard to avoid it completely. The weyrlings were doing this; S'ven had said that. He tried not to listen, but he missed them, and it was comforting, sometimes, amidst the hurt, to know something. To know that they were doing okay.
It was a full five months later when, on a trip into Tillek proper, he was stopped by riders from Ista. They weren't riding search, they explained, but their dragons didn't seem to care: would he be interested in coming back with them, to Stand for the clutch on Ista's sands?
It was unexpected, but Nik's affirmative answer was out of his mouth before he'd even had chance to think about it. His uncle had only smiled, clapping him on the back and promising to let his father know. Nik had left for Ista immediately, carried aloft to the island weyr by a blue who seemed most enthusiastic about him.
Ista's eggs hatched only a sevenday later, before Nik had really had the chance to get to know anyone, or to really fit in to his new place of residence. He walked onto the sands electrified with excitement and anticipation, with a clenched stomach that spoke to his fears, too. What if he failed? Linny and S'ven had succeeded their very first times, after all!
The first to hatch was a brown, and then a green, and a blue. Half of the eggs had already hatched before there was a bronze on the sands, though in the midst of the action, Nik did not notice immediately. Indeed, he felt like he was missing more than he was seeing, despite his desperate attempts to keep up with everything; certainly, he did not see the bronze until those whirling eyes met his, and the whole world seemed to fade away to nothing.
Rhaivanth, the bronze told him, with a frisson of purest emotion, rolling over Nik in waves: affection, delight, adoration. You're all mine, N'klin.
In time, Ista did become home. It was different from the Reaches, and Nik found the heat unbearable at times, but it was beautiful, too. Bathing the rapidly increasing mass of his bronze was far easier in the warmth than it would have been in the cold, an advantage his father pressed on him early in the piece. "Got us all beat there, mm?" he'd said, clapping his son on the back. "No icy buckets for you, Nik."
"Everyone sends their love," he'd said, too, his expression more serious for it. "They can't wait to meet him, Nik, or to see you. We've all missed you."
"I'm only a heartbeat away," Nik told him.
"And I've no doubt S'ven and Linadra will be testing that as soon as they're allowed. You could write to them, you know."
"They could write to me."
It was a point K'dan couldn't argue, though he afixed his second son with a long glance.
Later, Rhaivanth had asked, Don't you like your clutchsiblings?
Of course I do, Rhai. It's just... complicated.
You should make it uncomplicated.
I wish I could.
The truth was that Nik missed 'Ven more than he'd ever imagined he could. None of this had happened they way they'd dreamed, as children. They'd always planned to Impress from the same clutch, to grow up together and be best friends forever. And now it had been months since they'd spoken, and it felt like maybe they never would again.
What was S'ven doing, he wondered. How was he doing? What was Miermath like?
(Was he chasing Mirian? Was she letting him?)
They were things he couldn't ask his father.
It was Linadra who visited, a few months later, seeking her half-brother out on the beach as Suranith sought out, full of curiosity, Rhaivanth.
"You should talk to S'ven," she said, without greeting N'klin properly, though she wrapped him in a hug a moment later. "He misses you, and doesn't think you'd talk to him if he came."
"He could try. I can't visit him, but if you can come here, he can."
"He's afraid. And you're the one who stopped talking to him. You should come, as soon as you can."
"That's months away, still. Rhai won't even be flying for a while."
"Nik. Write to him. Just... say something."
"I can't. I don't know what to say."
Linadra turned her gaze away, biting back her frustration with increasing obviousness.
"Did... has Mirian asked about me at all?"
"No." Nik got the impression she was biting back more commentary here, too, and realised that Mirian had almost certainly told Linadra about their last meeting. He wished, more than ever, that he'd been able to say something, that night.
You love her.
Yes.
You should tell her!
I can't.
After so long away from the frozen north, N'klin shivered almost uncontrollably as he dismounted from Rhaivanth and strode for the Caverns. It was the second winter since he'd departed the weyr, and more than a turn since he'd Impressed - and at his mother's behest, he had, finally, come for a visit. In some ways, Rhaivanth's excitement was infectious, but Nik was wary, too, and nervous: he'd still not spoken to his brother, or to Mirian, and the idea of running into either made him want to throw up.
He was sixteen, now, halfway to seventeen, and a full rider as of not that long ago. A Bronzerider. An Istan Bronzerider. He tried to feel like one.
You can fly around the spires if you like, Rhai. Or whatever. I won't be too long.
I think I can keep myself occupied, the bronze told him, amused. Go - talk to your mother.
Nik felt awkward greeting people he'd known since childhood, as he made his way through the caverns to his mother's rooms. They all seemed so excited to see him, so pleased and proud of him. Less awkward was his mother's embrace: "You've grown!" she told him, squeezing him tighter. "All grown up. Why did it take you so long to come and see me? It's easier for you to come here than it is for me to go there, remember."
Nik squirmed, though he tried not to let it show too much. "It's just-"
"Complicated. I know. You should talk to S'ven while you're here. This whole thing is stupid."
"I don't know how." It was honest, at least. "I don't know what to say."
"Just TRY. That's all."
Without warning, his knees buckled, and he found himself grasping at the doorjam to keep himself upright. Linian let out a gasp, reaching for him. "Nik? Nik, what's the matter?"
It was Rhaivanth. He felt it, then: felt the bronze's eageriness, his thirst for blood and for- someone. Rhai?
The bronze didn't answer. Nik tried to straighten himself, tried to pull himself back together. "He's going after a green, I think."
"His first?"
He nodded, shutting his eyes against the wave of emotions that rolled through him, almost as intense as that first moment of Impression. "Shells."
She pushed him towards the door. "Go. We'll talk later. Good luck!"
It wasn't until he reached the guest weyr that he realised whose flight it was, when his eyes met Mirian's, across the room. Hers widened, her face turning pale; he blanched, suddenly, silently, begging Rhaivanth to stop.
Oh no, no, no, no, enthused the bronze, and his excitement began to cross over to his rider; it became harder and harder to stop thinking about it, to stop wanting- Rhai. Please!
His gaze caught, suddenly, on S'ven, who hovered close to Mirian; the motion struck Nik as protective, and he felt a wave of jealousy cross him. Liar, he thought, bitterly, glancing back at Mirian. She was still staring at him, still open-mouthed, though her gaze was beginning to glaze over, and she was rocking backwards, gasping, as Feilanth draw back and launched herself into the sky.
The flight didn't last long. In the end, it was Miermath and Rhaivanth, the only two left with a chance with the green. Nik found himself wanting to punch his brother, wanting to steal Mirian away while he still could; he found himself aiming longing glances at the girl he hadn't spoken to in so long, who had so obviously moved on to his brother, if she'd ever really been his at all.
Feilanth soared between them, attempting to dodge the two males on her tail, performing a barrel roll to get past. But Rhaivanth twisted, too, grabbing her at the last moment, so that they dropped together, the green's unwillingness fading into desire as they plunged, onwards.
As Nik launched himself at Mirian, his own desire compounded by everything, he shoved S'ven out of the way, sending the brownrider flying. Some part of him registered that he might feel guilty for that later, but now- right now, all he could think about was Mirian, who reached out for him, and not his brother, who held him close.
Nik woke in a strange bed, suddenly conscious of the warm body burrowing in against him; it was an unfamiliar sensation, and disturbing for it. His eyes shot open, and he stared at the unfamiliar ceiling, and then, carefully, turned his head towards the warmth beside him.
Mirian's dark hair, cut short, now, shaded most of her face from view, but she was unmistakable, nonetheless, sleeping with abandon. Nik felt overcome with terror, unable to think of a single thing to do or say that could get him out of here before-
- Before she woke up. Too late. As he moved, even as slightly as he had, she stirred, her head lifting from his side, her eyes turning wide with shock.
"Nik?"
"Shells. Mirian- I'm sorry. I'll go. I didn't mean-"
"Nik?"
She was staring at him as though- what? As though she'd thought he was dead and she'd never see him again? As though this was the end of the world?
"I'm sorry. I'm going. I'm-" he dove out of bed, grasping for his clothes where they'd been abandoned on the floor.
"Don't. Nik. Don't run away. Not again."
He turned, surprised. "I'm sure my brother would prefer I left. I won't bother you again."
Mirian looked genuinely confused for a moment, then shut her eyes. "I'm not with your brother, Nik. I never- he's my friend. The way you used to be. Only he's more like a brother."
"A brother?"
"Yes. A brother. Why do you always assume that he's more than that to me?"
"He was hovering."
"He didn't want you to hurt me again."
Nik went silent, staring openly. Again?
He didn't need to verbalise the question; it must have been obvious in his expression. "I cried, all right? When you abandoned me. I thought you cared about me, and you obviously didn't."
"Of course I did."
She snorted at him, drawing the sheet up towards her chin. "I don't believe you."
Nik dropped towards his knees, squatting on the floor, his pants still held in his hands. "I did care. I still do. I just didn't know how to tell you that. And I was afraid of being left behind all the time - of being hurt."
"So you hurt me instead."
He nodded, closing his eyes. "I didn't mean to. I never want to hurt you. I think I've loved you since the first moment I saw you."
Mirian was silent for so long that Nik half though she'd left without him noticing; he opened his eyes, and found her staring at the wall, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Mirry?"
She shook her head, hastily, as though trying to dismiss his concern. Nik got up, climbing back onto the bed, and sat down beside her. His nakedness made this feel- awkward and wrong, but he didn't want to run away, not this time. Warily, he put an arm around her, and to his surprise, she nestled into him, burying her face in his chest.
"Mirry?"
"I missed you."
Her words her muffled by his chest, but unmistakable.
"I missed you, too."
"Don't leave me again."
"I won't."
He didn't.
Which doesn't mean S'ven didn't kick his ass, of course, but that? Is another story.