Torture (2/2)

Writers: Estelle, Paula
Date Posted: 7th March 2019

Characters: L'keri, Taren
Description: Taren does a medical check-up on a reluctant L'keri, part 2
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 10, day 2 of Turn 9
Notes: Mentioned: Tavia, G'nir

part 2

L'keri

Before going in, he glanced back over his shoulder at the apprentice
with a cheeky smirk. "Sounds like your Master wants to get a good look
at my body."

"Don't worry, you're not red-head, so you're perfectly safe," the
apprentice replied with deadpan expression.

"That's comforting. I think." Clearly trying to embarrass the healer
into abandoning the check up was not going to work either. With a
sigh, L'keri disappeared into the cubicle.

Taren came after him few minutes later, carrying whatever he needed
for the check-up, including measuring line. And he had Aes take the
stethoscope outside for few minutes, so it was really cold. The
Weyrhealer was quite capable of subtly torturing difficult, uninjured
patients. Taren would have never done anything like that for a scored
rider.

The brownrider was perched on the examination couch with a mutinous
expression on his face, which shifted to one of slight alarm when the
healer entered. It had been a long time since he'd had one of these,
since he'd got quite good at avoiding them at his previous Weyr. He
felt ridiculous in the thin robe, and he didn't like the look of some
of those instruments.

"You know, I'm actually feeling very well today, Master." His hopeful
look was much like his son's, when the boy had skipped his chores.
"How about we just pretend that I've had a check-up, and go for a
drink instead? Much more fun for both of us."

"You're not getting away from me now," Taren replied. "You've been
skipping too many of these."

"It's just that I happen to be extremely healthy." He put on his best
winning smile. "I don't want to bother you healers when there's
nothing wrong with me. You must be very busy."

"You're in luck, it's a slow day and I've even done all my hidework,"
Taren said with steady voice and proceed to examine him. He poked,
probed and measured the brownrider, he listened his heart and lungs,
tested reflex and even made up few new tests to do.

L'keri endured the measuring and poking with a minimum of grumbling,
but when Taren pressed the drum of the stethoscope to his chest, he
leapt back and nearly fell off the other side of the couch. "Aagh!
Where do you keep that, in a snowdrift? It's freezing!"

"Don't move, it just takes longer if you jump around," Taren said,
deliberately ignoring his question.

"But...ow!" L'keri yelped again as the stethoscope was pressed to his
skin, although he managed not to move so much this time. This was
absurd, he thought. He was a dragonrider. He and his brown had
experienced the absolute cold of /between/ and the fiery touch of
Thread. He ought to be able to tolerate a small circle of icy cold metal.

Finally the examination was over, and the brownrider heaved a very
obvious sigh of relief. "So, Weyrhealer, what's the verdict?"

"The verdict is that you need to cut back your drinking and check your
eating habits. Your waistline is growing and I don't usually see
stomach pouch like that in dragonriders under 60 turns age," Taren was
infamous for his blunt bedside manners.

"What?" Startled, L'keri glanced down at his stomach, then gave the
healer an indignant look. "There's nothing wrong with my shape! It's
normal. A man my age can't expect to stay as skinny as a weyrling."

"You're, what, thirty-one, that's not the age to start getting flappy
yet," Taren said. "Look at me, I'm twenty turns older than you and I
look fitter. And I'm a crafter, not dragonrider." Taren had always been
rather burly, with wide shoulders and thick muscles. He did look more
like someone who did heavy, physical work instead of master surgeon.
His strength served him well when moving and lifting patients.

"Good for you," L'keri retorted. As he spoke, he recalled how, when
he'd been moving into his weyr and bringing extra blankets and
supplies upfrom the storerooms, he'd felt uncomfortably out of breath
when he reached the top of the stairs. That wouldn't have been the
case ten Turns ago. Maybe the healer had a point...

He shook his head. "Even if I have put on a bit of weight, so what? I
don't hear Rhalith complaining about carrying me."

"He's a dragon, he can carry you, me and ten other people without
problems," Taren replied. He poked L'keri's chest and continued: "It's
_you_ I'm worried about. You're putting unnecessary stress on your
body. Sooner or later it will start to show. Your body will recover
slower from exercises, your reactions gets slowed down, you tire more
easily, your mind can't keep the focus and then you'll miss that one
clump of Thread and you're dead."

L'keri blinked and looked down at Taren's finger. "Well, that's a cheery
thought." He decided to try appealing to the other man's sense of
gratitude. "Look, Weyrhealer, I hear what you're saying, but...after a
long, hard day of fighting to protect Pern from the ravages of
Thread...a man likes to have a drink. Or two."

"It's the "or two" that gives me concern. I suggest you try going thru
a month without any drink. If you can't do that, you have a drinking
problem," Taren said bluntly.

"A month?" The brownrider was appalled. "But what about when I'm
relaxing with my wingmates? I can't not have a drink. They'll think I've
turned into one of those dull and dutiful riders whose idea of fun is
reading sweepride reports."

"Are you telling me you don't know how to be fun or have fun without
being drunk first?" Taren asked with a disapproving click of his tongue.
"I know lot of sober dragonriders who a great fun."

L'keri looked sceptical. "I'm not sure you and I subscribe to the same
definition of 'fun', Master."

"Oh, I don't know about that, I know I like my fun...on my free time.
Redheads are always fun, although I'm not going to say no to a blond,
brunette or black haired one either."

"Sounds like we have something in common, after all. I'm partial to a
redhead myself." He flashed a charming smile and got up off the couch.
"Well, I will definitely take your advice into consideration,
Weyrhealer. I will think about it very seriously." Over a drink, he
added silently.

"I want you to do more than consider it. I want you to change your
habits to healthier direction," Taren was quite serious about it.
"If you don't, I can always go to your wingleader. I'm sure the
weyrlings are going to have so much fun when you're forced to attend
the physical training with them."

The brownrider froze as he reached for his clothes. Drilling with the
weyrlings was nothing he hadn't been subjected to before, but he did
_not_ want to end up under the command of G'nir. He suspected the
Weyrlingmaster could make his life very unpleasant indeed.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary," he said hastily. He could put up
with a bit of healthy living for a few days, after which, he hoped,
Taren would forget all about him and find some other unfortunate rider
to torment. "What do you need me to do?"

"Drink less, exercise more and remember to eat your greens," Taren
listed out. "I'm going to schedule you a follow up for three months from
now."

"But..." L'keri caught the healer's expression and realised that no
amount of arguing was going to make any difference. "Oh, very well.
You sound like my old foster mother," he complained as he dressed.

"She was probably a wise, sensible woman, so thank you," Taren replied.

The brownrider made an exasperated sound and stomped out of the
cubicle, leaving with his shirt half unbuttoned in his haste to escape
the infirmary. He was already considering how he could possibly get
out of this one. Three months of greens and exercise was too much to
bear...

Last updated on the March 15th 2019

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Torture (2/2)