Crushing Rumor

Writers: Estelle, Miriah
Date Posted: 10th August 2019

Characters: Lorican, Wilvar
Description: Lorican hopes are crushed after he learns of a rumor
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 11, day 18 of Turn 9
Notes: Mentioned: Urlene, Chaysea

Wilvar wiped the sweat from his brow as he shoveled more fuel into the
forge, piling in the coal and bone. Bones could help with the fire,
but shards could it stink. He'd be glad when this part of his
apprenticeship was over. He was close enough now to start walking the
tables, if he didn't Impress. He stepped away, then looked up as
Lorican came in. He knew the man only by sight, and waved a greeting.
"Back again? The mastersmith isn't in yet."

"Oh, I can wait. I came to see if there was anything more I could do to
help." The roaring fire made it even hotter in the smithy than outdoors,
but Lorican was used to it and now his burns were healing, he found the
heat actually eased the ache in his shoulder. "You need a hand there? I
can work the bellows, if you want." If he used his stronger arm, he
thought, he'd be able to do it safely enough.

"Nah, I'm supposed to do it myself and then forge 100-weight of nails
for that new Weyrhold." Wilvar grimaced. "Mastersmith'll skin me if I
do any shortcuts." He glanced at Lorican. "'Sides, if the cold fish
down at the infirmary finds out that I've helped you hurt yourself
more, it'll be my hide."

Lorican could understand that; he remembered his own apprentice days.
"Well, if I can help, just shout." He half-turned to go over to a bench,
planning to work on his designs while he waited, then blinked as
something the young man had said struck him. "Cold fish?" Did he mean
the Weyrhealer? He'd never met the man so couldn't speak to his
character, but he'd not heard him described that way before.

Wilvar grunted softly as he picked up a small piece of metal that he
was about to start heating. "Master Urlene. She fixed you up, didn't
she?" He snorted. "You know what I mean." The senior apprentice thrust
the metal into the forge to heat it. "Cold as a frozen packtail." The
young man sounded a bit bitter as he turned the metal in the tongs,
waiting for it to reach the right shade. "It's really not fair."

Lorican frowned, the instinct to defend the healer who'd helped him
surprising him with its force. "She didn't strike me that way." Of
course, he didn't know her well, not really. But she'd seemed to him to
be - calm, efficient, precise in her work - but not cold. He couldn't
have imagined the warmth in her smile when they'd talked about her portrait.

Wilvar looked up, something in the man's voice catching his attention.
He paused, ignoring the heating metal for a moment and stared at
Lorican. The younger man blinked, then guffawed. "Oh Faranth. You got
it bad, huh? So do lots of men for her, trust me, until they learn
better." He turned back to the forge, shaking his head. "Don't bother
with her, Journeyman. It's a hopeless. Ask anyone."

"Oh. I wasn't..." Lorican felt the heat rise to his cheeks. His own good
sense told him that a woman like her - a Master, beautiful and talented
- could have her pick of the men in the Weyr. There was no reason why
she'd choose a mere journeyman whose main achievement in life was nearly
being burned alive in his own smithy. And yet in that moment in the
infirmary when she'd told him she liked his art, he'd felt hope.

He turned away, pretending interest in some of the finished pieces on
the shelves nearby. But though he was reluctant to discuss Urlene with
anyone, least of all this apprentice, he couldn't help asking a question
that had been on his mind since he'd first ended up in the infirmary.
"Is she - uh, does she already have someone, then? A husband or...a
weyrmate?"

There was another snort as Wilvar withdrew the small bit of heated
steel, checking it for any cracks that the heat might have exposed.
"No husband, and not a weyrmate either.." He glanced up at Lorican;
his bitterness towards Urlene was personal; he'd not forgotten the
painful thump she had given him, nor being the recipient of the rough
side of her tongue. He almost felt sorry for Lorican... almost. "You
never ever see her with a man, excepting other Healers that she works
with or people who're hurt. Shards, she hardly ever goes out into the
Weyrbowl or even to the dining hall. Only one anyone's ever seen her
with is the Headwoman...yeah...they're supposed to be _real_ close."
He smirked as he began to hammer on the heated sliver of metal,
speaking between strikes that lacked finesse and focus. "You seen the
Headwoman right? Trust me, the thought of the two of them together
keeps a man _up_ all night."

The journeyman watched him, bewildered. He'd not met the Headwoman,
though he'd seen her in the dining hall. Even if not for her knots, he'd
have realized that she was someone of consequence, though young for her
rank. He could see how she and Urlene would have a lot in common, but
there was something in Wilvar's tone that suggested that wasn't all.
"Together? You mean...they're friends?"

Wilvar gave a snickering chortle that wa pointedly derisive of the
question. "I'm sure they're that too. But I heard that they're
_together_. A couple. Like two male greenriders but with women, you
know? It's acceptable here. Doesn't seem fair to me, looking like they
look." He paused, the blows of steel ceasing as his gaze unfocused,
clearly thinking of the pair in a manner that was distinctly not
appropriate. Then his expression became disgruntled and he began to
hammer the steel again, shaping it to a slender point.

"But that's not..." Lorican gave up the pretense of a casual manner and
stared at him in frank astonishment. Two women, together? He'd never
heard of such a thing before, even in the sea hold. "I mean, how do
they...no, never mind. Don't answer that." His face had turned scarlet
with shame and he could only hope it was hidden by the heat of the
forge. She must think him an utter dimglow, not to have realized. Or
worse, the kind of man who had known and persisted anyway, ignoring her
lack of interest. The spark of hope that he'd nurtured since his return
to the Weyr flickered and died.

"Sorry," he said heavily, his shoulders slumped. "The way people live
here, it's new to me. I had no idea."

Wilvar looked up and seeing Lorican's expression, paused in his
hammering, feeling a frisson of guilt flickering in his belly. "Don't
be. It's hard to get used to. I know I about puked a little thinking of
two men together when I first came here. Still don't like the idea much
to be honest. But she don't like men at all. Probably why she came
here. No one knows much about her though, excepting she's of the Blood,
but doesn't have much to do with her family. That's probably why." He
frowned. "It's a waste to my mind, especially with that body of hers.
It's made for a man. A pure waste." He began hammering again and turned
away, wondering if this time he should have kept his mouth shut. But
Shells, if he could keep Lorican from getting thumped like he had,
maybe he was doing him a favor.

Lorican might have argued, or rebuked the apprentice for his lack of
respect to a Master, but what would be the point? The young man had told
him what he needed to hear. The revelation that Urlene was of the Blood
was further reason, if more was needed, that a man with no ancestry to
speak of should not even have dreamed as he had. He wondered what had
brought her here. In his limited experience, the families of high-born
girls barely let them out of their sight, let alone permitted them to
travel to the Weyr.

"Well. Thank you for the advice. I'll just..." He crossed the room to
the shelves as if to look through the records, but his mind barely
registered what he saw. He told himself it didn't matter. Even if she
could have cared for a man, she would surely have preferred one of the
many handsome, confident and successful dragonriders of Dolphin Cove.
The most he could have hoped for was her friendship.

His spirits lifted a little at that thought. Still, he feared he might
let something slip that would reveal his feelings and embarrass her. If
it wasn't already too late. And given what had happened at Rocky Bay, it
was perhaps best he didn't stay too long at the Weyr.

Instead of taking out his portfolio of designs, Lorican found paper and
sat down to draft a letter. He'd write to his old Master, back at the
Smith Hall, ask if there were any posts open for a journeyman. Right now
he felt like he wanted to bury himself in the most obscure, backwoods
cothold in the South.

Last updated on the August 19th 2019

Welcome to Triad Weyrs!

Crushing Rumor