The Wrong of It

Writers: Jane
Date Posted: 6th May 2007

Characters: F'naren, Jh'slaen
Description: F'naren visits Jh'slaen after his argument with D'val.
Location: River Bluff Weyr
Date: month 3, day 22 of Turn 4

"Huh," Jh'slaen grunted when he saw who was hammering at the door.
"What time is this?"

"After midnight." F'naren followed the greenrider as Jh'slaen headed back to his bed. "I thought you were a morning person?"

"This is more late-at-night, I'm guessing." He peered at the brownrider. "No shirt? No boots? Some sort of crisis?"

"Some sort of stubbed toe," F'naren said, peering down at the offending item and then glancing back at the trail of blood he had tracked across the room. "Like a seven Turn old. Can I use your bathing room?"

"Go right ahead. You want to talk about the crisis?" the greenrider suggested, following the other man to the door of the small bathing room.

"To be honest I'd much rather talk about the stubbed toe." F'naren dropped the bundle of boots and clothes on the laundry basket and stripped off his trousers, wincing as the fabric came in contact with his toe. He rotated the valve below the water spout to start the flow of water and didn't bother to wait for it to warm. "Could I borrow clean clothes?"

Jh'slaen sighed and levered himself off the doorframe to find underclothing, trousers, and a shirt before returning to the bathing room. He sorted out the bundle of clothes, dropping the boots to the floor, emptying the trouser pockets before putting all the clothing in the basket. He placed the clean clothes on top of the basket and found the redwort and numbweed which he set out on the basin surround.

"Thanks," F'naren said with a sigh, relaxing a little as the warming water cascaded over his head and shoulders and ran down his body. "I think I'd rather be scored," he said, glancing down at his now clean toe. The water was making it sting and he wasn't feeling in the mood to ignore it.

"Does this crisis have anything to do with Jzeth winning Ayleth's flight?"

"Your friend's the _most_ self-centred person on Pern. It's all about _him_. How _he_ feels."

Poor D'val, Jh'slaen thought. F'naren was too practical to take emotional scenes well. "Uh-oh."

"Don't 'uh-oh' on his behalf. He's too busy wallowing in self-pity to appreciate your sympathy." He turned the valve off with a snap and caught the towel Jh'slaen threw him. "Why do _I_ have to deal with him?
I didn't make him Impress green. I didn't make Ayleth rise. I didn't even make Jzeth win." His brown had won two flights in his young life – both Ayleth's. F'naren thought he was managing to deal with the unexpectedness of having sex with another man quite well. He remembered what the weyrling classes taught. He did the best he could and got _D'val_ for his troubles.

"The 'uh-oh' was for you," Jh'slaen said mildly. "Redwort and numbweed there."

"Thanks." He tended to his toe, grumbling under his breath and blaming the stupid injury on D'val too. More than anything else had, having something real and physical to blame the greenrider for made him feel a little better. "Sorry to come here and complain about him. I know you like him."

"He's a friend, but you're more. You can come here and complain all you like. No doubt I'll do expect you to return the favour sometime and listen to me in the middle of the night."

The brownrider put his foot down and managed to smile when there was no pain from the toe. "That's better." He pulled on the clean clothes.
"Are you going to clean this place, now?"

"Though I might leave it till morning," Jh'slaen said, rewarded by F'naren's smile widening. "Yes, sometimes even I put sleep before cleanliness."

"Good to hear. He said you – that Saradath's rising might be awful for you. You would have told me that, if it was, wouldn't you?"

Probably not in the way D'val had tried to get his point across, Jh'slaen thought, having known F'naren all his life. "Yeah, I would have. I don't mind. There's a special closeness to her during flights; the other person is sort of peripheral to me. That's not necessarily how everybody feels." He shrugged. "I don't suppose there's a right or wrong of it."

F'naren grunted, relieved and not about to acknowledge that D'val's taunts had worried him. "Apparently I'm the wrong of it."

Jh'slaen smiled watching his friend limp back across the main room, one boot on and the other in his hand. "Some days are like that. Tomorrow you can be in the right all day, how about that?"

"Yeah. That'd be good. Thanks," he tugged at the shirt he wore as he paused in the doorway into the corridor. "For this. Everything."

"You're welcome."

F'naren nodded and turned to walk home in a rolling boot-and-bare-foot motion that made him smile.

Last updated on the May 6th 2007

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The Wrong of It