====December 13, 2013
====Mienta promised something impossible.

Who Mienta
What Mienta promised something impossible.
When There are 0 turns, 5 months and 21 days until the 12th pass
Where Mienta's Room, Southern Weyr



Mienta's Room
Mienta's space is everything one might expect of a journeyman dolphineer, right down to the restfully seascape-colored walls and the warm, softened wood paneling of the floors. The room is fairly sizable for one of her rank, but is of course dominated by the bed in its middle. A lounge chair for reading sits in the corner between the two windows, a small table perched beside it; other small tables rest each on either side of the bed's head, a small lamp on one of them. On the other side of the main window, a small personal desk sits nestled into the corner, a slender chair tucked underneath when not in use. The windows themselves provide a beautiful view of the ocean, near enough to be a constant dull roar of sound. A carpet covers most of the center of the floor, leaving a foot or so of bare wood by each wall. The windows are covered by heavy, fine canvas draperies, and a remarkably small chandelier hangs in the middle of the room, casting most of the light of an evening. Opposite the main window, three doors: the center is the room's exit, with a small closet and a smaller lavatory bracketing it on either side.

So she'd done what they asked.

What her father asked of her, and her mother; her (remaining) siblings; her Iski, who had sent her forward to find a new partner with the future of his pod. Or any pod, as it turned out, as Mienta had no delusions of returning to the Ista area.

But what they'd asked of her was complicated. Complicated to say the least. Because of course Lord Crom had wanted her to ensure the future of a Hold that no longer existed, a Hold that lay in ruins. Could one even call it a Hold anymore? The Crom Colonies, between two beholden Weyrs (though this had happened in the past, as well; that itself wasn't too abnormal!), ridden with sick people who worked the destroyed mines that had once brought her family and Hold such prosperity. The disheveled remains of those mines, the firestone that protected Pern now something that was mucking up the air and mucking up the bodies of those who interacted with it. It wasn't safe to breathe there, wasn't safe to drink.

It broke her heart.

So badly she wanted to do all of what her family had asked of her, but there was nothing she could do then. Records would prove she was Crom's Blood, that she was now the only living of Crom's lineage. But it wasn't as if she could claim the destitute colonies. She couldn't reunite them. Even if anyone would have listened to her desire to do such a thing, she couldn't — her loyalty was to her craft. Mienta had never been meant to be a Holder. While she allowed the name of 'Lady Mienta,' or had in the day — did her Blood even mean anything in this world? — she had preferred 'Journeyman' once she'd walked the tables.

She was a dolphineer, with a partner. Or she had been. She was a dolphineer in need of a new partner, now, and several of the nearest pod were more than eager to interact with her. She would be a dolphineer chosen by a new partner, soon, she was sure.

She was a talented cartographer.

She had the uncharted waters of Southern to explore, still, with its mysterious ghost ships and all. (She wasn't afraid. She was exhilarated. Nearly delighted.)

Mienta hadn't been aware of how much she loved her family for what it was, as a family, as a lineage, as tied to her Hold, until what she loved wasn't there anymore. She'd taken off from Crom at thirteen, joined the hall and become Utoxin's little shadow, Ieraimy's innocent to corrupt, Tseyrin's companion, Shimmer's secret keeper, Iski's partner. So many names and faces she'd never see again. The Hall had been everything. She'd wanted to be a dolphinhealer, desperately, but her mentor had led her in a different direction and she became a strong explorer, instead, a competent and gifted cartographer good with lines.

But oh, she missed Crom, now that it was gone.

She hadn't cared much for the formalities of the Blooded, hadn't been too concerned with the way things ran at home unless she had to be. (She very well remembered arranging a meeting between Br'er and Lord Enraoul — because she was the one there, and because she'd been at Ista Weyr when the Nowtimers arrived.) She hadn't cared then and yet she had loved them so dearly that when going forward came up, she stupidly agreed that if the others were all going to stay behind, well, she would go.

And do what?

There was no Hold to help, and certainly no Hold to claim.

That land had never belonged to her, but she belonged to it. Her room was dappled with little things she'd brought from there; memories and drawings of Crom at the height of its renaissance, finery bought with money from the mining, a painting of the skyscape - Crom from dragonback. She didn't want to be Lady Holder. She wanted her craft, wanted her Mastery far before she'd want that sort of title. In no way would she ever agree to becoming Lady Holder. That wasn't what she'd agreed to; maybe, at most, her child would have. Will have, she could've said, but not in this world.

She wanted to do what they had asked of her.

Her heart ached for her former home.

There was nothing she could do.

She couldn't even bring herself to visit it, not yet, afraid of how she might react.

But before, when she had spoken, she kept her accent soft, modulated her voice.

Now she would hold her head up high and speak in a Cromese burr, recognizable even with her 10th Interval variance on the local clip.

She might not be expected to exist, but she had nothing to hide from anyone.

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