Who

Amani, Zymuraith

What

Amani and Zymuraith help one another through a few inner struggles and come to a deeper understanding.

When

It is early evening of the 22nd day of the 3rd month of the 12th Turn of the 12th Pass.

Where

Weyrling Barracks, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 19 Oct 2017 06:00

 

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« We belong to ourselves and to each other. »


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Weyrling Barracks

Natural entropy lies restrained by sheer force of will within the chaotic spiral of Southern's weyrling-barracks. The large entry hollows out into an immense common area at the front of the barracks, where sustenance can be procured for both sides of the lifebond: tables are typically set out with at least the trimmings for sandwiches, and often carcasses lie in the hollowed pit for fresh weyrlings to carve chunks of meat for their new lifemates. Beyond, the couches are set within a U-shape around a long pool, spring-fed, large enough to bathe growing dragons.

Heavy tapestries line the stone walls towards the rear of the barracks, while space is at a premium towards the front: shelves and pegs hold leathers and tools, books and useful trinkets of the dragonriding trade. The narrow-point of the U branches into two hallways: one for the candidate barracks, and one for the weyrlingmaster's office.


« You are hiding from yourself. »

It’s been a quiet, pensive early evening thus far for both halves of Southern’s youngest gold pair. Amani has been patiently oiling Zymuraith - who is now just a few feet shy of the length of the Weyr’s smallest green - for the better part of a candlemark. It’s raining, and from the cozy shelter of their couch nearest the entrance to the weyrling barracks, they’ve been sharing a comfortable silence, listening to the steady drumming of fat, cool drops upon stone and enjoying the mild autumn temperature. Amani is, however, mulling over a few things that have been nagging at her lately, and the desert-bred girl knows by now that even when Zymuraith says something that seems apropos of nothing…it never is. It just isn’t always immediately clear what the young gold is talking about.

» …What? «

« You’ve told me so much of what has made you who you are, my Amani. But I know you still keep things back for my sake, though I can handle much more now… » Though the familiar white flames of Zymuraith’s bonfire rise to flicker warmly in Amani’s mind, the gold leads her along a mental path of black and white laid beneath her feet in rippled patterns, winding between towering tents and finally into one. Amani finds herself walking into a short, dark tunnel that ends in a heavy curtain, which she pushes aside to reveal a space that seems empty and dark save for the light cast by a single large candle in the middle of the floor.

Then she steps forward.

She suddenly sees herself standing before her…and to her right…to her left…reflected a dozen times over in staggered rings of mirrors. The candles multiply along with her image, the light bending and distorting and sometimes disappearing altogether depending upon which mirror she glimpses. Her reflections do the same…though sometimes something about her is missing or changed. She has green eyes in one mirror. A little girl holds her hand in another. Someone is behind her in yet another, though she sees no one when she turns around to find out who it is. Her reflection is almost completely absent in another, her outline faintly present as though she might be a ghost.

» Zymuraith, what is this? « This isn’t the first time Amani has been confused by the phantasmagoric imagery her lifemate sometimes presents her with, but this is the first time she’s ever been shown something so complex. Something about it reminds her of the illusions that she’d seen Tallel do once during a Zingari festival night, but it feels ten times more layered than anything she might ever witness with her eyes alone.

« Facets. Who you are, or could be, or might be. Or not. I know I confuse you rather often, » the young gold says, and there’s a melancholy note to her voice that makes Amani stop her oiling altogether to look at Zymuraith’s face. « But you confuse you just as much. You’ve been wondering why some people seem to make you blush so easily. Why you think of the long-haired man so much. You know the answers but you’re afraid of them, so you push them away and pretend not to understand. Why? You don’t like being confused any more than I do. »

Amani has gone very still, her thoughts starting to churn in a precursor to something that might be panic. » I… Zymuraith, I might know, but they’re not things to be thinking about right now. We are more important. «

« We are always most important. But we are stronger now than we were, and I want to know why these things worry you so much. It won’t hurt me. »

» I think about Ibrahim because he’s kind to me. Kind in a way I haven’t known before. « Amani gets the explanation out in a hurry, as though there’s a risk she might end up keeping it to herself longer if she doesn’t.

Zymuraith, however, is too shrewd to accept it at face value. « It is more than that. You admire him, and you fear that his kindness might not run as deep as you think, just like other men you’ve known. » Several mirrors flicker with snippets of memories Amani has shared, and those brief glimpses are enough to bring a lump of guilt into her throat. Yes, she doubts…but Ibrahim isn’t anything like what she’s witnessed thus far in her life.

» The others are kind to me, too, « she points out, trying to evade what Zymuraith wishes to highlight as she thinks of her clutchsiblings and other male dragonriders she’s met - N’ox and Th’res in particular, M’noq, D’wane, N’iel…

« They are not the same. You’re around them all the time. But he makes you curious. » The mirrors shift…or perhaps it is the light that shifts, which seems to fit better. The reflection of Amani some indiscernible figure behind her catches her eye again, the image briefly flickering with an image of the wildling man they’ve been discussing. « It is alright to be curious, Amani. I want you to be. And more importantly, I want you to stop being afraid of things that might be perfectly fine. »

Amani considers her lifemate quietly for a long moment, still wandering the labyrinth of mirrors Zymuraith shares across their minds. » You…don’t mind? It doesn’t bother you? « she asks, coming to mental stillness near the anchoring image of the burning candle in the midst of them all.

« Why would I mind? You still have much growing to do, as do I. We grow together, and also separately, so no, I don’t mind if you take the chance to grow in this way. We belong to ourselves and to each other. » The mirrors fade away…and color slowly begins to warm into Zymuraith’s mental world of black and white and silver, the walls of the tent around them becoming as ruddy as an autumn sunset. A pair of kittens, one black and one white, wind themselves between and around Amani’s ankles, sensation as real in her mind as it would be in body. « Do you understand, Amani? »

The dark-eyed girl nods, pulling herself up onto Zymuraith’s couch to cradle her nose in both hands, stroking gently. » Yes. I understand. « This time, she truly does. » And now that you’ve helped me understand something about me…help me to understand something about you. «

The ruddy tent walls begin to fade back to black and white stripes studded with tiny firefly lights that twinkle like stars. « Yes? »

» What makes you shy, Zymuraith? « The question causes the little lights adorning heavy canvas to flicker uncertainly, the scent of caramel mingled very faintly with something damp and burnt wafting in through a flap that billows open in the wind. » You would rather be out at night; getting you to come out and about during the day aside from lessons feels like a chore sometimes. Why is that? «

Zymuraith is quiet for a long moment, an uncommonly gusty wind keeping the flap of this particular tent open to admit the wildly flickering light of her bonfire. The fairy lights inside dim considerably and Amani looks down when she realizes she can see them reflected below…in a pool of shadowed water. It smells faintly like the sea, surrounded by a rimming of smooth black stones and white candles…with black flames that somehow give off shadow instead of light. Over it all hovers a heavy, invisible fog of melancholy, and Amani blinks to look at her lifemate in surprise, moving closer to loop her arms around her lifemate’s neck. “Oh, Zymuraith…”

« There are so many eyes on us, Amani. Seeing us but not seeing us. When we go out and about, they see us as they expect us to be, not as we are. »

» What makes you think that? «

« They don’t ask. They only watch. Sometimes they talk to you and learn of us, but what of me? »

At first, Amani is unsure how to respond to this, absolutely awed to discover that her beautiful, complex lifemate, destined to be one of the largest and most powerful beings in all of Pern…is having self-esteem issues. She’s been learning firsthand just how intricate a draconic personality can be, but to find out that Zymuraith’s includes something like this, something she could so easily end up dealing with herself, drives that complexity fully home. Her heart swells with love for her lifemate in a manner she hasn’t experienced since Impression, almost matching it as she buries her face in the warm golden hide at her cheek and allows tears of sympathy to break free. » Oh my heart, I wish you’d told me sooner. I think… I have a bit of a story for you that might help. I hope. «

Zymuraith croons softly and physically nods, which causes Amani to chuckle. She lifts her head and focuses on the young gold’s nearest eye as she speaks. » When I left the Underground, one of the things that worried me most was what the people at Igen Weyr would think of me when I got there. I was a girl with a crossbow coming from the other side of the desert, and I thought that they might somehow be able to just look at me and tell that I’d once been a user and a thief. But I couldn’t change how I looked right away; I didn’t have anything to do it with. And I decided that I would just go anyway, and if they did decide I looked too much like where I came from, because the dragonfolk would figure it out if anyone could, and sent me back out to the road, I could just go further away. But I took the chance, and even though I was watched a lot for the first month or so I was there, I made certain I talked to people and was true to my word and worked hard. Eventually it became clear that I’d been worrying over nothing. «

Zymuraith listens carefully, the wind that whips at the flames of her bonfire beyond the tent flap lessening bit by bit. A few of the candles surrounding her pool of tears slowly take on normal flames that give off soft yellow light. » What I’m saying, love, is that it’s alright to worry, and maybe there are a few watching us who only see what they expect us to be and aren’t concerned with who we are, « Amani tells her. » But we can’t let thoughts of those few hold us back. Be brave and talk to others yourself, and little by little you’ll start to find out how things really are. It’s never as simple as we assume. «

« I think I confuse whoever else I talk to even more than I confuse you. »

» Don’t your brothers and sisters ever confuse you back? «

« …Yes. Some of them do. »

» But it all works itself out in the end, right? «

« I think so. » The pool of tears fades away into shadow, the fairy lights spangling the walls of the tent softly winking back into a brighter existence.

» See? Just keep speaking and letting everyone see and hear you, Zymuraith, and eventually the truth of who you are will be what everyone knows, not the picture a few might paint of you. Or of us. And even if everything else seems completely off the mark sometimes, it’s like Rocketh told you once - know who you are, and who cares what anyone else thinks? «

« Except for what you think. »

Amani laughs softly and puts her arms around her lifemate’s neck again. » Right. And no matter what, we know each other’s truths. No matter what… « Her arms squeeze tighter as she finally says something she realizes she hasn’t outright put into words yet, even though her heart and mind have spoken it over and over again. » I love you, Zymuraith. «

Between their minds, the tent sheltering them melts away. The circus is quiet save for reverently soft footsteps and awed, hushed whispers as the bonfire glows, high and bright, making the white stripes of each tent glint like silver. The crisp breeze of an autumn night sighs gently, brightening eyes and reddening cheeks, tantalizing the nose with wafts of freshly-melted caramel, the spice of hot mulled cider, the rich sweetness of warm cocoa. Dried leaves swirl in a crimson dervish around ankles and down pathways…and the fairy lights limning every tent of Zymuraith’s circus sparkle transcendently, shimmering and dancing with adoring delight in echo of the stars high above.

« And I love you, my Amani. »

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