Post by Gavyn on Dec 30, 2010 16:45:35 GMT -7
It was a commonly seen sight. Gavyn, Lord Holder of Lyralon Hold sauntered into the caverns of the Weyr he was beholden to. Instead of performing his duties as Lord Holder- remaining in his Hold to deal with the daily issues which piled upon his desk- Gavyn was seeking a break from the unwelcome responsibilities he faced. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his trousers, his sharp blue eyes turning this way and that as he offered a thin smile to any who caught his eye. The Lord Holder looked only slightly rumpled- as if he had only bothered to run his fingers through his hair before dressing and leaving his rooms back at the hold. It was a rogue-ish appearance, his white shirt left partially open at the top, and his jacket hung almost carelessly on his wiry frame.
He moved smoothly through the caverns, as if he had no purpose in being here. His boots whispered across the stone floor, too quiet to be heard in the overall noise that dominated the main cavern. Periodically, the young man trailed his fingers across the rough wall, as if taking in every detail he could. Gavyn had never felt more at home than he did when he walked the weyr's halls. His lips compressed at that thought, momentarily unhappy. He was a misfit. Had his life been only slightly different, he would have been a dragonrider himself, leaping onto the back of one of those glorious creatures. Instead he was ruler of a bunch of ungrateful Holders who snarled at the inherent beauty of the beasts which had guarded them faithfully for more than just a few centuries. Even his steward frowned at his close friendship with many of the dragonriders, though of course the man wouldn't contradict his Lord in public and rarely in private. He had never been close to any Holder as he was to the dragonriders.
Dragonriding now days was a thankless job. Too few Holders respected them, demanding only that the dragons be put to work for their every whim. Even the crafters that came through his Hold laughed at the idea that they be expected to put forth candidates for the clutches that came every few turns. As a young boy Gavyn had yearned for the chance to stand on the sands himself, but as his father's only child, that chance had never come. All too aware of the fragile state they were in, the Weyrs never took a Lord's son away from him.
And now another hatching was coming closer, golden Ryath's clutch had a queen, and in a dragon of Ryath's age, it could only mean that the noble queen had reached the end of the mating flights she was going to fly. The queen would fly maybe once or twice more until her daughter was able to become the next queen of Lyralon Weyr. Even that depressed Gavyn. Ryath had been the queen of Lyralon Weyr for as long as Gavyn had been alive- and longer still. During that time she had clutched three queen eggs. The first was- according to the stories he'd been told- impressed to a rather bitter young woman who returned to the North, preferring isolation from other dragons. Gavyn had heard enough to know that that particular queen rider only called for one or two bronzes whenever her gold rose to mate. Those flights made for small clutches, and as far as he knew, that queen had never clutched a gold egg. The second queen had been gifted to Southern Weyr after their Weyrwoman had died in a horrible accident, leaving the Weyr without a queen. And this newest golden egg was the undoubtedly the last, meant to take over Ryath's place as queen. Of course, this had never been confirmed in his hearing, but he'd been around the Weyr enough in his life to believe it was so.
Gavyn finally stopped, leaning against one wall, his eyes taking in everything around him. All these thoughts of mating flights and clutches made him realize that all too soon he would be expected to settle down himself and find some girl willing to put up with him in return for being his Lady Holder. "Well... That'll be an interesting chase." He murmured under his breath. Already his steward had made vague comments about the 'lack of blood' running about the hold, and how could the Lord Holder possibly wander about with matters 'less than settled' in the family. Seeing as he was the only member of his bloodline left... His steward wasn't too imaginative in how he pushed his Lord Holder into marriage. Fortunately, Gavyn had already decided marriage an unfortunate necessity, though he hadn't the slightest clue who he was expected to wed.
He moved smoothly through the caverns, as if he had no purpose in being here. His boots whispered across the stone floor, too quiet to be heard in the overall noise that dominated the main cavern. Periodically, the young man trailed his fingers across the rough wall, as if taking in every detail he could. Gavyn had never felt more at home than he did when he walked the weyr's halls. His lips compressed at that thought, momentarily unhappy. He was a misfit. Had his life been only slightly different, he would have been a dragonrider himself, leaping onto the back of one of those glorious creatures. Instead he was ruler of a bunch of ungrateful Holders who snarled at the inherent beauty of the beasts which had guarded them faithfully for more than just a few centuries. Even his steward frowned at his close friendship with many of the dragonriders, though of course the man wouldn't contradict his Lord in public and rarely in private. He had never been close to any Holder as he was to the dragonriders.
Dragonriding now days was a thankless job. Too few Holders respected them, demanding only that the dragons be put to work for their every whim. Even the crafters that came through his Hold laughed at the idea that they be expected to put forth candidates for the clutches that came every few turns. As a young boy Gavyn had yearned for the chance to stand on the sands himself, but as his father's only child, that chance had never come. All too aware of the fragile state they were in, the Weyrs never took a Lord's son away from him.
And now another hatching was coming closer, golden Ryath's clutch had a queen, and in a dragon of Ryath's age, it could only mean that the noble queen had reached the end of the mating flights she was going to fly. The queen would fly maybe once or twice more until her daughter was able to become the next queen of Lyralon Weyr. Even that depressed Gavyn. Ryath had been the queen of Lyralon Weyr for as long as Gavyn had been alive- and longer still. During that time she had clutched three queen eggs. The first was- according to the stories he'd been told- impressed to a rather bitter young woman who returned to the North, preferring isolation from other dragons. Gavyn had heard enough to know that that particular queen rider only called for one or two bronzes whenever her gold rose to mate. Those flights made for small clutches, and as far as he knew, that queen had never clutched a gold egg. The second queen had been gifted to Southern Weyr after their Weyrwoman had died in a horrible accident, leaving the Weyr without a queen. And this newest golden egg was the undoubtedly the last, meant to take over Ryath's place as queen. Of course, this had never been confirmed in his hearing, but he'd been around the Weyr enough in his life to believe it was so.
Gavyn finally stopped, leaning against one wall, his eyes taking in everything around him. All these thoughts of mating flights and clutches made him realize that all too soon he would be expected to settle down himself and find some girl willing to put up with him in return for being his Lady Holder. "Well... That'll be an interesting chase." He murmured under his breath. Already his steward had made vague comments about the 'lack of blood' running about the hold, and how could the Lord Holder possibly wander about with matters 'less than settled' in the family. Seeing as he was the only member of his bloodline left... His steward wasn't too imaginative in how he pushed his Lord Holder into marriage. Fortunately, Gavyn had already decided marriage an unfortunate necessity, though he hadn't the slightest clue who he was expected to wed.
