The World of Pern(tm) copyright (c) 1967 by Anne McCaffrey.
The Dragonriders of Pern(r) is a registered copyright.
An online session, recorded by permission of the author for the benefit
of members unable to attend.
=======================================================================

December 16, 1998.  PernMUSH.  E'vrin's POV.
--
Your location's current time: 22:26 on day 16, month 6, Turn 25, of
the Tenth Pass. It is a summer evening.
Cast:  E'vrin, Lyndra, Aellya; Kassima.

E'vrin visits Lyndra and her baby present, to give a gift; then he
visits Kassima and their baby future, to receive a gift.
=======================================================================
Infirmary
The scent of numbweed permeates the Weyr's infirmary, a remarkable
cavern with room for both dragon and human patients. The outer part of
the cavern has one stone couch for a dragon unable to fly up to his or
her Weyr, and a dragon sized tub of water at the ready. The inner
section of the cavern holds three or four cots for humans, with wooden
screens that can section off a particular cot. Along the easternmost
wall, shelves have been built as tall as a person could reach and
nearly 10 feet long, which contain all sorts of scrolls, herbs,
concoctions, and other healer accoutrements.
The warm breeze to the west comes from the large opening into the
Bowl. A desk sits next to the opening to the south, which leads to the
Weyr's Living Caverns.
Contents:
Lyndra
Fah's Dragonhealing Notes
--

E'vrin comes in quiet on hard-shod boots: the 'quiet' doesn't quite
work. He pauses, accordingly, and peers around with both hands thrust
behind his back.

Lyndra is sitting on a bed, propped within a collection of pillows,
and gives E'vrin a weary smile. She is puffy and drained, pale and
wan, but smiling with her bundle of perfection against her
body. "E'vrin...hello...."

"Lyndra," E'vrin replies, appropriately hushed, and comes closer. When
he's within an arm's length, he pulls his hands forward ... and
flowers spill out over the bed, brushing up against her pillows in a
jumbled, multihued and mindled-perfumed wave. Above, the man has some
shy, abashed smile on his face. "I thought you might like
them. Colorful and all. From Southern."

Lyndra's expression lights up, and, with weary delight, she exclaims,
"Oh, Ev...how lovely. How truly, truly lovely! Will you sit? I've sent
Arthan to bed...he was so tired."

E'vrin plucks a flower's glowing carmine eye out of the way and
perches on bed's edge, obedient as ever. "Was he with you the whole
time?" Then he peers towards the baby, his face cast in wondering
lines. "...May I see?"

"No, he...I didn't want to expose him to most of it, being sensitive
as he is." Then Lyndra offers the bundle, very carefully, to the
bronzerider. "This is Thalan."

E'vrin's hands cup the bundle with lip-biting care, then they find
just how to hold it -- so -- and he looks up with outright
delight. "So small," he marvels, peeking into the little face. "Look
at that tiny nose! Hello, Thalan. I'm E'vrin, though you won't know
that for some Turns, of course...."

A tangle of black curls can be seen beneath the fold of blanket, and a
hand the size of a Mark reaches for E'vrin's finger. "I think he likes
you," murmurs the mother.

E'vrin rounds his mouth in surprise as the bitty hand goes for his
finger, which he doesn't dare move, any more than he dares breathe.

Lyndra, closing her eyes, says drowsily, "Where did you get the blooms
on South? They're so pretty. It was so very thoughtful of you."

E'vrin wiggles his fist-caught finger a bit, entranced. "...Hmm? Oh, a
Holder's garden. His lady's, rather: I met them when I was hunting
kiwis for Kassima."

Lyndra repeats without opening her eyes, "Kassima?"

You say "Mm-hmm." Wiggle, wiggle. He tries making a face at the baby,
too. "Thunderbolt's wingleader at Telgar. She loves kiwis, especially
since she's pregnant."

Lyndra ohs. Then pauses, then asks, "How do you know her?"

E'vrin glances up, hesitant, gauging. Then answering. "She helped me
track down family I have up there. Then Sharath caught her Lysseth in
mating flight."

Lyndra ohs again, still calculating. 2+2 haven't gotten near 4
yet. "That's good fo you, then. Is he asleep?"

You say "Um. Think so. Thank you for letting me hold him, Lyndra."

Lyndra holds out her arms to receive the tiny bundle again, and,
snuggling him close, she notes quietly, "One day you may have a son or
daughter too...?"

E'vrin sits back, and now his long hands toy with a flower's
stem. "Five months, thereabouts," he agrees with some pride.

Lyndra blinks at E'vrin. "Five months?"

E'vrin blinks back. "Well, yes. The flight was about four months ago,
so that makes five more to go." He pauses. "Kassima's baby, and
mine. I'm sorry, I thought you knew."

Lyndra ohs. Again. Oh. "Ahm...congratulations." Blush.

You say "Well, thank you, but it was really only happenstance, and
it's all up to Kassima, of course."

"What is?" Lyndra sounds as confused as she looks.

E'vrin explains, "The baby. She could have aborted, after all, and it
/is/ up to her to bear it. I played a very little role." He sounds
commendably humble about it, too.

Lyndra touches the bronzerider's cheek and remarks faintly, "She would
be proud to have your child. Any woman would."

E'vrin smiles lopsidedly. "Thank you. Do you think so?"

"I always have," affirms the assistant headwoman. "I always have."

E'vrin considers the stem he's wound about a finger. "If not for
Arthan," he starts, then stops.

Lyndra blinks a few times. "What?" She's blinking a lot tonight,
indeed, and uses her babyless hand to rescue the endangered bloom.

E'vrin guards it, though, with a frown creasing between his brows; the
flower is fine, for all that the stem is oozing green in its knotty
demise. "--Well, if not for Arthan, I would have ... liked you for
myself."

Eyes downcase, expression demure and disquieted, Lyndra says in
Thalan's general direction, "That's very kind of you to say, E'vrin. I
know you've your fair share of admiring damsels."

E'vrin makes a harsh, surprised noise. "Do not."

Lyndra, nutmeg brown eyes curving toward him, counters mildly, "You do
too."

E'vrin insists, "Do not," then remembers his manners and allows her
the benefit of a doubt. "That I know of, anyway."

Lyndra, chortling wanly, wearily, admits, "You're looking at one. And
I wouldn't be surprised if your greenrider is another."

E'vrin startles; the stem breaks, a weak protest marking its
passage. "You do?" Never mind Kassima -- /she/...?

Lyndra frowns, pity visible for the broken flower, then, shrugging a
bit, she confesses, "If it had not been for Arthan...."

E'vrin remembers the flower then, and gently he puts it aside,
fingertips brushing the still-vibrant petals before he tucks both
hands in his lap and blinks owlishly over them at the new
mother. "'What-ifs,'" he says seriously, "are the quickest way to an
unhappy now."

Lyndra, chuckling a bit, touches his cheek again before hugging Thalan
against her. Her words are sweet, without worry. "Oh, I'm delighted
now, E'vrin, and would not trade Arthan for Faranth's golden egg
itself. I simply hope you'll be happy too."

E'vrin gives her big, solemn eyes. "Then you /aren't/ interested in
me." He might be making a list.

Lyndra stammers hurriedly, "Well, it's that Arthan and I..." before
she understands he is teasing, and she chuckles. "I am...but you have
your greenrider and the caverns girls and that young weyrling whose
brown eyes follow you everywhere..."

[He wasn't teasing, actually, but the misapprehension works well.]

E'vrin manages not to squeak his surprise, but /his/ eyes widen a bit
before narrowing in thought (which one? Oh, shards--). "...Well, she
isn't mine," he corrects pedantically. "Kassima is owned by no one but
herself." Pause. "And Lysseth. There aren't any caverns girls,
though. Unless Raina--"

Lyndra isn't being rude, truly she is not, but her head is drooping
and her eyes are fighting with their lids. "You have plenty of
admirers," she drones drowsily, "believe me..."

E'vrin bites down on his lip over more questions and just whispers,
"I'll go now. You look tired. Should I clean up the flowers? Get a
vase?"

Lyndra considers long enough to imply she -has- fallen asleep, then
she mumbles, "A vase would be nice..."

Aellya walks in from the Bowl.

E'vrin bobs his head, whether or not she's looking, and picks himself
up to pad around in search of a vase for those flowers strewn like a
luxuriant cloak over Lyndra's bed.

Aellya calls, "Healer, healer, I want to talk to you about J'lel's
injur.. oh. Lyndra and E'vrin." She says bemusedly, "Sorry."

Lyndra stirs, shifting the bundle in her lap, and says, "Oh,
ma'am...no worries. E'vrin and I were merely talking." And from that
bundle comes a gentle cooing sort of sound.

E'vrin finds an empty glass bottle in a cabinet, inspects it
dubiously, and starts back. "--Oh! Wingleader, good evening. Yes,
talking." He flicks his eyes away from all those flowers, as if
guilty, and pins them on Aellya. "Have you met the little one yet?"

Aellya looks back and forth. "How is everything?"

"Very well, ma'am, thank you," answers Lyndra, admittedly a bit wary,
before adding sleepily, "We were about to turn in for the night."

E'vrin starts sneaking flowers into the impromptu vase. "And I'm off
to study the new formation pattern," he adds virtuously.

A slender arm pokes out of the bundle on Lyndra's lap; she tucks it
back in and sinks further under her blankets.

E'vrin tucks the last blossom into place and makes a quiet show of
arranging the vase on a nearby stand. He peeks back at Lyndra to see
if this is satisfactory.

Lyndra tenders E'vrin a grateful smile and murmurs, "Thank you ever so
much...come visit tomorrow, please?" before closing her eyes again, at
the bequest of her fatigue.

Aellya is silent for a long moment and then says "Oh, well I'll leave
you two be, you don't need to go on my account E'verin."

Shaking her head to Aellya, Lyndra asserts, "No, ma'am, he isn't. I'm
simply worn out from today."

E'vrin straightens. "Oh, no, Wingleader, I /was/ going. Have to study."

[Turns out we all had to leave the scene anyway, so...]

Aellya seems uncomfortable facing Lyndra in a bed as ill as the girl
looks, and skitters off.
Aellya walks out to the busier Living Caverns.

E'vrin darts a last look over his shoulder, wistful and wondering
both, and skitters, too.

You stride out to the Bowl.

[He meets up with Sharath, and they /between/ to Telgar Weyr.]

Sharath> Lysseth senses that Sharath's crystal-fine mind seeks the
touch of green. << E'vrin to see your rider. Where is she? >>

Dragon> Sharath senses that Lysseth replies with a flash of green
indeed, deep emerald rimmed by tranquil blue that's woven in turn with
silver. << We are in our weyr. You are both welcome. >>

You fold your wings and land on Lysseth's ledge, then make your way
into the weyr proper.

You slide down Sharath's shoulder and foreleg to the ground.

E'vrin thumps his dragon's foreshoulder and moves towards the weyr
proper, leaving Sharath to yawn and find a comfy crouch on the ledge.

Lysseth warbles a warm if drowsy greeting from her place on the ledge,
unlidding cerulean eyes to peer towards her visitors. Within the weyr,
Kassi is, as usual, scribbling on hides from her place in the blue
chair. "E'vrin!" she calls, looking up, and smiling at him. "Lyss told
me 'twere seeking me. Nay because aught's amiss, I hope?"

E'vrin comes around the stone jamb and offers a smile and a single,
rosy-petalled flower the size of his fist. "No, nothing's wrong. I
just stopped by. Lysseth said it was all right...?"

Kassima reaches to take the flower with a whistle of appreciation,
some imp of playfulness leading her to slide it behind one ear once
she's admired its beauty. "A'course! Why shouldn't it be? Actually,
I'm glad you're here; would have been seeking you out,
otherwise. D'you want the chair?"

E'vrin pauses to admire /her/ beauty, with an open wistfulness -- and
weariness -- that muddles his expression. "I can take the rock," he
says manfully, "unless you want it, of course."

Kassima smiles again, though a tinge of blush colors her cheeks. The
curse of being so pale. "Nay, nay--you're m'guest; you take the
chair. I'll have t'be getting up t'get you your gift, anyway." Setting
the hides aside, she manages with some effort to push herself out of
the chair; no, she's not so very big around yet, but it's one of those
cursedly comfortable chairs that's hard to get out of at the best of
times. "Sit, sit, and let me find what I got for you, hmm?"

"Gift?" pauses E'vrin, halfway down into the proffered chair. He knows
enough, at least, not to force his solicitous help on her moving
around (maybe in another month or two); instead, he just looks at her
with surprise and dawning, wary delight. "You got me a gift? Oh,
Kassima, you didn't have to--"

"Pish!" is Kassi's cheerful, laughing response, as she rummages around
in a rather large pile of wrapped bundles that's stacked in the
corner. The one she retrieves is not wrapped, however. "I wanted
to. You've been bringing me gifts, so 'tis only fair, isn't it?
Besides, methinks 'twill be useful t'you. I'm sorry 'tisn't wrapped,
but I just picked it up the other day, and... well, anyway." She sets
the tall, fairly narrow box on the table before the chair with
exaggerated care. Must be something delicate.

E'vrin watches it just as carefully. Will it bite? He reaches out a
tentative hand.

Kassima gestures encoragement, seating herself on the bed rather than
the rock. It's nearly as close, after all, and considerably more
comfortable. "Go ahead; open it. I confess that I'm eager t'see what
you think."

E'vrin firms his mouth and tackles the box, then, with long, dextrous
fingers. Got it -- almost -- there. (There?)

--
        Once the woolen padding within the box is lifted away, one can
see that the object it has been guarding is a glass wine chalice of a
high degree of beauty. Crafted in the shape of a rose, it is a
masterpiece of detail: the cup itself is shaped as conjoined petals of
a warm, crystalline pink, translucent enough to deepen with a crimson
flush when filled with rich red wine, whereas the stem... ah, the
stem. It almost seems to defy physical laws, as thin and tapering as
it is, in its dark malachite green. Perhaps it is only the added
thickness and support given by the fluted thorns that protrude at
intervals, rounded and yet undeniably sharp at the tip, that allow it
to stand? Or is it the bracing provided by the wire of polished bronze
that twines its way around it, ending at the apex in a ring that
firmly marks the difference between vivid blossom and steady--yet
breathtaking in its own darker fashion--support? It may be impossible
to say. If you draw your eyes back to the top of the goblet, you may
note that gold puts in a sparkling appearance at the rim--and swirls
downwards from thence, streaking into the interior of the cup to make
it appear almost as though it were being filled with dawnfire light
when in truth it contains naught but air. A keen eye might pick out a
pair of tiny sigils etched into the bottom of the flaring base,
showing this cup to be the work of Journeyrank Smith Emdrien and
Apprentice Smith Syrali.
--

E'vrin's eyes just go very wide.

Kassima asks with some anxiety, "D'you like it? Does it suit? It
occured t'me that you might nay have aught t'be making toasts with,
and *'tis* a tradition t'toast a birth--and Lyss told me what colors
she picks up from Sharath, for him and for you...."

[The colors of E'vrin's and Sharath's minds, that is:  E'vrin is
 dark malachite and jade, tarnished bronze and bitter acid; Sharath
 is roseate, aureate, flame in crystal.]

E'vrin touches the base with a fingertip, which gets quickly withdrawn
into his lap. "I ... It's lovely." His eyes swing to her, and they
/glow./ "And you got this for me. Oh, Kassi."

Kassima ducks her head modestly, but her own eyes contain definite
pleasure when she looks back up again. "It seemed fitting. And I can
afford it. If'n you like it, then 'tis more than worth the price."

"I do, I do! I've never had anything so beautiful, not bought myself,
let alone bought /for/ me." E'vrin pauses. Hesitates. "I'd ... I'd
like to kiss you right now, just in thanks. Would that be all right?"

Kassima chuckles low in her throat. "I thought we settled that last
time," she teases. "A'course 'twould be all right, E'vrin."

E'vrin clears /his/ throat. "I've learned that it's good to ask," he
says, mildly pompous. "That's what -- someone taught me, anyway. I
think it's polite. Rather romantic, too." Then he closes his mouth and
uses it for something besides babbling: a lean over, a brush of lips
on lips, coolly chaste.

Kassima blinks, lifting an eyebrow, and looks up at the bronzerider
just a touch sardonically. "Well, that being as 'tis--and you're right
about it being better t'ask, a'course--may I return the favor?"

E'vrin sits back and nods, solemn as a child, but with a man's eyes.

Kassima leans also, sliding a hand around his neck to draw him closer
to her as she presses her lips to his--and the gesture is neither cool
nor chaste, by any imagination's stretch.

E'vrin makes a muffled sound -- surprise, welcome, doesn't matter --
and leans obligingly close again. His leathers squeak, rustle; his
breath hitches faster. --Then he pulls away, eyes averted.

Kassima leans back again, eyes scrutinizing him. "If you haven't
learned to kiss better than that," she explains, with a crooked grin,
"I figure there's at least one thing I can still teach you."

E'vrin looks down. "I'm sorry. It isn't you. I'm learning, that's
all." He pulls in a breath like a draught of wine. "I don't mean to
disappoint you."

Kassima's head shake makes her earrings jangle. "Nay, 'twasn't that,
precisely. Methinks you're just confusing me some."

E'vrin looks up. "I don't mean to. At all. You /know/ that." He scoots
forward, earnest to the bone. "What am I doing wrong?"

Kassima spreads her hands, groping for good words to explain. "'Tis
just that... well, as you recall, 'twasn't so very long agone that
you'd asked about being lovers." Flush. "But that's more along the
lines of a kiss you might give a sibling you didn't particularly care
for." With a hint of wistfulness, she asks, "Changed your mind?"

You say "No!"
You say "I mean, no." Calm. "It just went a little fast. I wasn't
expecting it from you."

Kassima grins wryly, and admits, "I'm nay usually half that forward."
No, *really*? "Call it the competetive streak in me wanting t'get
out. I'm always trying t'prove that there's naught a bronzer can do
that a greenrider can't do better." Mischief, now, clear in the
sparkle of deep green eyes.

E'vrin ponders. Then says, deadpan, "I can write my name in snow
without using my hands."

Kassima actually snerks at that, taken aback. "So can I," she points
out. "With m'feet. A'course, that's probably nay quite the same."

"Not what I was thinking, no." Then E'vrin sobers. "I apologize, then,
for confusing you. I do want to be your lover, not just the sire of
your child, who could be anyone. /I'm/ not anyone. I love you."

Kassima closes her eyes, her expression softening to an extent usually
only found around small children and Lysseth in one of her better
moods. "You know I don't have much experience with love. But as far as
lovers go... 'twould be honored, E'vrin, that such a man as you would
consider me for that." And her voice holds the ring of truth.

E'vrin bows his head. Then peeks up through the long lashes, the green
behind intense and warm. "Well?"

Kassima laughs, a warm sound, and extends her hand to him. "Just how
often are you planning on making me be the forward one?" she teases,
own green eyes bright.

E'vrin takes the hand, turns it over, and presses slightly parted lips
into the palm. "I rather like it," he admits, breathing the words into
her skin. "But, to be fair -- next time, it'll be me?"

Kassima lets another laugh escape, though nearly soundless, as she
draws the hand--and him--closer to her. "Consider the bargain struck,"
she agrees in a low and breathy tone.

[Fade to black, a delighted and comfortable black.  Log ends.]