This is a JP between David Hoover, Lynette Cowper and Dave Lankford.


[Med Center, Day 8, Lunch time]

<snip from David's post Stranger in a Strange Land>

The Warrenlady turned her head towards the door as it opened. Her gaze fixed
on the two men, she smiled. "C'tain! Gransol! Arkt'han said that someone would
be arriving for supplies....How are things at Marrid? Is everyone alright?" 

<end snip>

C'tain studied the Marrid Warrenlady as he took her hand warmly, all thought
of their past arguments forgotten. Dark circles shown under her eyes and her
complexion had the pallor of one who has been indoors for some time. The
warrenlady had obviously been bedridden since fleeing Marrid. "Waylene.  It's
good to see you again.  We're surviving.  Can't say much more than that, but
we get by.  And you?" 

As Jad watched a shadow fell over the Warrenlady's face.  "We lost so
many...," she started, then halted to gather her composure.  "So many.  But
the people of Xylian have been gracious hosts.  It is good to hear that you
are surviving.  So much needs doing to save my warren, yet I'm stuck here in
this bed."  Grimacing, she gestured to the piece of furniture upon which she
lay.  "I feel so...helpless...when my people need me the most." 

C'tain nodded sympathetically. He, too, had seen too many deaths recently.
"We're doing what we can at Marrid.  Trey's made arrangements with the towns
that are left and the nearby warrens are all available to help in the event of
a wraith attack.  There have been a few, but none have been terribly large.  I
think the magic shift may have hit their populations as well. But there really
isn't a pocket big enough and in a suitable location to house a warren.  We're
at the mercy of the magic, I'm afraid."  He considered her quietly.  Could she
handle the news? "There is some evidence that it may be receding at points,
but it may never be stable enough or with a large enough pocket to house a
warren again.  We don't know."

At the news Waylene went limp, her breath exhaling in a large sigh.  She
managed to nod her head to indicate that she'd heard, but couldn't manage
speech.  She just lay there with a haunted look in her eyes, staring off into
space.  Into scenes of a better time and a different place.  Pictures of
riders who were lost in the exodus.  And she wept.

C'tain pulled the warrenlady, a woman he had grown up with, been friends with,
argued with, and never quite reconciled with, into his arms. Behind him,
Gransol turned, having heard a small gasp, to see what appeared to be a
12-year-old boy listening with wide eyes.

"Not go back to Marrid?" J'adoube asked, shocked.  In all his journey from one
domain to another, it had not occurred to him that he might be seeing Marrid
for the last time.  "There's got to be a way!"  Feeling the eyes of the
beautiful auburn-haired man on him, he flushed.  "We can't just abandon our
home...," he stuttered.

Gransol nodded. "Not everyone has. We keep hope."

Waylene pushed C'tain away and he released her.  "Do you want us to go?" he
asked her quietly.  At her silent nod, he turned and motioned to Gransol.
"Let's go talk elsewhere, shall we?"

Jad lead the other two out of the room and through the Med Center back towards
the door.  He glanced back at them, scrambling for a place to take them. 
"Have you two eaten?  We could go grab some food in the Dining Hall if you'd
like...."

Gransol and C'tain exchanged glances.  C'tain had eaten rather heartily that
morning, both his portion and half of his lover's, as her morning sickness had
affected her appetite.  But Gransol had been too caught up in his thoughts on
the night before and had only picked at his food. "I've got the supply list,"
C'tain offered. "Go eat and I'll handle things here, since most of it's
medical anyway." 

Gransol nodded and turned to follow the 'boy' to the Dining Hall, never seeing
the knowing smile that crossed the healer's face. 

**********************************

Jad led the ex-knight across the Green toward the large doorway that was
bustling with activity.  With the warren so crowded, the Dining Hall was
packed to the gills around lunch time.  Slipping into the crowd, the younger
man blazed a trail for them both towards the food tables.  Gathering up a
tray, he immediately started to pile stuff on.  His larger companion followed
suit until between the two of them they had enough food to feed a small
village.  Hauling the load, the two made their way over to one of the few
tables that remained empty.

Gransol set his tray down across the table from the boy and sat down, eyeing
the food hungrily. Trey was a good cook, but there was only so much he could
do with the food supplies and tools he had at Wild Marrid. It had been months
since Gransol had so much as seen some of these dishes.  His mouth watered. 
Then he remembered his manners and looked up to see the young man watching him
intently.  "Sorry.  In case you didn't hear Waylene, I'm Sir Gransol ap
Chevane, rider of... Sylan."

"*Sir* Gransol?" said a deep voice from somewhere behind him.  "An even rarer
treat than I had realized..."

Gransol jumped at the voice, panic and a strange sense of desire shooting
through him at once.  Arkt'han...  He knew the rider was here, of course, but
somehow he had put it out of his mind.  He schooled his emotions and turned,
smiling.  Inside, the man in denial was begging Arkt'han not to say more even
as the butterfly that was struggling to stretch its wings and fly free of the
baggage of his Landbound heritage begged him to embrace the other man. In the
end, he found himself unable to do either. "Hi...." was all he managed.

"Hello yourself.  I had hoped to see you again, but hadn't expected it so
soon..." 

Jad looked from one to the other in surprise and a little bit of irritation. 
"You two know each other?"

Arkt'han watched Gransol carefully, trying to gauge his comfort level. 
"We've... met." 

Gransol coloured and dropped his head slightly, at once thankful and
disappointed.

"And how did you come to make this charming man's acquaintance, J'adoube?" 

Jad smiled.  Charming.  Yes, he certainly was.  "I went to the Med Center to
see Koda.  She had someone she wanted to introduce me to.  I met Gransol on
the way out.  When I saw him walking with C'tain, I decided to follow them out
of curiosity."

Gransol felt his cheeks flushing even hotter at the description of himself,
and almost missed J'adoube's reference to C'tain. So he was from Marrid? He
tried to remember the boy or his parents, but came up blank. 

Jad gestured to another seat.  "Would you care to join us?" he asked, all the
while hoping that the man would go away.

"Why, certainly!  As long as it's okay with you, my friend?" Arkt'han replied,
hope tinged with longing in his voice, as he looked to Gransol for his
assent.

He looked up to see the anxious look in Arkt'han's eyes and the hungry look in
J'adoube's.  What was going on here?  "Umm... Of course."

Arkt'han settled into a seat next to Gransol, ignoring the one Jad had
indicated, and took a long pull from his tankard.  "I've already eaten, but
I'll enjoy the company."

J'adoube turned back to Gransol.  "As I was about to say, I'm J'adoube, as yet
unjoined.  I just arrived yesterday from Marrid, travelling overland."

"Overland? Gods, that must have been difficult," Gransol answered.  He started
to ask about parents, but then realized the lack of their mention. Perhaps
they had died during the evacuation? He hesitated. "And... your family?" he
asked, hoping it wouldn't offend.

"My parents died in the Battle of Marrid when I was eighteen," replied the
younger man.  The look in his eyes was one of longing and sadness, of old
grief.  "I stayed at Marrid, standing as a candidate at the hatchings.  But I
never managed to Join."

Gransol choked on the drink he had just taken, tried to recover without
spraying ale all over his companions and their food, swallowed painfully and
then began coughing.  Eighteen?!  How could this slip of a boy be eighteen? 

Arkt'han covered his amusement by taking another sip from his own drink.  "I
was surprised, too...  not quite so young a lad as he appears, eh?"

Gransol finally managed to get a gulp of air, then almost lost it again when
his brain finally supplied the information that the Battle of Marrid had been
some four years ago. J'adoube wasn't eighteen. He was something like
twenty-two. "Sorry," he managed, then took another deep breath and smiled. "I
suppose looking young will be an asset when you get to your old age."

J'adoube smirked, "I suppose...but in the mean-time it makes it more difficult
to get a date."

Gransol considered what he could say to such a comment.  He finally decided on
something sympathetic. "Yes, I'm sure many women don't want to be seen in the
company of what appears to be a much younger man. It must be difficult."

"Oh, I don't know... many women would fancy that, or so I'm told..." Arkt'han
grinned knowingly.  "Of course, it's been a few years since I waded on that
side of the stream...."

When Gransol realized the meaning of Arkt'han's statement, he blushed again.
Gods, but he would never get used to the warrens' sexual openness.

It was Jad's turn to choke on Gransol's comment.  Had he read the signals
between Gransol and Arkt'han wrong?  "Perhaps....but that's never really
concerned me much."  He turned a significant look toward the ex-knight.  "I
prefer broad shoulders and large muscles in a companion than nice legs and
breasts."

Suddenly, the looks J'adoube had been giving him throughout the meal fell into
place.  Gransol's hand froze, mid-stab, then the fork clattered to the table
as he stood, reacting by instinct as he lunged across the table.  For years,
he had defended his sexual identity. Those instincts died hard.

Arkt'han stood and interposed himself as best he could, given the position of
the table, pushing Jad back out of Gransol's grasp with one hand and shoving
Gransol gently-but-firmly back into his seat with the other.  

"At ease, friend," he breathed quietly.  "I'm sure no offense was
intended..."

<My rider!> Sylan exclaimed in Gransol's head. <Why are you so angry that the
one who looks like a hatchling wants to mate with you?>

Gransol shook his head, as if trying to clear it, but whether of the enraged
thoughts of his Landbound years or of the urgings of his dragon, not even he
was sure.  He became aware that a silence had fallen on the tables around
them. "I'm... terribly sorry," he said, then pushed Arkt'han aside and quickly
began to stride out.  He needed fresh air.  He couldn't take this... sultry
atmosphere... 

Arkt'han frowned at Jad.  "He's... not ready for someone to be that forward
with him," he murmured as an of explanation, then moved to follow Gransol.

Jad just watched as the man of his dreams stormed out the door.  He looked
down at his tray in disgust.  Suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore.

**************************************

Arkt'han squinted as his eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, looking
around for the former knight.

"Gransol...?"  he found him standing among some trees, staring off into the
distance. 

The former knight turned slowly, his eyes downcast. "I'm sorry.  I'm not sure
I'm cut out for this... these assumptions about me...  I tried so hard
before... to hide it..."

Without thinking about it, the taller rider reached out to embrace the burly
knight.

Gransol found himself leaning into the other man's embrace, taking in the
masculine feel of him, the scent of his sweat mixing with the leather of his
riding gear. The embrace felt so right and it filled his old Landbound nature
with a quiet horror to realize it. "What am I to do?" he asked.

Hugging him gently, Arkt'han murmured.  "What comes naturally to some, only
comes after much pain and longing for others.  In time, you will be whatever
it is your soul wishes to be.  But in your own time.  No one else's." 

Arkt'han's words rang true in his heart. Somehow, he knew he was a soul
waiting to be reborn.  To be truly born this time. Was this what a babe felt
as it was being born? This sense of loss or fear?

"I... reacted as I always have. I wanted to hit that saucy mouth of his..." 
Gransol's mind formed the picture of J'adoube's mouth and as his anger faded a
strange thought lodged in his mind. What would it be like to kiss those lips?
He shook his head, trying to clear the thought. 

Arkt'han laughed.  "If you ever do, make sure it's for the right reasons," he
advised, leaving Gransol to wonder momentarily whether he meant his threat to
hit J'adoube, or the other, unspoken thought...?

Gransol pulled away, amazed at his own reluctance. "I should go apologize."

"Yes, that would probably be best..."  Arkt'han held his hand a moment longer
as Gransol sought to disengage.  "Gransol...   I would come to Wild Marrid
again, if you would let me."

Gransol froze, feeling the battle within him, the surge of desire, the pang of
disgust. 

<Oh, that would be nice, my rider. I could feel that you enjoyed mating with
Auram's rider.>

<It isn't that easy.  And don't bring up K'hail and Lashan.  There are
differences.>

He felt Sylan begin to pout. He felt Arkt'han's eyes on him, waiting.

Sensing reluctance, Arkt'han took a step backward.  "Perhaps... someday," he
amended.  

"Wait!" Gransol said, stepping forward and catching the other rider. "Please,
don't be offended. I'm just still struggling and I'm... almost afraid to
ask..."

<My rider,> Sylan said, a sly note in her voice, <don't forget the dragons
here said it wouldn't be good to teleport home yet today. We need to find some
place to stay anyway...>

"Not offended," Arkt'han assured him.  "Just... wanting you, but not wanting
to rush you." 

Gransol took a shuddering breath. "I think you're going to have to rush me.
I'm not sure I can do this without being pushed. I need help." It sounded
pathetic, but it was out. He knew it was true. He needed... he needed to be
overwhelmed with the evidence of his nature, or he knew he would go back to
being the old Gransol, save for when Sylan rose to mate.

"Then stay with me tonight.  Sylan can share space with Auram, and you and
I..."  he paused for breath.  "You can come to know me the way I came to know
you, that night."

Gransol closed his eyes, thinking of Arkt'han's body... no, not just his
body... Arkt'han himself naked, joined...  "Yes," he found himself saying in a
fierce whisper. Then he sighed in relief. It was done.

******************************

Respectfully Submitted,

David Hoover
J'adoube

Lynette R. F. Cowper
Gransol and Sylan

Dave Lankford
Arkt'han and Auram

YOU NEED TO BELIEVE IN THINGS THAT AREN'T TRUE. HOW ELSE  CAN THEY *BECOME*?  
-Death, "Hogfather" by Terry Pratchett

"I play the game for the game's own sake."
                   -Sherlock Holmes

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