Carry the Stone (Attn: Braedian)

Andren had gotten his things set down and gotten a tour and a set of guidelines and tips that he was still trying to remember all the details of. It was overwhelming, and after he had gotten his bags put down and the few things it seemed like he might want or need unpacked, he found himself at loose ends. Jah'vi had left to do... something, he wasn't entirely clear on what, but it sounded important, and no one had yet put him to work at anything. He had spent a good bit of time watching the weyrlings practicing and playing, and that had confirmed his suspicion that many of them were markedly younger than him. He was willing to cope with that, though, if it meant that he would get to have such a good friend as the young dragons seemed to be, and as Nolinth was to Jah'vi.

He decided that he was going to stretch his legs, and ended up finding his way to the mess hall, grabbing a tray of food and digging in. There seemed to be some serious tension in the air, and he knew well enough to keep his head down. Still, he found himself looking around and vaguely hoping to see a friendly face.

Braedian was still quite a bit confused over what had gone on with the young shadow rider Teagan, but he assumed he’d learn more of the details soon enough.  As it was, he’d spent couple of hours dealing with a child of one of the smugglers— one who’d needed a leg break set and several stitches when all was said and done.  The boy would likely not have learned his lesson after going through all of that, either, if his bragging about the scars he’d have was any indication.  And Braedian suspected he’d be patching the kid up again soon.

Such was his life.

Of course, there were also other, far more interesting injuries to be found here in the canyon than there had ever been back at Southern, or anywhere else he’d been stationed.  And the people here were generally more appreciative of his help than anyone there had ever been, so he didn’t have much to complain about.

Unless you counted the reason he was here in the canyon in the first place, and then he had plenty.  But there was nothing he could do about it, nothing he could do to change the minds of the Healer council, nothing he could do to bring Lorissa and their child back.

Such was his life.

Deliberately shaking off the maudlin thoughts, Braedian decided a drink— and maybe a distraction— were next on his agenda, and headed for the mess hall.

It didn’t take long to grab himself a mug of ale, along with a couple of meatrolls.  He’d have preferred something stronger, but he needed to check on a couple of his elderly patients once he got back to the part of the canyon that served as the infirmary, and didn’t want to be drowsy when he did so.

Not that they’d be likely to notice if he was.  And at least one of them would suggest he take his own nap while they dozed.  But it wasn’t in him to slough off his duties, no matter that he no longer carried a title.  So, ale and meatrolls it was, and all he needed to get his mind back on track was…

Someone in healer colors… complete with shoulder knots?

Had the Stillmaster or the dragonriders gone recruiting, and forgotten to tell him?  Or were the dragonriders out Searching again, since the senior queen was growing rather egg heavy?  Had the young man gone wandering, like he had, and found his way here?

Well, there was only one way to find out.

“No one told me we had a journeyman coming,” he said by way of greeting, nodding towards Andren’s rank knots.  “Mind if I join you?”

Idly, he noted here was something familiar about the young man’s features, an idea floating just beyond reach.  Had they met before?  And if they had, where had it been?

Andren stood almost reflexively, then nodded and gestured to the empty table, "Please do." He had noticed the older man as he walked in, and had lifted his head when his eyes caught on Andren's shoulder knots.

"Ah, sorry, sir. Maybe I shouldn't still be wearing these?" He reached up to touch his knots, feeling a bit protective of them and a twinge of regret at the idea of giving them up, "Jah'vi just Searched me yesterday, and I'm not sure what to do with them. Or myself, frankly."

Andren tried to laugh that last part off, though he was feeling it more than he perhaps wanted to let on to a stranger.

"If any help is needed, or wanted, I would love to be useful until and unless they put me to work elsewhere." The younger man was looking Braedian over for signs of rank as he sat back down again and held his hand out. "Andren, and... I suppose I should say formerly of Southern Hold."

Braedian paused in the act of lowering himself on to the bench as he realized the young man wasn’t here in the official capacity as healer, but, from the sound of it, as a Candidate.  “Ah, well that explains it,” he murmured and finished sitting down, settling his mug on the table and turning the handle to an easily grabbable angle.  “No need to worry.”

Good to know no one was finding him deficient in some way, he supposed.  Not that he’d argue with additional help.  But Andren still looked familiar and he couldn’t quite place—  “Southern?” the ex-master healer echoed, in the middle of shaking the younger man’s hand.  “Would you know Fara, then?” Or would he have heard about the scandal, and...?

Now that he paid a little more attention, Andren’s features rather resembled the journeyman he used to work with, didn’t they?  Or was he just reaching?

"My mother, in fact. And the person who inspired me to apprentice at Healers Hall." Andren was clearly proud of her, and of being her son, though his smile frayed some around the edges as he thought about her. "I wonder what she's going to think of my accepting the Search. I think she'll be happy about it..." he shook the question off.

"Do you know her, then?" Andren tilted his head, realizing the other man hadn't actually given him his name. He took a sip of his klah, sweet roll already reduced to crumbs in front of him.