Another day, another cold evening.

When Dorame first arrived at the High Reaches she thought the cold would be the thing to break her; but she had been wrong about that. The truth was she did not feel the cold anymore except on the most uncomfortable of nights. The howling wind no longer woke her up from her sleep. However, every so often her mind unintentionally remembered home; a place of warmth and comfort that seemed like a fairytale, a dream that taunted her. The Weyr was her place of study, her place of employment, but two years on and she still did not consider it ‘home’.

Nine O’clock, her time was hers again. Another day of lectures, another day of doing odd jobs, another mark made. Dorame had become rather lazy with this time, she used to study, burning the midnight oil until her eyes stung from strain. Alas, despite the hard work, the restless nights; she had still failed to Impress; and the drive to push herself was slowly beginning to fade. Now she spent most her free time trying to build what social networks that were available to her; knowing if she kept failing to make a bond, it was best to have some plan to fall back on. Maybe she should start focusing more on her Craftwork?

So, she was walking back to the Barracks, her head in the clouds, wrapped up in layers upon layers of fabric. Dorame’s mind still reflecting on the lectures of the day, the work that was left to do. Wondering how her father was doing? Why she had not received a letter in months? Thinking about the future. Questioning how everything had come to pass; and what would be. There was a small smirk on her face.

Like she understood the joke. At long last.



There were no idle hands in the Weyr. K’ladan had known that from the moment he was old enough to hold a broom and use it without clinging to his mother’s skirts. Life as a candidate and then as a dragon rider had not been altogether very different for him - the schedule was a bit more strict but, in a way, it had helped propel him to a greater success and reduced some of his tendencies toward procrastination. Now, whether or not he was always happy at the predictability was another question altogether but there was no use in arguing it. High Reaches was the way that it was and rising to a greater position meant taking that in stride.

For all that he liked to think of himself as charming and playful, in reality he was as much married to his job as any of his brethren. He knew it, they knew it, and so did everyone that passed them by - perhaps some of them too well. The rumors had first reached him several months before, at first a simple how is your sister doing? in conversations, or a request to tell her some mundane fact about her work. As an only child, it was damn puzzling, but he shrugged it off as a mix-up. Then the mentions became more and more frequent, until at last someone mentioned that his mouthy sister was chewing out a rider for stepping on her just-mopped floors. It had been the first chance he’d had to see her, the dusky girl who had been letting his name sit on her lips, but he let it pass for the time. Candidate’s chores were not meant to be interrupted for trivial things.

It was just chance that he happened to cross her path this time - perhaps he’d passed it a dozen times before without even knowing - and he found that with his spare time today, he meant to make his first impression. Lost in thought, the woman seemed to barely register him, but he stepped into her path with two burly arms crossed over his wide chest and waited for her to see him or run into him. Whichever.

“Hello, sister dear.”



To be fair, some Riders really did deserve chewing out. Many had long forgotten their life as candidates and perhaps tried to get payback for the way their seniors had treated them. It was a hierarchy, a right of succession; however Dorame was not a child, and unlike the young ones that studied with her (she still considered fourteen turns young), she was not all too thrilled about being toyed with. She was a small woman, in both mass and height; maybe that is what gave people in impression she was harmless? Naive. Soft. All perceptions she wanted to break as quickly as possible, for she was none of these things.

She might have done better to keep her head down, to keep out of people's way; but over the years had built a reputation of being a mouthy, sneaky woman who was always plotting something. She did not mind such whisperings, and luckily such an attitude had attracted as many friends as it had done enemies. Thus was life in the Weyr. You needed to be hard here, strong, but not everyone could be that way on the exterior; so she focused more on strengthening her fortitude. And speaking of the strong…

She saw his shadow before she saw him, looming and large. K’Ladan was an unexpected guest that night, a wall blocking her way back home. At least eight inches taller than her, it was almost enough to make her laugh at how absurd the must have looked standing together. Slender and soft, she was a little bird, being looked down upon by a hawk. Still, a large and very amused smirk fell onto her lips, reflecting the glimmering amusement in pallid green eyes. “The rumours made it back to you, then?” More of a statement than a question, truth be told she had been expecting him to confront her a lot sooner than now. She folded her arms to reflect his stance, waiting to see his reaction.



“So I’m not wrong.”

For what it was worth, he didn’t seem angry, although his face showed the hints of confusion he had felt since the rumors began to swirl. It was a wonder she hadn’t been caught at it yet - his mother and grandmother still worked the kitchens and there was no shortage of chances for them to have bumped into a candidate. He supposed that there may simply have not been reason for her to hear, though.

“What reason on Pern do you have for telling people we’re related, girl?”

A thick brow raised with his question. He hadn’t missed the difference in their size nor, he thought, in their age. Girl is what she was to him on all accounts and not just because of the stark contrast of his position versus hers. He leaned his shoulder into the wall next to him, arms still folded, and crossed one ankle behind the other in the perfect picture of comfort. He didn’t really think she was going to try and slip by him if that dark smirk on her lips suggested anything.



Her smirk dipped a little when he addressed her as girl, closing her eyes and letting a small sigh escape her lips. That was before the chuckling started, small and rather innocent as she shook her head in disbelief, her braided hair dancing on her shoulder as she did. So, that is what you see? Dorame thought to herself, green eyes returning back to their fixed position on his face. Oh, how she must have looked through those amber eyes of his, she almost wished she could see through them. The chuckling stopped, almost too abruptly as he leant against the wall. He was confident; and she was sure he was as much trouble as she was - in his own way.

An almost clueless expression came on her face, rehearsed, sarcasm almost dripping from her tongue. “What reason I wonder... Can’t you work that out?” She asked him as she rolled her eyes, eager to see his skills of deduction at work. Dorame was challenging the man, that much was made obvious. The brunette waited patiently for his reply, as she brought her hand up to her face, long fingers resting on her cheek as her other arm remained wrapped around her waist.



Well, it was clear that she wasn’t budging an inch. There could have been a worse candidate pretending at being his sibling, he supposed.

K’ladan closed his eyes with a deep sigh, exaggerating the motion for effect as he retained his typical, nonchalant posture. The smirk still hinted on his lips did little to pose any form of seriousness, however, and when he opened his eyes it was clear that he was weighing her. She was smart and not quite so daft as most women pulled in from the holds - which he knew she had been, being that he’d never seen her before this moment in his life. If she’d been a weyrbrat, at her age, he’d have certainly known her or at least known of her.

“I’ve not a clue, dear, apart from perhaps an attempt at raising your standing among the other candidates here.” Leaned into the wall as he was, he only managed to give her a half shrug, but it was enough to display the confusion that he felt. “Has that worked out for you? I can’t imagine it’s made that much of a difference, at least among the riders. We only care for our own.”




“Well then, why are you talking to me?” She asked, a question with double meaning. The stunt had clearly made enough of a difference that he had come to address the situation. At the same time if Riders only cared for their own, then why would the antics of a lowly Candidate even deserve a second thought? Pushing her hood back from her head; the conversation was proving interesting, and maybe even worth the delay in returning to her room.

Her hips swayed side to softly, many layers of fabric fluttering with the movement. The brunette almost looked playful; maybe to try and reflect the way he was addressing her. Girl. Dear. Admittedly she found it very patronizing, but was not under any circumstance show him just how much it bothered her. A small pout on her face, she played with her braid. “Not a bad hypothesis, but you found the flaw in your own statement. If I did it to raise my standing, then it would be a lot of effort for very little impact. It is really better to finish a sentence at ‘no clue’ than give an answer you know is weak.” She replied, putting the anthesis on ‘if’ to avoid admission that she was the one that started the rumours, all she had admitted to so far was merely the fact that she knew about them.

She moved forward an inch or two, leaning towards him; she could sense very little if no hostility coming from him. With her face closer to his chest than his own, the full circle of her eyes could be seen as she looked up, wide and almost joyful. “Besides, you seem to find the situation as amusing as I do. K’Ladan.” She stated, a fair comment she thought, as his own smirk had not faded from his lips since he turned up. So, what was the problem then?



“Curiosity, mostly.” There was a faint hint of a shrug as he said the words, though she wasn’t really wrong. He did find the situation amusing even if it made very little sense to him from the point-of-view he saw it from.

The whiskey-gold eyes followed her as she swayed and shifted, lighting on the flutter of her drapes and the sway of her hips that were hinted at beneath the folds, until he was looking down at her as close as her rather short stature would allow. Eye-to-eye like this, he could tell there wasn’t an ounce of fear in her and, if a dragon was meant for her he was absolutely certain that she would be a brave rider. That was good. Whoever had found her, as he was certain she wasn’t from the High Reaches weyr at least, had done a damn good job.

“You see, here I am at another disadvantage,” one of his strong arms uncurled from where it was crossed over his chest and came to tug very gently at her dark braid, splaying the tip of it with equally dark fingers. “You know my name and yet all I know of you is that you have been pretending to be my sister - with great success, honestly. Who knew that people could be so easily fooled?”

His hand dropped from the impolite intrusion, but he didn’t move and that smirk never budged.

“I assume, for whatever reason, your charade is beneficial. If you want me to keep playing at this little game then you’ll at least have to tell me who you really are.”



Dorame gave pause for a moment, tensing slightly as he leaned down to look at her. Instinct, one did not have to be afraid to be cautious. Especially around a stranger she had said no more than a few sentences to, especially around a Rider, especially against one so large. Dorame trusted very rarely, and she certainly did not trust him. Her eyes lowered from him, falling on her hair. “I would not consider your position a disadvantage by any means.” She stated, watching his hand play with her braid. A deep breathe she looked back up at him confused; was he taunting her or flirting with her? She was not too sure, so taking her own advice she decided not to make a poor judgement and let it slide. Though truthfully, she was not used to being touched so casually.

Despite all appearances, she was the cousin of a lord, her mother was a lady; people dared not. Here however, she supposed it was different here. “My name is Dorame.” Her fingers twitched, about to grasp at his wrist, but it fell before the relex took hold; and she breathed outwardly, letting the muscles relax. She wondered what made her more uncomfortable; the difference in status, or the fact that up close he was rather handsome? Despite the scar across his face. She stepped back a little, bowing her head. That is why she chose him after all.

“If people are not inquisitive enough to research a rumour, then they deserve to be made to look like fools. We do not look anything like each other. So if you decided to play this game, that is your prerogative.” She had never asked him to take part in her antics, and it was not his fellow Riders that were providing the benefits (but it was amusing). It was in her Craftwork that such tales prospered, and it was not his name but his face that she was using to her advantage, but she did not have to tell him that.

“Is that all, Rider?” She asked him softly, and if to erase any thoughts he might have that his antics had thrown her off guard, she reached up to brush his dreadlocks off of his shoulder.



Dorame. He would remember and he would listen. Until he crossed paths with her a scarce few minutes before there was very, very little that K’ladan actually knew about this imposter. Now he would know when her name passed the lips of others, he could listen to what little his brethren had to say about her if they said anything at all. He might not have known much about her but a name meant a lot in a place so inclusive as High Reaches.

“I suppose that it is.” Unlike Dorame herself, the dusky dreadhead had little concern for others being in his space - but the purpose behind the touch was not unnoticed, her press of boundaries not discounted. He pushed his shoulder against the wall so that he could right himself again with the use of his own weight and found himself standing steadily on both feet, towering over her slight form once more. Slight but not weak. He knew that now and supposed he should have known before if she’d been callous enough to give a Rider a piece of her mind over mucking her floors. It reminded him of all the times his grandmother had chided him for walking through the kitchen in his boots - it was amusing given the circumstances.

“Try not to cause too much trouble if you’re going to carry my name on your tongue, hm?” His great arms fell from where he had crossed them over his broad chest and he began to slip past her, headed again in the direction of wherever it was that he had originally intended. As a last thought, he called over his shoulder without turning around again: “And our mother and grandmother work in the kitchens.”

Maybe it would help her lie a little better if she needed. He was curious to see how far she’d take it, now.