Being the Goldrider

Writers: Rochelle
Date Posted: 2nd August 2008

Characters: Ariau
Description: Ariau hides in a hallway after the Hatching feast, trying to reclaim her nerve.
Location: River Bluff Weyr
Date: month 10, day 14 of Turn 4

Ariau dove around the corner of the hallway, pressing her back to the wall as she checked quickly to make sure no one was coming from either direction. Seeing that the passageway was empty for the moment, even if she knew it wouldn't be for long at a Hatching feast, she heaved an enormous sigh of relief.

She leaned her head back against the wall, feeling the little pins that had taken candlemarks to secure her hair into a presentable style digging into her skull and the fine fabric of her dress catching slightly on a rough patch of the wall. Closing her eyes at the tactile reminders of her situation, she bit her lip briefly, wishing she dared to run back to her weyr and hide.

Then she snorted at herself, collapsing against the wall some more. Shell, it was probably the first time she'd thought of that rattling space as a refuge. She could never seem to get comfortable in her rooms. They were too big, too grand for her. A real weyrwoman's quarters, not hers at all.

The thought sobered her as effectively as the cold slap of /between/. She'd been getting better at dealing with the extra attention, had gotten used to ignoring the staring eyes and sneaked glances and whispers that seemed to follow her everywhere now. It had been hard, but she'd done her best not to let the pressure get to her, and slowly at least some of the gazes had slacked off as the weyrfolk got used to the idea of a frizzy auburn freckle being the new goldrider. She'd even managed to get some people to treat her more or less normal, instead of simply the goldrider or bronzebait.

But in the headlong rush to learn about weyr administration and dragonriding and the bizarre nature of weyr politics, she'd almost forgotten about the other part of being a goldrider.

The display part.

She couldn't be Ariau, Alabieth's rider for these things. She had to be the Goldrider. Ariau was a nonentity, a squishy forgotten core rattling around inside the polished façade of a young weyrwoman, beautiful and ambitious, confident in everything she did. She had to say the right things, dance with the right people, to be what everyone expected her to be. She had to be the hazy beautiful woman of thousands of harper tales that caused every little girl to want to grow up to be a Weyrwoman.

She'd tried. She'd worn her most flattering gown in a lovely and expensive bronze color, a gift from her brother and grandfather. She'd wrestled with her hair until her arms arched and her fingers were red from poking herself and her head felt puffy from having too many hairs yanked out in the process of trying to get a hairbrush through the intractable mess without breaking it. In the end she thought she'd looked very nice and more than presentable, even if it wasn't necessarily weyrwoman material. After all, she was still a weyrling, so they couldn't be expecting her to be perfect at everything yet, right?

Wrong.

The Hatching had been wonderful. Ariau had found it a bit strange to be watching from the stands after spending so many turns seeing the view from the Sands itself, but the new position had offered it's own set of wonders as every new Impression and glowing set of eyes caused her and Alabieth to relive their own moment of Impression. Ariau had felt her heart bursting when she realized she could pick out Alabieth's rich hum from the other dragons and saw the admiring gazes of the guests when they saw her magnificent gold.

It wasn't until she'd gotten to the feast that she finally started to panic. She'd quickly discovered that there were staring eyes everywhere. There were plenty of new riders to congradulate, disappointed candidates to console, but when that was done their eyes had turned to her. The newest goldrider. This was her first real public event since Alabieth had Hatched, and the staring eyes were everywhere.

She'd heard them too, the suddenly lustful comments and bawdy ribbing between male riders about how she'd "cleaned up nice," the spiteful comments of the girls who'd been left standing after Alabieth had sought her out, and the disdainful dissection of her appearance and possible character by the candidates' and new riders' families. One of the Lord Holder's wives –she wasn't sure who and wasn't sure she even _wanted_ to know- had even made scathing remarks about her choice of dress and lineage as the daughter of a poor northern cotwife and a runner.

And through it all, Ariau had kept her head up, kept her words to herself, had smiled and answered the meaningless questions that came her way. No one had been interested in _her_. They had just wanted to know about Alabieth, and about The Goldrider. No one cared about her. They just wanted the image.

She hadn't been able to stomach more than a few bites of anything the whole evening because of it.

}:I chose you.:{ Alabieth said firmly, her voice sleepy. }:You are mine. I do not care what they think. Neither should you. It is not like I would want to choose _them_.:{ Ariau smiled softly at the reassuring words of her lifemate. **I know, Ala'.**

}:Then stop worrying.:{ Alabieth said with such authority that Ariau laughed aloud, relaxing her position against the wall.

**I'll try.** She promised her lifemate, pushing off the wall. She could hear someone coming, and it wouldn't be a good idea for her to slip away from the festivities just yet. Squaring her shoulders, she turned to go the dining cavern again. The dancing should be going into full swing soon. Even if she wasn't very good, she was reasonably certain she could convince one or two of the guys from her clutch to dance with her without embarrassing herself. As long as she didn't trip on a stranger, she'd probably be okay.

She hoped.

Last updated on the August 3rd 2008

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Being the Goldrider