You who followed me

It's a busy day at the Soldier's Defense as there's been a sudden influx of new plage patients. Nobody inside has time to worry about anything but what's going on right beside them. The air is filled with a sense of tense anticipation. The feeling that anything could happen at any moment. Amid the light chaos which is in fact neatly ordered is a black-robed figure moving at a slow but steady pace. This figure has the cowl of his cloak pulled down to reveal the blue scales of a sith-makar with six darkly gleaming horns lying atop his head. He's holding a box in his right hand as he moves through the crowd, finally stopping at the side of an elderly woman.

"Thissss one hasss a gift for you Martha." Zeke settles slowly onto a stool beside her bed and sets the box on a table beside the bed. Carefully the woman picks it up once Zeke has set it in place and pulls it into her lap. "It isss a lemon pudding cake - sssomething that will be easssier on your teeth."

Yelrona has been spending a not-inconsiderable amount of time lately at the Soldier's Defense, doing what she can to help the stricken. Right at the moment she is taking a break from all that, though, and looking forward to a comfortable chair and somewhere to put her feet up, if only briefly. Or at least a mug of hot tea, which she has somehow managed to secure... apparently from a giantborn vendor, to judge from how incongruously large the mug she is carrying is, compared to her relatively slight frame.

As she walks past Martha's room, she sticks her head in to check in on the woman, and is surprised by both the Sith and the cake. "Why Martha! Throwing a birthday party without inviting me? I'm hurt," she chides gently as she enters. "Or am I interrupting a hot date?"

The copper-scaled Sith slips into the Soldier's Defense, his hands clasped. His gait is uneasy, which causes his armor to clatter a little as he moves along. Geir herrms and nods to people as they go about their hectic work, and the Sith-makar cleric offers quiet prayers and blessings to both patients and hard workers. For several long moments, he observes a difficult birthing, a dwarven woman in obvious pain, but probably the only one in the room who isn't panicking. His voice raises then, a long blessing for a fruitful life mingling with the grunts of pain and quick talk of the nurses. Silence then for a moment... then the sharp intake of breath and the cry of a newborn fills the air. Nodding, the copper-scale shuffles on, slowing at the door of Martha, the talk of birthdays having him pause.

Cautiously Zeke looks over as Yelrona enters the room, taking in her presence with wariness that would make any warrior proud though he is clearly not weighing her in that manner. The sound of a crying child, heard even down the hall causes Zeke to tilt his head back slightly and let out a low thrumming noise before nodding to Yelrona. "Peassce on your nessst." It's a ritual greeting given very politely.

Martha meanwhile has no such caution at seeing Yelrona, she waves the other woman in. "Come in, come in! It's so nice to see you. Zeke here was just giving me something that'll be a bit easier to eat, but if this box is any indication I won't be able to eat it all by myself." She grins and opens the box with a nod that indicates that she's right.

Yelrona smiles. "Well, then, it will give other guests more incentive to visit you," she replies cheerfully. "As though staying up-to-date on all the hospital gossip weren't reason enough! And on yours," she says to Zeke with a nod of her head. "This was very kind of you," she adds, indicating the pastry with a tilt of her head. "You and Martha know each other, I take it?"

Geir shuffles a bit more to one side, so that he can see all three: the patient, the Elf and the Sith-makar. He observes quietly, occasionally moving to accomodate people having to pass by. The copper-scale's expression is one of happiness, the scene buoying him.

Zeke nods again, his greeting given back to him in a manner. He glances away from Yelrona though he keeps her in his gaze at all times. "Thisss one hass known Martha sssince before sshe caught thisss plague. Ssshe makes piesss." Geir catches his attention, the other's presence at the doorway notable. Then he continues. "Her daughter died of it sssome time ago."

Martha is smiling, giggling even at Yelrona's comment. Then... her face becomes a touch stoic, her gaze dropping to the pie and she's suddenly caught by a wracking cough. It's not the cough that has her looking so much sadder than before. She shakes her head and breathes out. "This blasted thing took my girl, and it will take me too." She's hushed by Zeke but she ignores him.

Yelrona considers replying incredulously 'Her daughter died of her pies?' but decides that would be in poor taste. "We all die of something," she says instead. "But not today," she adds firmly. "Besides, there are too few good pie-makers in Alexandria, we are not prepared to give up any of them. Sorry. No vacation for you."

Geir shuffles into the room at Martha's comment about losing her daughter and then her own life. "Sser. My condolencsess on your losss.", he says to Martha, softly. "We will find an end to thiss plague. It is not your time to go. Resst. Ssave your strength and keep hope in your heart." The copper-scale nods then to Yelrona and Zeke. "Peace upon your nessts.", he intones.

"Yesss Martha. There will be a cure. Thisss one knowss of many who are working on it." The blue-scaled sith himself sounds as though he hardly means his words, but he says them anyways. He does what little he can, being a presence at her side. As they are joined by another sith-makar Zeke's eyes take in the other's features. His brow furrows slightly but he nods to the other. "Peasce on your nessst as well sshaman-casste."

Martha grins, closing the cake box and setting it gently back where she got it from. It seems that her appetite has faded somewhat. Even so she offers a welcoming nod to the new sith-makar. "I don't know you, but new faces are always welcome. I'm Martha, and this is Yelrona, and this is Zeke." She introduces everyone in the room in order.

Yelrona nods, acknowledging the introduction. "What, the cake doesn't have a name?" she teases. "Seems rude to eat it without being introduced first."

Geir looks to Yelrona, grinning at her joke. "We call it lunch. Or Ssnack." To Martha, he nods, and then glances to Zeke upon the mention of his name. "One is from Am'shere, though one has traveled. The Grey Lady's temple requessted one's presencse here.", the copper-scale says, looking back to Martha. "One have come to help with the ssick, wounded and dying. To give hope. Succor. Resspite." He stands up a bit straighter. "One is named Geir."

"I agree with Geir here, calling it anything else would be rather rude." Martha lets out a low chuckle.

While others are talking about the cake Zeke is looking intently at Geir. Then when the other offers his name Zeke's eyes blink twice. Once with the outer lids and once with the inner. Embarrassed by his staring Zeke looks away. Worrying that it may have been noticed. "Thisss one apologizess. Thisss one knew one who ssharess your name and sscaless a long time ago. You are a ssshaman of death-singing dragon?" An attempt to change the subject.

Geir has noticed, but has attempted to ignore it. He nods gently to something Martha has said, and while the patient and the Elf discuss more baked goods, the copper-scale regards the blue-scale curiously. The copper-scale shuffles a step or two closer to Zeke, so that he can lower his voice. "Apology is not required. This one, too, knew a Sith of the ssame colouring and name as yoursself. One traveled for a time with Zeke, from one's village to the place of their parting. A promisse wass exchanged, that pathss would crosss again."

Zeke seems mildly uncomfortable with the closeness of the other sith-makar; if the flicking of his tail is any indication. There is still some distance between them however and so Zeke says nothing of it. Remains where he is. That is at least until Geir speaks and then Zeke is rising to his feet. It is a careful movement for him, but he rises nonetheless and looks at Geir as though he is a ghost. "Geir?" He whispers the voice but it is quite loud. He glances toward Martha and motions toward the go. "Thisss one isss that Zeke. We ssshould... ssshare wordss elssewhere."

The coppery tail usually remains mostly still when Geir is not moving. But the tip begins to swish back and forth at Zeke's words. Geir looks to where Zeke motions, and the copper-scale gestures with a hand. "One sshould lead, sser, thiss one doess not familiar with the building." He steps back to allow Zeke some room, and once Zeke has passed by, Geir will fall into step behind him. "One did not expect to find Zeke again. Thiss world is sso vasst, enemiess so numerouss.."

The blue-scaled sith waits for that moment when Geir moves and then leads the other out with a polite nod to Yelrona and Marth in passing. Once out Zeke leads Geir to a more quiet section of the hospital where they should be able to speak in relitive peace. He does not seem to know what to say to the other sith, hovering there uncertainly looking at Geir with the expression of one who is both excited and yet also lost. His tail flicks with concern. "Thisss one... Had thought that one day we might. Thingss were sso different then. I wasss sstill called Maksur... How did you know that thisss one goess by Zeke now?"

The copper-scale settles back, leaning upon his tail. "Yess, one was called Maksur when the parting happened. But this one hass seen and heard thingss. Newss sspreads. Sslowly. One wonderss what became of.. of her." Geir's gaze drops downward, peering at the floor. "The one Maksur followed. Leaving thiss one behind."

The question makes Zeke's gaze lower as well, so that they are both peering at the floor, at a wall perhaps rather than looking at one another. "Ssshe died in her sssleep; age caught her up and sshe went to the death-ssinging dragon asss iss natural." Even so, and even though it has been a long time since then, it is clear that the thought saddens him. "Thiss one ssshould not have left you behind, but thisss one heard the call of the dragon-father and could not help but lissten. Perhapss having heard the call of your own you undersstand?"

"One is sorry for your loss, and for the sting one has just caused.", Geir says softly, barely above a whisper. "One could have still followed Maksur, even if the dragon-father bid Maksur to come. But one understands." <draconic>

The use of that old name... it causes Zeke to flinch slightly, particularly hearing it in his native tongue. It brings back memories to a much older time. He blinks, trying to keep those memories at bay; does not correct who had once been his protege. "You were still so young then Geir. This one wanted you to find your own path; not to be taken by mine. Perhaps I should have taken you, but it seemed wrong to keep you at my side. This one is... as ones name says. You deserved better than this one." <draconic>

"Better to have someone to follow than be left alone.", Geir says. He gestures with a hand then. "But no matter. As the humans say, water under the bridge." He looks up then, regarding Zeke closely. "I never thought of you as broken. Not then. Not now. Zeke, however, is a fitting name." <draconic>

Zeke swallows, feeling a pulse of guilt that is clear on his features. Now perhaps he would make different choices but then... Then he had still been raw. The memories... He can still remember Geir, a hatchling following in his steps. Calling him that name without knowing. Who seemed so blissfully unaware. How much it had hurt him to leave Geir behind. Their bitter parting which had held no sweetness in it though they had not parted harshly. They had parted instead without understanding. "This one was given it by the woman who taught one to follow the dragonfather." It is said softly, almost apologetically. "You were a hatchling then, and did not always see the world as it was. Now... Now perhaps you would see the truth of the name which this one's mother gave." He tugs slightly on his cloak. Ensuring that his limbs do not show. <draconic>

The copper-scale is quiet for a time, his eyes regarding the mentor of his past. He nods, after much consideration, and lets out a breath. "Just so.", Geir says. "However, one believes that Zeke's mother might also realize that she did not see Zeke as what he could be. And that now, should she gaze upon her son, she might have a different name for him. Brave. Strong. Protector of the weak and healer of the sick. Bearer of the Sun's light." <draconic>

Those words cause Zeke's gaze to slide aside. Embarrassed, uncertain, perhaps just a touch guarded. "This one has seen her once since leaving the nest behind. Since the training of the dragonfather made this one into what one is now." Just a little he stands straighter, almost to his full height. It could never be said however that he looms. He is simply a tall, steady presence beside Geir. Now that he is reminded of his training. It is a thing which does not last, and he loses what he gained in the space of a breath.

"She was... She had not forgotten Maskurwarayuslih; her son. Nor could she see Zeke whom he had become." It is the first time Zeke has said this name; his full name since he had left his nest behind. Since all those years gone by and they make his shoulders hunch, they make him shudder from head to toe. His tail has gone still and wraps about him. <draconic>

"One had not forgotten Zeke. And one has seen some of what Zeke has become. One has heard." Geir straightens, too, though as before, the blue-scale is taller. "But more important is the now and here." <draconic>

Zeke nods, giving a short sigh and pushing away those memories. Better to leave them in the dark. To not think of them. He nods to Geir, and meets the other's eyes. "Tell me then instead. Where did you travel once we had parted? What has life given you since then?" <draconic>

"I have traveled across Alexandros, and some to the north.", Geir says, happy to switch topics somewhat. "I heard the calling of the Grey Lady, and was training in her service. I was captured by Charn." He lets out a breath. "Something we should perhaps speak of at a later time, hmm?" <draconic>

The blue-scaled sith's eyes widen. His body tenses and his tail gives a sharp flick. Not at so much of what Geir says but that very specific. He nods slowly, low and careful. "Yes. We will share words as it pleases you. We have much to catch up on it seems." So much time has passed. It has made them far from one another, but Zeke feels a connection here keenly. <draconic>

"There is much to catch up, yes. But some of what I have seen and experienced will sadden you. I suspect as much from your experiences as well. Let us speak of happier things and times, so that we do not drag ourselves into pits of misery." Geir's expression brightens. "It is good to see that your scales have not lost their lustre. How has serving the dragon-father treated you? Is it fulfilling work? Satisfying?" <draconic>

"It seems perhaps that if were are to talk at all, that we must speak of some sadness." Zeke gestures to the Soldier's Defense. "This one has served the dragonfather in many places, but this one has always worked mostly with the sick. Curing them of their ills is yes, satisfying work. To bring others the joy of light is fulfilling. which is why this plague defeats us. For there is no light inside it, no satisfaction of curing it. There is only death and watching one's kin and those innocent die." <draconic>

"Hmm, just so. The plague is why I have come, I was bidden to travel here and lend my small talents to the efforts." Geir nods slowly, his tailtip curling back and forth. "Following the death dragon, one sees many such things. The sadness of undeath. Helping loved ones move on. It is pleasing to give comfort. Speak the words of blessing and of hope." His eyes widen slightly. "Tell me. Has there been any hope of a cure?" <draconic>

"This one's kin has hope, but this one..." He trails off and shakes his head slowly, mournfully. "This one has seen too much death in it. There have been some signs, that this thing can be undone. Things that stall it. Yet nothing which can undo it as of yet." His tail flicks again and then he holds it still, nearly wrapped around his leg in an odd self-comforting gesture. <draconic>

The coppery tail raises up a few inches, and slaps into the floor. "Hrmm. Just so. One must continue to hold out hope, then. And do everything you can." Geir lets out a slow breath, a few wisps of something drifting from his nostrils. "In serving the death dragon, the Grey Lady, one has learned that one may not save everyone. But one should never give up trying to do so." <draconic>

"This one does what one can then." Because hope... was a luxury that Zeke had never found himself able to afford. After a moment Zeke's tail uncurls and he looks toward the flow of people coming and going. "Speaking of, this one should return to work. There are many who need our attentions here Geir. Even if we can not win, we must not cease to fight." <draconic>

"What are your duties, then?", Geir asks as he slowly stands. "This one shall assist. The Grey Lady shall attend." <draconic>

Zeke moves out toward the throng and keeps his tail close to himself so that it stays out of the way of others. Due to his height and presence others give way for him, and he uses this passage to great advantage. He moves however at a slow and steady pace. "This one does a bit of everything." He glances backwards at Geir once. "And so shall you, if you follow in thiss one's wake. Come, we have many to attend to." <draconic>

-End