The Bathing Ordeal

Writers: Estelle, Devin
Date Posted: 28th August 2024
Series: Guarding Gil

Characters: Gilbek, Tr'vel
Description: Gilbek experiences the Weyr's bathing customs
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 10, day 27 of Turn 11

Tr'vel

Gil sat leaning against the arch of the cave mouth, a book in his hands,
but he'd hardly read more than a few words. Every time a dragon came
winging around the cliff, heading to one of the weyrs, he wondered if
they might be coming for him. After all this time with only the sea and
the rock walls and the occasional visitor for company, he longed to be
out, if only for an hour or two.

A blue landed on the ledge outside, his rider slipping down the dragon's
shoulder with practiced ease. "Gil? I'm here to take you to the bathing
caverns." He was about average size, for a dragonrider, and although
both his tone and posture were neutral, there was a hint of watchfulness
about him.

Gil scrambled to his feet, his heart beating fast. He tried not to show
his eagerness to be out of the weyr, knowing it would be sensible to
appear calm, but he couldn't hide the light in his eyes. "Yes - thank
you, Bluerider...?"

"I'm Tr'vel, and my better half is Eboroth." The dragon regarded Gil
with one eye, whirling slowly with a hint of orange. The other eye was a
ruined mass of scars. "I'm guessing you don't have much experience riding?"

"No, I've only done it twice. Once when I came here, and once a long
time ago." Gil realized he'd been staring at the dragon and gave him a
quick, apologetic nod.

"I'll help you up then." Eboroth leaned over to bring his shoulder even
lower to the ground. "He won't bite, and we won't drop you."

Gil did his best to hide his dismay. Although the blue was smaller than
the Weyrleader's bronze, he'd still have to raise his arms above his
head to reach the dragon's shoulder, and he couldn't conceal how much
motion he'd lost in his back and shoulders. Still, he did his best,
gritted his teeth at the strain, and scrambled up somehow, hoping the
dragonrider would think he was just a clumsy holder.

So that's why the Weyrleader wanted him checked out by the healers.
Tr'vel got Gil strapped in and Eboroth dropped off the ledge, easily
navigating the winds along the cliff and turning back toward the Bowl.
They landed close to the bathing caverns and Tr'vel dropped down to help
Gil dismount.

He descended, careful of his back, and looked around at his new
surroundings in amazement. It was hard to believe he was only on the
other side of the cliffs. Here in the Bowl it felt hotter, sheltered
from the strong sea breeze with the sun beating down overhead, and the
salt in the air mingled with a hundred other scents - baking bread, hay
from the beast pens and smoke from the forge, firestone dust. There were
people everywhere, walking in pairs or groups, weyrbrats running about
underfoot, teenagers giggling, dragonriders striding by, confident in
their riding gear - and the dragons, brightly colored or with a metallic
sheen, landing and taking off, perched on their cliff ledges or
splashing in the lake.

After the isolation of the cliff weyr, and before that the cothold, it
was overwhelming. Feeling dizzy, Gil steadied himself with a hand on the
riding strap. "Sorry - I mean, thank you..."

"Feeling all right?"

"Yes - I think so." He tried to calm himself and take slow breaths - he
definitely didn't want to appear to be a threat. He focused on the
dragon's head, and the single eye, whirling with color. "Yes. I'm fine.
I suppose I got used to the quiet up there."

"Oh, yes. The Weyr can be overwhelming," Tr'vel said. He wasn't sure how
much sympathy to have for this man, but the Weyrleader had said to watch
him carefully, so that's what he was going to do. "The bathing cavern is
this way." He nodded toward the entrance.

"Right. Thank you, Eboroth," Gil said, remembering how Alyena had
thanked the dragons directly when she'd come to visit him. He wasn't
sure if he was heard, but it seemed polite.

Inside the caverns they were sheltered from the sun's head, but it was
even louder than out in the Bowl and as they went deeper and the walls
closed in, they brought back memories of other tunnels, of darkness and
the sounds of picks on rock. Gil felt his heart beating rapidly, and
tried to focus on remembering the turns they took. Two young people in
the simpler knots he guessed were candidates passed them at speed,
pushing a trolley piled high with laundry, and then he heard splashing
and cheerful voices up ahead.

When they turned into the bathing cavern, all other thoughts went out of
his head when he saw who was in the large, steaming pool and wandering
around the edge, wrapped in towels - or worse, not wrapped. Gil backed
out hastily and leaned against the wall outside, his cheeks flushed, and
not just from the temperature.

"I can't bathe in there!" he protested, scandalized. "There are ladies
present!"

"That's how it's done at the Weyr." Tr'vel nearly rolled his eyes.
"Unless you're lucky enough to get your own private bathing room, this
is where you go."

Gil opened his mouth, then closed it again, lost for words. From the
brief glimpse he'd had, the water did look warm and inviting, but he
couldn't bring himself to move. "I'd heard that, but I thought it was
just a rumor. One of those stories they tell about the Weyr."

Tr'vel couldn't help a laugh. "As you can see, this is very much true.
And in the hotter months, most people here often don't wear much even
outside the bathing caverns." He shrugged. "I know holders have a lot of
hangups, but women are just people, and we all have different shaped
bodies. It's best to get used to it quick."

The holder shook his head, still not quite believing it. "And no-one's -
ah, disrespectful?" He could only imagine how his fellow guards would
behave if they were let loose in a women's bathing room.

"There's some flirting, and some of the newer holdbred folk can be rude,
but we're here to get clean, so that's what we do." Tr'vel shrugged.

Gil thought of how long it had been since he'd had a proper bath rather
than a quick wash in cold water, and how tempting the pool had seemed.
He risked a quick glance around the door in the hope that the women
would have gone. They hadn't, and he hastily closed his eyes and drew
back, wincing. No matter what the custom was at the Weyr, he couldn't
shake off the sense that it would be rude to undress in front of them -
and not only for reasons of modesty.

"I still don't think I should. I'm... I have scars." He lowered his
voice, wishing he had any other option but to admit it. "It's not a
sight for a lady."

Tr'vel snorted. "Have you seen fresh Threadscars?"

Gil shook his head, frowning in confusion. "No, never." Not having known
any dragonriders, he'd always thought that anything more than a glancing
touch from Thread would be fatal, as it would be for a holdless man
caught in the open.

The bluerider waved a hand. "Whatever you've got, we've seen worse. Now
get on with it. I still have to take you to the healers."

"But I'm not sick..." Gil started to object, then thought better of it.
If he was troublesome they might not let him out of the cliff weyr
again. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, then entered the bathing
cavern again, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the stone floor.

Getting into the pool was a complicated process. He chose the corner
furthest from the female bathers and tried to stay covered with a towel,
keeping his scarred back to the wall until the last moment. Once he was
in, the warmth, the soft lapping of the water and the scent of sweetsand
were deeply relaxing and he almost wished he could linger. But he knew
the dragonrider was waiting, so he washed quickly, ducking his head
under the water and scrubbing his hair and skin clean.

Getting out was harder, since it was impossible not to show his back and
he could only hope no one was looking. At least the ordeal was nearly
over. He dressed as quickly as he could, still averting his gaze from
the other bathers, and hurried out.

"There, you made it through," Tr'vel said. "Now for your appointment
with the healers." He gestured back toward the Bowl.

He started walking, with obvious reluctance. "It's really not necessary.
My back doesn't keep me from working. I'd rather not waste their time."

"Weyrleader's orders," Tr'vel said in a tone that brooked no argument.
He softened it slightly by adding, "Best to get it over with."

The holder gave up on protesting, but the cold feeling of dread returned
as they emerged into the sunlight and crossed the Bowl. He knew what had
happened to guards who were too old or injured to fight back at White
Hollow. There seemed to be no escape, but perhaps with luck and a busy
healer he could convince them that he wasn't useless.

Last updated on the March 5th 2025

Series: Guarding Gil [Next: Breakfast with the Enemy]

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The Bathing Ordeal