A Token, For Sweethearts

Writers: Sia
Date Posted: 13th July 2025

Characters: O'rosin, Rosika, Rovelle, Obren, Obric, Obralis, Briselle
Description: O'rosin gets interrogated by his brothers.
Location: Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 8, day 6 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: R'fayne

O'rosin

Aeoluth's shadow swept low over the cothold before he landed carefully along the shore, wings folding in neatly. He knew the drill. They wouldn't be allowed to stay if he wasn't calm, and he wanted to stay and play with the littles.

O’rosin had barely unbuckled himself before the front door flew open and Obren tore down the path, followed by Briselle shrieking for him to “wait for once in your life!”

Within moments, he was surrounded by younger siblings, Obren being an entire eight turns old to Rosika, at newly seventeen, already rooting through the tied bundles lashed to Aeoluth's harness. "Oh, the fabric!" She cried as she pulled the aggressively bartered bolt out and clutching it tightly. "This is exactly the color I wanted."

"That is to _share_." O'rosin said as he unhooked a heavy bag containing flour and dried wherry, slinging it over a shoulder before another sister could try and grab for it. "Can you get that other bag, Obren? It has some scented soap and some jars of pickled stuff. And- Rovelle-"

He caught the fourteen-turn-old's elbow as she passed, pressing a small, battered tin into her palm so no one else could see.

Her eyes lit up. "Citrus drops?" She whispered, carefully and quickly tucking the tin away.

"In payment. Make sure the others don't see if you don't want to share."

"Yes, sir." Rovelle rummaged in her sling bag and pulled out her own glass jar, packed full of little shells scavenged from the long stretch of beach nearby. She deposited it quickly and casually into a pouch that looked strangely like a saddlebag. "You're going to be careful, right, Aeoluth?" She asked, patting his side.

Aeoluth snorted and bobbed his head in a nod.

Rovelle laughed. "Good boy! It's like he understands."

"He understands more than you'd think." O'rosin said with mock gravity. "C'mon, let's bring the haul in to Ma."

-----

The sun had dropped low by the time O’rosin slipped away to the beach. He shed his riding jacket and boots with practiced ease, rolling his sleeves up as he crouched at the water’s edge, hands sifting through damp sand for more shells. Rovelle had picked the beach almost clean, at least until another storm deposited more.

Obric and Obralis were sprawled nearby, their forms easy and familiar against the sea-worn rocks. Obric’s new baby, probably not much more than a turn old, sat in the sand between his father's outstretched legs, exploring how the sand felt between his fingers and toes.

"What do you need all the seashells for, anyway?" Obralis asked. He held his hand out for O'rosin to inspect the pieces he'd found, which the brownrider took and deposited them in a pouch already half-full.

"My bet is on a sailor's token. You know you can _buy_ them at any port." Obric said, brushing some errant thrown sand off his trousers. "There was someone selling them at the old Seahold when we were there last."

"I don't want to _buy_ one. I want to _make_ one." O'rosin muttered.

"You know those are supposed to be for sweethearts." Obric added.

Obralis whipped his head around to look at O'rosin, as if he'd never put the two things together. "Who is it?" He demanded.

O’rosin blinked, then looked down again, turning a tiny heart-shaped fragment between his fingers. “Nobody.”

Obric snorted. "Yeah, and I'm a lord holder. That's months of work. For nobody? C'mon, just admit that it's a turn's end gift."

"I left for the Weyr and you decided to get clever?" O'rosin snapped, but the flush crawling up his neck betrayed him.

Obric grinned, "You're pink all the way to your ears."

"I am not!"

"They must be pretty." Obralis said, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You don't just make these things for no one."

"Do weyrfolk get married?" Obric asked, not missing a beat even as he had to pull a fistful of sand away from the baby's mouth. "Are we invited?"

O’rosin didn’t answer. The silence stretched too long. Obric and Obralis exchanged a look, silent communication honed from nearly being the same age. Not quite a turn between each one, close enough that they hardly needed to speak to know the other.

"You guys are the _worst_." O'rosin grumbled.

"Come on, give us_something_." Obric said, " You’ve never talked about anyone before. Shells, right before you were Searched the girls were _swooning_ and you didn't even notice."

"Stop it, nobody was swooning." O'rosin grumbled.

"For fessakes, _Rosin_, no one drops their handkerchief at someone's feet like that without wanting something. You just handed it back and left."

"It must actually be different at the Weyr." Obralis teased. "Did they need to describe it in detail, or…"

O'rosin's face burned, less because of the subject matter becoming less and less _implied_, but because R'fayne had done exactly that. Obralis and Obric snickered.

"You've been dodging Ma's questions pretty well, but you can't escape _us_." Obralis continued.

O’rosin groaned and dragged both hands down his face. “Can’t a man make something nice without getting interrogated like a Holdless thief?”

“No,” Obric and Obralis said in perfect, unrepentant unison.

O'rosin looked between the both of them. Cornered, his face hot. His heart pounded harshly in his chest.

Obric nudged him with his foot. “Just say it’s a boy and be done.”

O’rosin froze, panic draining the color from his face.

“Oh-ho,” Obric said, leaning back on his elbows with a smug little smile. He held out his hand to Obralis.

Obralis cursed and dug into his pocket. He shoved a sixteenth mark piece into Obric's hand. O'rosin looked between them both, horrified.

"Crackdust, Obric--!"

"I _knew_ it." Obric said smugly. "If he was a girl, you would have just told us."

"Does Ma know?" O'rosin asked, his voice laced with the same wavering panic.

Both brothers shrugged.

"We haven't said anything." Obralis said. "Probably not. I don't know if she knows it's an option. She just says you're a little naive."

"How do _you_ know?!"

"Please. We are worldly sailors." Obralis said.

"Plus we bothered the last harper on circuit." Obric added. "His face went all red like that, too. I don't think he gave us the full answer."

O’rosin laughed, startled and a little breathless. “I don’t think so, either.”

Obralis grinned. “Didn’t need it.”

O’rosin shook his head, smile lingering. “You’re both terrible.”

“But right,” Obric said, standing with the baby in his arms. “And we’ve got your back. Always.”

O’rosin nodded, looking out at Aeoluth playing with his sister's down the beach. The sun was nearly gone, casting everything in warm, golden light.

“Come on,” he said, tucking the pouch of shells under one arm. “I need to get back before it gets too late.”

Obric stood, scooping up his dozing son. “Only if you promise to tell us more next time.”

“No promises.”

But O'rosin didn’t say no.

And that was enough.

Last updated on the July 15th 2025

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A Token, For Sweethearts