One Less Problem [Execution] [Open]

C'vir spent much longer than usual staring at the ceiling above him, his standard early morning vigor conspicuously absent. Instead of making an early escape to capitalize on the few candlemarks of peace he received when Besulth outslept him, he stayed in bed, vacillating between willed mindlessness and flurries of anxious reflection.
It's a rare day when I'm up and moving before you are, the brown remarked softly, mindvoice absent the slight smugness that typically accompanied such comments. This was not the morning to antagonize his rider, no matter how playfully.

C'vir sighed, reluctantly sitting up and running his fingers through sleep-matted hair. A rare day indeed, he mused, and not a pleasant one. The death of a rider for any reason was a blow to the weyr; that Katila would be losing a bronzerider under such unsavory circumstances only compounded the gravity of the day's events. He rolled halfheartedly to the edge of his bed, remaining seated for several moments while he stretched his arms and rolled out his shoulders. He was no longer sure what he'd been thinking when he'd agreed to serve as a guard for S'kef. He could hardly avoid attending the execution, but participating suggested a tacit approval he was uncertain of his willingness to give. Though the investigation of D'ren's attempted murder pointed to T'shiro as the guilty party, the brownrider had heard so many conflicting accounts and wild rumors that he had no idea what to believe. Sorting through the abundant and imaginative speculation was damn near impossible: he didn't envy those in charge of the investigation, the findings of which -- true or false -- had helped condem a man to death. The execution was a bold move on S'kef's part, a decision a man of lesser assurance may have shirked. It made a statement, not only about the price of crimes committed in Katila, but also about who was in charge and just how firm a hand he was willing to use. Whether or not the decision was an appropriate one, C'vir was not yet well-informed enough to decide.

Sometimes I'm glad you're not a bronze and I'm not a Weyrleader, he mumbled mentally, rising to pull on his riding leathers.
Tyrissath is not a bronze, and his rider is a Weyrleader, the dragon responded archly. You never know what may happen, and you certainly can't predict the future.
No, he couldn't. Nor could he predict the extent of his own ambitions from day to day. On some mornings, he wanted the world -- on others, he didn't want to leave his bed; insecurities often curtailed his aspirations. But those are worries for another day, the rider thought solemnly, tugging his clothing into place with a few final adjustments. He shaved carefully, hand steadier than expected, and arranged his curls neatly with the hopes they'd stay in place. Food would wait; he lacked and appetite and it was time to go.

The crowd in Gather Square was subdued but somewhat tightly-wound when the pair landed, with T'shiro already present, apparently of his own volition. C'vir had taken the brief flight over as an opportunity to settle into his familiar guise of lofty impassivity -- whatever his own, constantly shifting feelings about the execution were, he refused to have them on display. Having established for the next few candlemarks a demeanor of composed neutrality, he slid from Besulth's back, keeping his distance while S'kef had a few private words with T'shiro. The nod from the Weyrleader brought him forward to warily survey those in attendance.

It rarely took long for things to get out of hand, and this particular event was no exception. As soon as the crowd quieted, a lone rider saw fit to voice his disapproval, his cries of "Murderers!" seemingly doing little to perturb the Weyrleader. C'vir frowned, prepared to remove A'liran, but the problem quickly resolved itself. He preferred not to let the greenriders words linger too long; he wasn't immune to being unsettled by them. Returning  his attention partially to R'nya and the Weyrleader and partially to the crowd, he briefly reached for Besulth. I'm trusting you to stay calm.
As you should. I'm calmer than you are.