Jumping from projects to projects again. Today I feel like working on dragons, hence the Magical Genosha got pushed to later date.
I’ve had this piece in my writing folder for... about six months, I think. It’s been gone through editing for... more than a dozen times, I think. Perhaps two. For such a short piece. I find myself reluctant to post anything that I haven’t edited at least six times. Being not a native english user (also not using it on a regular basis, hence the crappy grammar), it’s quite hard to find the right words to write. First drafts are usually filled with notes in my first language in brackets: ‘see dictionary for translation of xxxx’, ‘see abc by def for description of xyz’, ‘ lookup synonym for xxx’ It’s horrible.
Inspired by this prompt in xmenfirstkink in LJ.
Charles is a rider of a brown dragon, but that doesn't mean that he's not an active participant in the Weyr politics.
He is wingsecond and his wingleader relies at him while they are Searching for the best candidates for the Impression. And Charles insists that they propose a fully grown man in one Hold, though he is clearly too old for them.
To everyone's surprise this man, Erik, Impresses a fine bronze dragon and thus becomes a future candidate for the flight of a Gold.
And here's the conflict: Erik would rather court Charles than his sister Raven - who is the rider of the Gold Erik's dragon is to fly in the future.
You can make Shaw a Bronze of another Weyr, or a Holder who caused Erik's mother to death.
And please, make Charles a BAMF
I. Me
Charles didn't remember much about the day he impressed Corath. All he could recall of that day was that the sun was very bright, the sand was very hot, and the place was very noisy – dragons and humans both. Dozens of voices speaking all at once made him confused and dizzy and felt like closing his eyes for several moments.
All of a sudden he felt something soft touched his nose. Startled, he opened his eyes. A pair of soft, blue-green eyes over a brown snout was looking at him; a voice that was not a voice spoke, 'Are you alright?'
He didn't remember that old Chagall and Kalth found him near the woods quite a distance from his hold. He didn't remember that he was bleeding from his head and nose and lips when Kalth landed a couple paces away from him. He didn't remember looking up at Kalth in awe or hearing the blue dragon insisted at Chagall to get him to the hatching ground instead of to a healer.
He didn't remember the incident that follows, when Lord Holder Kurt Marko recognized his stepson and promptly requested an audience with the Weyrleader. He didn't remember Lord Marko's accusation of Wyers kidnapping children. He didn't remember his mother silently watching him smiling happily while feeding brown Corath for the first time. He didn't remember his mother turned her back at him and then told her husband and the Weyrleader that 'he can stay'.
The one thing worth remembering that day was Corath.
II. You
It was a well known fact that blues and browns usually have strong searching instinct. In High Reaches Weyr, no pair was better at it than Charles and brown Corath, proven by eight consecutive turns of successful searches with all candidates immediately impressed. To name a few, Hank, Scott, Ororo, Kitty, Bobby, little Jean, and of course Raven, Charles' cousin and foster sister.
Wingleader Azel was used to his Wingsecond coming in with candidates at the last moment and asked for them to be allowed into the Hatching Ground. Weyrleader John and Weyrwoman Jackie had given him the privilege to approve any of Charles' additional candidates.
Sometimes it meant that he had to be the one to draw the line.
"You do realize, that he is too old, do you not?"Azel critically told Charles while assessing Charles' latest candidate. Erik was tall and lean, broad shoulders, wiry muscles. His figure was of a well-trained soldier or mercenary. Not the brute kind, but the smart, cautious one. The young man stood with his arms crossed, staring back, unflinching.
Privately, Azel was impressed. There was confidence in those eyes. A bit of arrogance, too. The hilt of a hunting knife strapped to his thigh showed frequent use, and the straps were in good condition. His clothes and boots were old but well-cared for. Quite a contrast to Charles, whose opinion was that of the only articles of his worth paying attention to were his dragon’s harness, who took for granted the fact that clean clothes showed up in his weyr in regular basis, who had to be reminded (more often than not by his sister) that his clothes need to be taken to the lower caverns to be mended, and who’d often strolled around in tunics and trousers belong to the rider whose bed he woke up in that morning.
If only this Erik lad was a couple years younger.
His obstinate Wingsecond let out an impatient sigh. "He is suitable, Azel. Corath agrees with me. Ask Rozeth."
As if he was listening to their conversation, his bronze Rozeth chose that moment to declare, 'Corath says yes.'
It seemed that he would have to give in this time. But perhaps one more question...
Gesturing at the blue-black circle surrounding Charles'left eye (he did not missed that and Erik's split lips) he asked them, "Why are you two looking like you've just got out of a scuffle in the tavern?"Or a scuffle in the bushes, he wanted to add, but refrained from doing.
"Because we had a scuffle." Erik said indifferently. "I told him this is not going to work."
"It will work, you flitter-brained deadglow." Charles rolled his eyes. "Now get out there, the hatching is about to begin." He quickly pushed Erik towards the entrance to the sands.
"I haven't said yes."Azel warned his Wingsecond.
Impudent being that he was, the brown rider shouted, "You were about to!"
For those who often came to attend Hatching Day in High Reaches Weyr, seeing unusually young candidates rushing into the Hatching Ground right beforethe hatching begins was no longer a rarity. Some Lords and Ladies still remember when the step-son of Lord Marko impressed a brown ten turns previous, some also remember when the same boy accompanied his cousin to the edge of the hatching sands before she impressed a gold.
Older candidates though, were a rarity. When a young man who looked like he was in early twenties—obviously much older than then rest of the candidates—entered the hatching sands, it did cause a stir in the audience. Some of the guest Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen visibly showed their disapproval on the breaching of tradition. On the other hand, the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman of High Reaches didn’t seem to have any problem with it.
For some unknown reason, the newcomer didn’t join the rest of the candidates—boys and girls in white robes gathering in a loose circle around the eggs. Instead, he stood alone, quite a distance behind the others.
As the dragons on the ledge began to hum, everyone’s attention shifted towards the eggs. Some of them began to rock. Four of the eggs cracked open almost at the same time. A blue, a brown and two bronzes wobbled away from their shells. The brown moved towards a boy with red hair—another candidate that Charles and Corath picked, the blue picked a girl with dark hair, one bronze choose a blonde haired boy.
Unlike the previous three, the other bronze hatchling did not choose immediately. It sat on its hind legs for a moment, its head moving from side to side. Several of the more eager candidates moved closer to the hatchling. Instead of making an impression, the bronze rose to its four legs and swing its tail around in agitation.
When other eggs began to crack, the candidates’ attention shifted from the aggressive hatchling to friendlier, newly hatched ones.
As the candidates wander away towards other hatchlings, the little bronze charged forward, only to stop in front of the young man who stood away from the other candidates.
‘We can keep on staring at each other, or you can start feeding me.' While the voice’s sudden appearance in his mind didn't really surprise him, the cheeky tone did. Erik had had his share of seeing hatchings, where new-riders usually get sickeningly sweet with their dragons. He imagined the sickeningly sweet part goes both ways. ‘Oh, that’ll come later, after you provide me with food.’
“Who says I’m going to feed you anything?” Even as he said it, Erik felt the sensations of voracious hunger creeping in.
‘If you don’t, I might have to start chewing at your arms. They look big and delicious.’
Someone shoved a basin of red meat in front of him. The floppy haired brown-rider from earlier. Erik made no move to take it. Instead, he gestured at the rider and told the bronze, “Chew him then, if you’re that hungry.”
The brown rider blinked once, then facepalmed. “Oh, by the egg of Faranth… You!” He exclaimed, annoyance evident in his voice. “Sit!”
The brown-rider was stronger than he looked. He might be half-a-head shorter than Erik, but those arms packed a punch. Said rider grabbed the back of Eric’s tunic and made him sit right there in the sand and plopped the basin on his lap.
The little bronze dragon eagerly stepped forward and began to devour the contents of the basin. While Erik rarely find himself fascinated by animals, it was kind of hard not to be amazed with dragons. They, after all, grew up to be magnificent creatures even if they started up as wrinkly, clumsy little thing. Greedy too.
‘Thank you. I consider that a compliment; magnificent, not the wrinkly clumsy part.’
Not to mention noisy.
It finished the meat rather quickly. When it was done, it lifted up its head and gave the most pitiful look that Erik had ever seen.
‘More…?’
Someone took the empty basin and replaced it with another. The bronze continued its meal happily.
Happy.
Warmth. Contentment. Pleasure. These sensations floated through him. He knew where it came from, that it wasn’t his. But it felt like his. Tentatively, he patted the little bronze’s head. It let out a crooning noise of delight in return.
‘I’ll never be alone again, will I?’ He asked the hatchling silently.
His dragon belched once, then answered, ‘Not alone. Never again, you flitter-brained deadglow.’
The sands were warm below the eggs, hot enough to burn the soles of human feet for anyone stupid enough to step onto them without sandals. All around the humans waited and watched, candidates for new riders spread among the eggs as they waited also--one moved, and as one all the dragons of the Departure Weyr began calling out.
The eggs were hatching.
All around, eggs ripped open and dragons crawled out and stumbled--looking for their rider, the one they'd waited inside the egg for. And one by one, each pair found each other and were led away for the first feeding.
At last, only one dragon remained, ignoring the last candidates waiting on the sand; neither of them were her rider, and she keened unhappily, gold scales gleaming in the light of the hatching grounds. Where was her rider, why wasn't he here?
Where are you! You're not here, come here come to me why aren't you here to meet me? I'm here, I'm waiting, COME HERE-- she called, demanded. Still keening, she stumbled away from the two girl candidates trying to entice her closer away from the humans who tried to cajole her to pick one of the two she didn't want, get them away--She lashed out with a clawed foot, claws catching and someone screaming where she'd ripped open flesh.
Her rider isn't here, rang out across the sands of the hatching ground; the gold dragon who'd laid her clutch, her mother, standing from the sidelines where she'd been watching. She's looking for him.
Ventus ignored the sounds of gasping and confusion (a male rider for a queen? It'd never been done before--) and stumbled further from the crushed egg behind her, still keening.
Find him! He probably feels the pull, look for a boy who feels a dragon bond but doesn't have one. Bring him before Ventus hurts herself or someone else trying to find him, and before he hurts himself for lack of completing the bond.
The tiny gold in the sand keened louder as humans ran in every direction to find her rider.
