Here I Am, This Is Me

[pandoraMisfit]

His thoughts about the queen egg didn’t last long as the three Mimics surrounded F’air and effectively restrained him. Mikyran’s eyes almost popped out of his head at the action, unable to believe that these three would do such a thing. Perhaps it was in their nature to be provoking, but this was almost too much. To threaten another’s Mine was suicide on these sands! The roar that the young Onyx king let out was a testament to this, and the lad had to cover his ears to protect them from the ferocity of it. It was practically certain that this little episode would lead to some sort of bloodshed, what with the ‘scuffle’ between the onyx and the bronze not 15 minutes before. Mikyran frowned again, watching the Onyx and the Onyx-mimic more closely than the other two, for the mimic seemed to be squaring up to the king of the weyr. Were his speculations going to come to light? After all, these were new dragons, unheard of on all of the planet, and for one to bear the same colouration of a weyrking… Well who knew?

A blue and then a crimson dragonet hatched, with the crimson trying to stand up to the emerald tinted clone. This didn’t last for long and Meer was glad of it, the damage these three could do if they put their slightest thought to it was already more than evident in the tugging of F’air’s wrists. He repressed a shudder at the thought. He had heard the carnage that an Amber hatchling could cause, and though these three seemed in control of themselves, far more than any hatchling he had seen, aside from Alayamanth, he somehow knew that if they wished it, the whole weyr would be drowning in the blood of their siblings. As this thought passed through his mind, this time a shiver did run through his spine. Somehow, just the aura they gave off was menacing, a hitn to the deeper destruction within their souls.

After those blue and the crimson dragons had Impressed,, the crimson having to be literally shooed away, there was obviously an exchange between the four dragonets involved, oh how he wished he could hear it! To rush out and help the Weyrling was almost unbearable, but sense prevailed and he stood his ground, although concern and a slight hint of anger blazed in his grey eyes. The whiteish one, Nazreth’s copy, released the boy first, evidently speaking with the Onyx. It was sharding annoying to not hear this exchange, for the Onyx was evidently getting more and more agitated by the whole thing. The Typhtih clone released F’air also, and so it was his turn to speak. Irritation folded itself around Mikyran like a heavy blanket, for something was going on, but he had no chance of knowing what it was!

Grumbling to himself, he ignored the stares the other boys were giving him, for a pout of kinds had formed upon his lips. It just wasn’t fair! Mostly, everyone else had found Theirs on the sands and here he was, trying to listen to a conversation he had no hope of hearing! He scuffed the sand slightly with his toe, vaguely aware he was beginning to act like a petulant child and he decided that he didn’t care one bit.

The only thing that pulled him out of that, was the appearance of two of the bizarre creatures standing before him – the white and the black tinted ones. The smaller of the two flared her wings and dipped her chest in a bow, her voice slipped silkily into his mind. M'yran, come. I am your Fedorath, and before another fool lays his hands upon you, I should like to be fed. We will eat with my brothers and Theirs, and that is not debatable. Do not make the mistake of seeing my gender as a weakness, or an excuse for me to be soft. I assure you, I am no such thing, and neither are you or I would not have been called to you. My silken tongue will deceive many, but you must learn to look past this and accept what you know to be true. That voice though soft on the surface, held many complex undertones, speaking of the violence and the anger that the young thing held within her.

Now the song that had been rising and falling in his heart rose to a crescendo, the organ almost leaping up into his throat when he heard those words in his mind. Fedorath… Her words were almost accusing of him, and he frowned at them, but otherwise let them pass to be figured out later. He stood there numb, just staring down at the see-through creature that had spoken to him. It took a sharp head butt to the knee for him to remember himself, and not knowing what to do, he bowed back at her. ~Fedorath…~ And that was all he managed to get out before another voice pierced his flow of thought. The speech, designed as it was to echo deeply into his thoughts, made M’yran turn to regard the new riders of the other mimics – Jeri by the Emerald toned one and R’taik by the Onyx one. Folkvarth and Fremonth. He mind boggled in wonder, unsure what he could or even would say. This time, words failed him.

Words however, did not fail the Mimic standing beside him and she spoke as she nipped his hand to divert his attention away from the others and back to herself once more. We will wait for my brothers and Theirs, and providing that their humans are swift to comply, that will be soon. Whilst I am hungry, we wait, for we eat together as I have said, and this is not negotiable. Understand? Her voice was tainted with command, and M'yran knew he could do nothing other than pander to this bizarre dragon’s every wish and so he nodded his compliance. Already he could feel his soul entwined with hers and he knew also, from the way his little beauty – for indeed is his strange, multi-hued eyes, she was beautiful – had hissed at every other candidate standing around him until they backed off. She had flared her wings and hissed, hissed with all the menace in her being at those who dared to stay close to Hers now that she was here. They were quick to comply, taking a good few steps away until Fedoranth and M’yran were separate from the rest of the remaining male candidates.

[Onyxaeon]

R'taik eyes were glazed over, the newly deemed weyrling standing still, though by no means was he ignoring his dragon's words. He was simply trying to absorb this all, for indeed it was a great deal to take into account in all of five minutes. As if the action could somehow help him understand what had transpired, R'taik lifted his gaze to the Onyx Weyrking and His in the stands, pausing, for a time, until D'ron's eyes turned and they met in a locked stare. A slow, flicker of a nod was given from the Weyrleader and, at that very moment, R'taik realized there was no going back. What had happened today on these sands had rewritten the course fate had intended to travel upon. And, from the look of his eyes, D'ron knew it well too.

There was no question to the matter of would these new weyrlings be taken aside and questioned, their dragons examined heavily. Though there was doubt any of the creatures would bear to listen or allow testing, for they ignored the authority surrounding them, and chose their own over the Weyr. They were accutely aware of the power they held and, despite thir size in relation to other Weyrs and their dragons, none could claim their immediate grasp of their potential. They were, in fact, dragons aiting for the world to realize what they already knew: that judgment day was coming, and that the answer would be found in their and other dragons like them, claws.

R'taik was brought back to reality when Fremonth lunged at one lad who ha stepped too close to His. The lad's intentions were pure-he only meant to congradulate his chore companion for the last several months. Fremonth saw none of this, though. His soulless ebony orbs bore a rage and violence unjust for the crime as to claed feet extended, the Mimic rearing. Before R'taik could correct his dragon or the young male could even cry out for help, Fremonth had him decidedly pinned to the hot sands. And as the sands scorched and licked across his back, the Mimic's jagged talons dug into his chest, his full weight pressing down of the chest cavity of the candidate. A gurgled, raspy exhallation of air escaped the boy, R'taik rounding and going to his aid, screaming both mentally and outwardly that Fremonth release his captive. Fremonth! Release him! You're killing him! But the Mimic did not hear HisOwn. No, he was too busy waiting for the satisfying crunch of bone beneath his touch, his feral eyes skimming over the features that bled an agony so unjustified, it was heartwrenching. His muscles bulged beneath the surface of his translucent skin as Fremonth waited, as if to dare the apology from the tongue of the criminal. When this could not be uttered, one foot rammed into the rib cage, a resounding crack echoing in the eerie silence. It did not occur to him that prehaps the lad could not voice his apology because he could not breathe. It did not occur to him that His was pulling his great neck away as his salivating teeth tore into the throat of his victim. It did not occur that he had been the only dragon on Talune sands to have ever killed a candidate in cold blood.

"Fremonth..." R'taik dropped to the ground beside the lad, trying to stop the bleeding by stripping the boy's tunic and maing a turnicate. Even though his former companion was already comdemmed to die. He had no more than tied the first knot and applied the faintest pressure before the tunic covering his back was harshly pulled, the Mimic dragging his protesting Mine away from the carnage and into the company of Fedorath and Hers and, shortly after the episode, Folkvarth and His. The silence persisted for what felt like hours, though in reality could not have been more than five minutes before R'taik clambered to his fet. Teary eyed and in shock, his dragon curled a tail around his waist, pulling him closer. The violence, it seemed, was gone from his eyes, and true to the thought, his voice was collected, though vaguely disgusted. You will not break down here, Mine. You will stand proud and walk off the sands with your head held high with the rest of us. He was but a parasite, and would have clung onto you until the day we slipped into between together. I see your memories-you are not strong enough to hold me out of them. I know your past together, but this was but a transient relationship. Ours is everlasting, and you must trust me when I say I was right in my slaughter. He had but to give me a reason to bring harm unto his doorstep, and coming within touching distance of you was a fair enough one in my mind. As would it be in Fedorath's and Folkvarth's. As long as we live and breathe, none but myself shall have the right to touch you. Even your human mate shall have to fight me for the right.

The lad was numb as Fremonth substituted his tail for one wing, the silky membrane wrapping around the dazed R'taik. With but a touch of concern, Fremonth pushed his will onto His, effectively leading his rider off of the sands. As if to somehow dispel the bitter atmosphere, two green eggs ceased their rocking, faint cracks splintering over their surfaces. The Dazed Among Ferns Green was the first to break shell, the bubbly personality crashing through the surface of the egg an seemingly unaware of the violence that had transpired. Sticky and wet, the bouncy almost seafoam colored Green, took time to preen. She made the extreme effort to rid her body of all the goo plaguing her, flapping her wings several times to assure herself that she was dry. Before prancing away, she turned her head back to lok at the Bitten Emerald Hopes egg. Her sister Green had allowed her tail to crack the egg, but omething was wrong. The larger Green as upside down in her egg, and there wasn't enough room for her to move around to right her body. A distrssed serious of chirps broke through the air, and did not rightly stop until the Dazed Among Ferns sibling came over to help chip away the remainder of the shell. As the Green tumbled out, rolling backwards over herself, the Dazed Among Fern Green nuzzled her darker, grass green sibling, nosing her to her feet as they headed in unision oward the scattered girl's circle. The Bitten Emerald Hopes Green was the first to find Hers, stumbling into the arm of a dainty brunette. Mine! You should have come over to help me get out of that shell. But, that's okay. Maybe you couldn't hear me, though. I am your Vessth, and you are now and forever AlliaMine. Just opposite the brunette and her dragon, an ebony haired older girl had just met up with her dragon for the very first time. Cerici! I am your Remarinth, and we need, absolutely need, to give me a bath. After I eat, of course, but still. It's right up there in importance.

[Desert]

As soon as the whole debacle with the newborn mimics had begun, Dharth had put the recalcitrant gold out of his mind and focused on the events happening on the sands. He was torn between amusement and scorn at these translucent-skinned sports; at least it went to show that all of Talune's mutants weren't sickly-sweet and weak. There were at least some willing to shed blood. When Fremonth plunged his paw into the innocent candidate's ribcage, his talons shattering bone and piercing flesh, likely sending bone-shards into the unfortunate's lungs, Dharth rumbled in satisfaction. Finally a death.

K'dran rolled his eyes at his dragon's sadistic amusement. Dharth, however, gave his rider no mind, and continued to watch these strange mutants. He was still highly contemptuous of them -- oh how quickly would their delicate-looking, translucent skins be scourged by the harsh Southern sun! How easy it would be for an ill-wisher to target a vulnerable point, though he personally doubted any of these pathetic Talune dragons or riders would dare strike back against the mimics, even in retribution for the cold-blooded killing. So far only these sports showed any amount of steel in their spines. And all their talk of Fate and such nonsense -- he tossed his head scornfully and snorted, the air around his maw shimmering from the fiery heat of his breath.

Still, there was something to take note of, in this unorthodox trio. They were fairly well-sized, and if they managed to make it to adulthood, surely with their attitudes they would be far better fighters than any other dragon in Talune -- besides, perhaps, the onyx whelp, though Dharth personally thought very little of the other ebony kings. Sure, blacks and onyxes shared hide colors, but there was such a difference in temperament. He'd heard of the onyx's besetting sin, and he knew well how easy it was to use a flaw like pride against someone. And this hatchling seemed just as weak as his sire, cherishing such ridiculous notions of honor.

But these mimics... they reminded him strongly of himself. And there could only ever be one personality like Dharth in the world, because if there was ever another like him, it would quickly come to blows and death. Once Fremonth tore into the dying candidate's throat, Dharth labeled the mimics as threats to be monitored. They would probably die, but if they lived, he would keep a close eye on them. Such creatures were not to be left unsupervised.

ooc; i'm sorry i can only get this much out, but Melpomene is still on her RE-fluff binge. -sigh- it's a miracle i managed to get something out for Dharth the way she's been acting. and that's sad because Dharth is by far her favorite dragon.

[Lauri]

White-noise erupted the scene in an instant as a million points of light pistol-whipped her vision, interference coloring the soap bubbles giddily as the fibers tensed and snapped.

"GET AWAY FROM MY ANUKLITH!"

Lashing back against the Black who was apparently so keen on letting the caged beast free...That was all it took.

Hairline fissure spawned a wake of cracks in the glass music box, ripples of skin tearing as the barrier to infection failed in an instant.

And she cried.

Clutching a handkerchief to her bosom, she sobbed, leaning against the stranger so close as a husband by now. In passing one would say she was quiet of heart to be so moved by an event, but would fail to see the girl tap at the scarlet letter on her breast. That she was throwing it back in their faces. Not intentionally, but enough that thoughts of suicide ran rampant through her mind to free the world of the parasite.

There wasn't much she could do now except grope blindly for the greased reins.

Prayed to the reckless beings, hoping that anyone heard her and bugled an alarm worthy of trumpets as she herself struggled for control. "Keep her down!"

We never thought of ourselves...
---

Like a damaged reel of videotape, a broken record spinning feebly over the fissure with ugly static warbling, sunrise for the shadows arrived with repetition capable of deadening even the brightest eyes into some dim, docile, sheep-like compliance, twilight a shade pulled at predictable, timed intervals and condemned to be hatefully rejected by the destroyer for what it was, what it meant. Squabbling dogs nibbling their ticks, jockeying for position, rutting to produce piss-soaked replicas of themselves, they had no power here, and likewise she could only suffer them while wanting to slaughter or torture the odd, meaningless clone that wandered too close, rather than vaporize life in a vicious snake of teeth from which a thousand tiny soldiers, the insects, would emerge to swallow everything, the crippled victims negligible substitutes that failed even in their rawest screams and pleas and rages to provide anything worthwhile for her other than bland sustenance.

The fuse was lingering too near the wick for her body not to ache for its touch.

But the catalyst crooned to her, lavishing her skin with all the things the canals wanted to let pass and the Queen cooed back, maddening eyes a cacophony of din as Ares himself possessed the reptilian behemoth.

The command took a while to brew from the festering depths of rusting gold, balls of spores and fungi digging into intestinal interiors, grateful oculars poised for the spew to seep at the corners.

Distract the jailkeeper, let her control swiftly lax and snatch the keys.

A draconic cackle.

Quietly turning the backdoor key...

[So it turns out that Dharth did make Revanne lose control for an instant, giving Anuklith the opportunity to break out of the mental barrier her rider had put up for a chance at killing the Hatchlings who she sees as intruders in her Grounds. Rev's fighting back for control and is asking anyone to stop the Queen who's asking Dharth to finish her rider's barrier once and for all so she can take off]

[pandoraMisfit]

It had only taken a second. In the time is had taken for M’yran to blink, the onyx tainted Mimic had a candidate pinned to the sands, waves of wicked intent rolling from him. Only the time to blink, and this is what left the lad so utterly shocked. Fremonth’s victim landed on the sands back first with a dull thump, and practically every head had turned that way. M’yran himself was frozen in place, for although the inner cruelty he knew resided in his dragon was strong and wild, he didn’t realise it would be so freely used. Rooted to the spot all he could do was watch helplessly. His deep desire was to help, for no one deserved death for no reason, but even though he knew this, so too did he realise that the moment he took a step towards the scene, Fedorath would either get in the way or her brother was lash out at him as well.

Fedorath however flared her wings and hissed with malicious glee as her brother had lunged, eager to see the slaughter she knew that was to come. Her claws raked the sands beneath her feet, anxious to join the action, to feel to warm splatter of blood across her maw, to feel the crack of bones beneath her strength… Tentatively she took a step towards the scene, her mouth beginning to water with the thoughts of her razor sharp fangs ripping so easily through that flesh! But no, she would restrain herself, for even though they were as close as one being, this was her brother’s revenge. But she would get her taste of chaos soon, and indeed she was relishing the screams from the other candidate, whether feminine or masculine… the sound of fear and panic was music to her. M’yran, although trying to ignore her bloodthirsty thoughts, could not block them out, and as soon as the small Mimic realised what he was doing, her head whipped around, and her empty white eyes met his pale greys ones. You will not block me out! You are mine and we share everything now, just as we belong to Fremonth and Folkvarth, and as they too belong to us. I will not tolerate your being squeamish just because you prefer to use your tongue to wound others. She stepped back towards his side possessively and wrapped her tail around his waist, the tip trailing up his chest to rest over his heart. Mine, you belong to me, and together our words will beguile and destroy many. For that’s what our words are: violence, when we use them to ensnare and beguile, and also to destroy. You know it, you have done it, I see in your mind, and this is why you are Mine. But as words have their advantage, so too does the physical violence, for it teaches lessons that must not be forgotten.

The red headed lad could do nothing but nod numbly, transfixed by the empty white orbs. As far as looking at her was concerned, the dragon showed no emotion in those orbs, for they lacked the colours the other dragons possessed, but there was certainly no lack of it within the creature. She emanated waves of contempt towards her rider’s weak stomached attitude but at the same time, a cruel glee. The candidates she had scared away not a few minutes before had all but ran a good 5 yards away from the pair as soon as Fremonth had lunged. M’yran clenched his fists, and turned back to the scene, resolutely choking back his fear. If his dragon wanted him to be stronger, then he would get so. She would not be disappointed with him, he would not be weak.

As she finished speaking she turned back to regard her brother, intent on seeing blood shed. It wasn’t long before her desires were granted as the onyx lined paw smashed down into the boy’s ribcage and in a flash his teeth were at the throat, ripping tearing, and spraying blood this way and that. M’yran, despite his vow to himself, could not help but utter a small whimper at this, cringing away slightly before he could stop himself. Fedorath shot a mental jab at him, unamused by this display, yet her eyes were fixed greedily on the carnage. She was practically glowing from it, the one who was so young yet so in control, she was practically feeding on the destruction it made her feel so good. M’yran scowled. It was not his fault that he had reacted so. Knowing death was one thing, but seeing it up close, well that was a different matter. Anyone in his shoes would have done the same, if not then they would have had a much greater reaction. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, relieving the scorch of the sands before looking back to the sands, avoiding the corpse that lay on the sands, refusing to cool because of the heat.

His eyes caught the sight of two more rocking eggs, both known to have green dragonets inside. Now that he knew Fedorath had chosen him, he wasn’t particularly interested in any of the other eggs on the sands, save for the queen egg, and the little one inside that had still refused to crack her shell. The scowl left his face, replaced with puzzlement. Evidently she was waiting for something, and cynically, M’yran thought that it was likely for her vicious siblings to leave the sands. Pondering his position in the new weyr, for indeed it would be changed with the birth of his Fedorath, along with her brothers, he could not come to any certain conclusion; where would it put them? These mutants, although not the first to be seen on the face of Pern, were certainly one of the more bizarre, and the other dragons would potentially seek to destroy them. As if to confirm this thought, although the boy didn’t realise it, Fedorath had been scanning the stalls, and found the source of the derisive snort she had heard, her keen ears missing nothing. She locked eyes with Dharth, letting the malice within flow into that gaze. She spoke not a word to him, even as she stared.

M’yran however, hadn’t gotten very far into his thoughts when he felt the nip on his hand that would get oh so familiar, for Fedorath wanted his attention again. Mine, we are to leave now. As I said that I should like feeding, so it is true and now comes the time. We are done with the sands this day. Snapping out of his reverie, M’yran saw that R’taik and Fremonth were walking towards the exit of the sands. Fedorath herself was starting to follow and as her tail was wrapped about his waist and chest, he had no choice but to follow either. Disentangling himself as he walked, he quickened his pace. Hurrying over to R’taik as close as he dared, he spoke softly, hoping it would be some comfort for the lad. “There was nothing you could do - I feel the decision was already made…” He fell silent once more, retreating to his brooding. This day would go down in the history of Pern, and what this trio could do caused him deep concern.



OOC: Gah, I hate how it was easy to write for Fedorath’s parts, yet M’yran’s were a struggle. I guess it’s just I have an evil head on today =]

[Lauri]

[I got permission to do this to keep it moving.

Jeri squeals as the mimic bonds to her, immediately dropping down and hugging her freaky dragon while Folkvarth makes some snide/violent comment that makes her start giggling, telling him to stop being so negative. He wants to get pissed and tries to threaten her again, but then he realizes that he's got the rest of eternity to try to break her neck, and quickly slinks over to Fedorath with a bouncing Jeri in tow...]

[Onyxaeon]

Two other eggs had slipped apart, the shells splitting in to and two dragonets appearing respectively from the Tides Sweping Sands egg and the Tickled With Leaves egg. First, a violet-blue, almost indigo male Blue stumbled forth, shaking off the gooey fluids coating his body with a faint, almost charming grin across his maw. Why, he was smiling! He shook himself much like a wet canine might, the egg juices splattering across his average sized Green sister who squeeled in protest. The Blue male chirpped an apology as the Green tried to free herself from the sticky web, thrashing her wings about until she fell, maw first, into the sand. Beside her, a rumble pulled from the confines of the male's throat, and she ot him a momentary look of anger before she, too, was sent rumbling from her actions. With careful jaws, the Blue grabbed the back of his younger sister's neck, pulling her from the sand's gritty clutches until she could stand upon her own. Once done, the blue-purple male nosed the spring green female toward the males' circle. As they headed tail in tail, they split only to find their resepctive partners, each nestled surprisingy within the same cluster of boys, one directly beside the other. The Blue took to a male now named S'nyru, nuzzling the lad's outstretced hand fondly. The Green placed her maw into the other boy's stomach, licking the cloth of his white tunic as if it were food. He was to be known as B'nub now. S'nyruine your Larseth is very eager to get moving, yep, yep, yep! Come on, shake a tail and lets go. I want to get some food before everyone else gobbles it up! B'nub! You are Mine, yes! I am your Giasith. Yours, Mine! All yours! Come on, we need to play!

The Whistle in Silence egg was situated all alone now-all its nearby siblings had hatched around it and had found Theirs-to one side, fairly far from the remaining candidates. There were few left in any case, only a small group of three boys and the four queen candidates, and two other eggs aside from the Silver's. A Bronze for the boys, and the Gold queen; three more dragonlings with seven remaining candidates. It meant someone was going to be disappointed. This egg did not quite seem to notice such, though, for she was still brimming with the joy the candidates had encountered upon the Touching. Her restrained exurberance was not containable for very long, as a great crack was heard shortly after the three Mimics and Theirs departed from the sands. While the Green Giasith and Blue Larseth were pulling Theirs past the silver egg, another crack climbed through the stands, but still no bouncing baby Silver. That is, until a final, splintering of the egg allowed he female to slide onto the sands. Face down in the warm sand, various limbs covered in sticky juices and clumps of sand, she sneezed twice. Both front paws covered her snout, running over her nose in an attempt to get the grit from her body. To the Silver's disdain, more sand covered her face, even several grains finding their way into her sensitive eyes. This caused the female much discomfort, the Silver beauty squawling as she tried to get the sand out with little to no effect. After several minutes of continued squealing, the female called out. OpaesiMine! Come help your Sabellith! Hurry Mine, it stings!!! Without hesitation, a tiny brunette bouned forward, using her white Impression robes to help her new bonded to remove the sand from her maw and eyes.


Rukbat's Burning Light.
Sparked by The Sunrise.

[Bacchante]

F'air was terrified by the horrific, twisted beasts around him. He cringed in fear as His roared in fury against the Mimics. Please... Help me! I'm scared... He didn't meant to think, didn't mean to be weak. He was so helpless, so useless. All his pranks and trickery would serve him nothing here. He would die, and Alamayanth would Between, and Talune would die. Tears spiraled down his face as he tried to shake free. All his fault... All his fault. It could not end like this. It would not end like this.

He listened to their words and flinched in the power held within the black abomination's voice. His Onyx had no such strength, not to that degree. Was it his fault again? Was his partner so weak because of him? A jester and a king... Doomed to fall here? A mimic released him but he dared not try and break free, fear paralyzing him so. Finally, after an eternity, F'air was released. He stumbled back into the crowd and cringed there, fearful of the beasts coming after him. As Alamayanth finally came to him he went up to the Onyx and but his arms around his neck as best he could, resting his head on the beast's neck.

Mirror of your darkest depths, Sword of your most vicious nature, Shield of your most dangerous thoughts. No true beings... But half-beings. Abominations under the Red Star, who seek to destabilize your confidence. F'air breathed in the aroma of his dragon. His dragon! Who would have believed it. He was here, and alive, with HIS DRAGON. Yet...

I am sorry, Mine. I failed you. I was weak, and through my weakness I brought you done. Tears dripped onto the jet black hide.

I'm so sorry.

Hush... Little one.

F'air looked up into his dragon's eyes and saw a tornado of rainbow colors, with orange and yellow being more prominent within it. But even as he gazed into Alamayanth's impossibly colored orbs, the colors slowed and shifted to a deep blue with blueish green mixed through it and, the trickster noted, orange around the edges. So... His dragon had been afraid? Agitated? And now... He was relieved that F'air was alive! Very much so. You didn't fail me. I failed you. I failed to protect you. For that... I am weak. The new Weyrling leaned into the Onyx again, holding him. You are forgiven... And more than forgiven. I was so afraid... Afraid I would get killed and you would Between and it would be all my fault. The dragon nudged him. Come, Mine. We will leave the sands. I desire to see no more, nor to look upon the Twisted Ones unless I have to.

His partner nodded, but suddenly a thought came to Faltair. Certainly... But first, there is someone we have to talk to" Alamayanth pulled away and looked at him suspiciously. What are you plotting, Little Trickster? F'air put on his most innocent expression and the dragon just looked at him. It was a familiar look, although he'd never got it from a dragon before. This was the look that plainly said, 'Pull the other one, it's got bells on'. Or, essentially, that they didn't believe his expression of innocence. Oh, just come on! And with that F'air stormed around the edge, towards D'ron. There was an expression of purpose on his face, and anger. He stopped just before the Weyrleader.

"You." Just this once, he didn't speak respectfully. Just this once his voice conveyed venom and hatred and contempt, dripping down that one word in waves. "You... Were happy. When you saw me fall onto my hands, with relief I might add, you were happy. Because you thought that I had been rejected, broken and destroyed. Well, if you want it that way then so be it. I have to change, out of necessity, but I can promise you that even if I do follow orders from you and act polite I will never respect you again. That's what you earned." F'air stepped back and put his hand on the Onyx's neck. "His name is Alamayanth. I am His... and he is Mine. Deal with it." The effect was ruined, at least for F'air, by the Onyx whispering mentally to him, Was that really necessary? His partner thought for a moment and then replied, Yes. Yes it was. For his part, the son whispered mentally to his sire. Sire... I apologize for Mine's actions. He is angered that D'ron would find relief in his despair. It will pass. I think...

[Onyxaeon]

A steely eye turned toward the Onyx pair, D'ron's gaze hardening as F'air approached him. His demeanor changed, an amused smirk crossing his features the longer the Onyx weyrling carried on. From Varanth, only a slow, disappointed shake of great wedged skull. For this, this was why it would have been better had Alamayanth chosen another; for his stubborn, often ridiculous, notions of proving himself when in reality all that occurred was life being made all the worse and those around despising him for it. For his disrespect and his ignorance of youth, D'ron could not leave such to lay, nor Varanth for that matter. It had been a long time since the Weyrleader had been in any form of verbal sparring, but now was necessary. If a king was bound to one whose heart rested in fear of himself, than that left a Weyr of cowards at the command of a fool.

"And I would do so a thousand times over until death did claim me, for you have just proved why. Resentment, such contempt, for what another deemed their own opinion of mind and heart, and for something felt would only bring about discord and chaos...Kings do not strike down the thoughts of others, nor condemn those who are offering the greatest bit of aid in showing them their flaws. Leaders do not rage and lose their temper, or drag in uninformed followers as you have done to Yours just now. Your most precious treasure, and yet you threw him before his sire without so much as enough respect toward him to offer a simple direction with which to go. You threw Yours at our feet blinded...Were you being taught to between, you both would have died because of such nonsense. Were you fighting with the wings in a Fall, he could have easily just lost his wing and with it, everything that would have given him his title within the Weyr. You think like a scorned child, and do not feel the ramifications of everything you do. Now, more than ever, it is important that you stop and dig your head out of your arse long enough to know you are watching over others now instead of merely sating your own selfish desires and wants. You are not for yourself any more. Until the day should you pass between, you are no longer a bystander in this world. You have the power to provide great change within Pern, and yet you squander it or prove yourself unworthy with childish acts. Demand I deal with the thought a weyrling who may someday hold a wing or lead a Fall be given respect when he cannot have the grace of decency to look beyond himself? By Faranth, you are a fool. A fool and an arrogant trickster who will have to grow up, because I'm not babying you any further. There are so many things only Varanth and I may teach you, that you cannot learn from another dragonrider, because no other Onyx exists to guide you, and yet you spit at your teachers and mock their judgments when they have proven right." Here, D'ron lifted himself up, his boots clicking as he crossed the last of available space upon the ledge before his boots touched air, and he dropped to the sands, landing upon his feet. Varanth's skull lowered to rest beside His, hi gaze focused on the smaller Onyx. Control Yours, Alamayanth. You do not know what power you have to command, but you must learn to use it. You must learn and you must grow so that you may lead because, as it is seen now, you will be doing so alone. Yours is not fit, and you cannot deny, though you may care deeply, that he would falter should he be given a shred of authority within this Weyr. You will teach him to be stronger, to not pass judgment or to rouse his ire unjustly. Without your guidance, he will die within this Weyr the very first time you take to the air together. Force communication, and exercise your natural authority. Your pure, authority that is written in your very nature. Think, for he shan't. Do, for he will not. Lead, as he never know the right if he does not submit his delusions.

"Perhaps it is best we now have beings like Fremonth, Folkvath, and Fedorath among the Weyr. Your Mirror, Your Sword, and Your Shield. At this rate, they will hold the title of Weyr-King as a unit before you have aged enough to handle the responsibility of flight. Their riders will be trained hand in hand with you; at leas those have accepted their new life and know what it means to bring about change. Those who understand and those who do not will follow, and of those who do not but who would scourer the ends of Pern to know, those among the masses, will lead."

[Bacchante]

Perhaps it is best we now have beings like Fremonth, Folkvath, and Fedorath among the Weyr. Your Mirror, Your Sword, and Your Shield. At this rate, they will hold the title of Weyr-King as a unit before you have aged enough to handle the responsibility of flight.

Of all that D’ron said, it was perhaps that one that hurt the most. How could he not understand? They weren’t so different, once upon a time. Perhaps he had forgotten. ”Then let the thieves be kings. Let them who steal the shapes of others guide Him, not me. I would rather be a forgotten fool than a king, if it meant that I must lose my empathy. You miss my pain, and focus on the fully natural fear. You are, perhaps entitled. After all: I am an unsavoury choice and we all know it. But I’m willing to do the best I can, so the least you can do is try and have some sympathy instead of revelling in my pain and fear. Follow your own advice, then give it.” F’air didn’t even bother to listen to a reply, turning and walking with anger burning in his ears. The Onyx paused, a pained expression on him.

Sire, Lord… I am sorry. He is blinded by rage, and fear. I will clear his head, and make him understand that you are right and wish only the best for the Weyr... And me. He is a human teenager in his prime, believing that he knows better. I will strip his illusions and bring him before you again. Once more, apologies. With that, the Onyx beast followed F’air who had slipped out of sight to the side, pushing gently through the crowds. He found His with his elbows deep in blood and meat, hauling out choice portions and muttering under his breath. Alamayanth smacked him with his head, sending him reeling. ”What was that for?” The Weyrling spluttered at his partner, his face tear-stained and spatted with blood. Your idiocy! You cannot talk that way to the Weyrleader, or Varanth! F’air stood up and glared at his, Alamayanth moved closer until their skulls were pressed together and they were staring into eachother’s eyes.

Why not? What has he done to earn my respect, apart from demean and belittle and hate me? You of all people should be able to understand! I don’t care if he felt relief when he thought I had failed, but to find joy in it? He was happy for my misery! He was happy because he thought that I had chosen another, and I now wonder if perhaps I should have! Then why don’t you? There’s still plenty out there! GO! Find yourself someone else, if I’m such a failure! Faltair collapsed on to his knees, the meat in his hands dropping to the sandy ground and tears dripping down after it. Oh Mine… He felt a nudging snout lift up his chin and looked into swirling orbs of rainbow. You were the one I chose, and that makes you the right one. For better or worse, we are together for the rest of our lives. You promised to do your best by me, and to change. Now prove it. You know what to do.

F’air sighed, and stood, wiping his face and hands as best he could, but looking a right mess in the process. Then, with his dragon gently nudging him each time he paused, he moved around the outside and back to D’ron and Varanth. He kept his face even, despite feeling somewhat sullen. ”Lord… I apologize profusely for my foolishness and immaturity. I should be focusing on my duty, not what I am, in fact, not entitled to. You are right. I am foolish and arrogant. But I will change. This will not happen again. And… I thank you. A lesser man would have struck me down for my impudence. You deserve more respect than I can give.”