The Good Place (1/2)
Dragonsfall Weyr
Amber Hills Hold
Vintner Hall
Healer Hall
Hidden Meadows
Dolphin Cove Weyr
Dolphin Hall
Emerald Falls Hold
Harper Hall
Printer Hall
Green Valley Hold
Leeward Lagoon Hold
Barrier Lake Weyr
Sunstone Seahold
Citrus Bay Hold
Writers: Iluva
Date Posted: 23rd May 2024
Characters: T'mhas, M'rhas
Description: When it comes to disciplinary action, a parent's state of mind makes a world of difference
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 9, day 9 of Turn 11
Notes: Mentioned: M'thos
T'mhas should have seen this coming.
As unpredictable as Threadfall could be, that deadly silvery shit had nothing on children.
At least during Threadfall there were set dates and times. Threadfall didn't really outgrow anything, its attitude didn't fluctuate like the tides, and it didn't groan or mouth back or defy where it had once listened and laughed and clapped its little hands with glee. It only ever came with one intent, one explanation, one goal. Thread was easy because Thread never did anything other than exactly what it was supposed to do.
It was a 'fall free day and even though Rukbat was hiding and the air was cool there was the indefinable feeling of it destined to be a good day.
After flying 'fall this long, and on a day like today, T'mhas was tempted to believe that he'd learned a few truths about life. Dragonsfall was home for longer than Agate Valley had ever been, would be for far longer. And he was a smart man, in some ways. Sometimes. Although for someone who'd been stubbornly incurious about the rest of the world and other people when living in the hold, it was ironic how willing he'd been to leave it. Sometimes he liked to lie (pretend) it was his desire to experience more and rise to something greater than himself, but really everyone knew a dragon and a shot at some glory had been more than enough to convince him.
Out from under the chafing expectations, out of his brother's shadow, out of something he didn't rightly understand let alone could ever articulate, and into the near-mythic ballads he (kinda) knew? A dragon was not even a choice at all, even if Impressing one meant a binding pledge to live in and protect a place that had made absolutely _no_ sense.
It had actually terrified him, truth be known.
This place had subverted all understanding, what admittedly little he had arrived with, anyway. The words to describe a Weyr to someone who never lived there did not exist, not for T'mhas, not when he was younger at least (and, alas, not that he would have listened). Before his Search, Weyrs were nothing but splotches on a map, thought of only in passing, and with the same perplexed irritation he had for some Auntie's gossip: "Who cares?"
This place changed everything, things he didn't know could change.
Having kids was part of it. It did weird shit to a person, T'mhas was sure of it. It made them soft. It certainly made _him_ soft. Shells maybe he'd always been this soft and just hadn't known to what degree until there were four?-five??-six??? of them somehow all crammed into his chest. That wasn't something the Searchrider had warned him about.
That bastard had neglected to mention quite a few other things about this place as well-- although who could really tell someone how hot the adrenaline was from fighting Thread on the back of _his_ dragon. No words were needed between that bronze and this rider, all language was destroyed across the branches of their bond.
And talking wasn't always the first inclination with a man who was infuriatingly good at _everything_, including making his heart race any time he had the nerve to come near him wearing _that_ smile. Now _that_ was someone who could talk, yet somehow M'thos could say just as much without uttering a single sound.
And which Master Harper, he wondered-- no, he demanded to know which snooty Harper with which fancy words could ever describe the terrifying jolt of having so many little faces look at _him_ like he actually knew things and called him _that word_. Dad. There were no other words for that.
Somewhere on the heights, a mind radiating satisfaction teetered on the edge of sleep. In their shared and sublime silence, Ghraisath was relaxed. _They_ were relaxed and Tam wondered where else but here could a giant gleaming head swing down for his big hands to scratch the itch from those great eyeridges?
Show him where else _those_ eyes and the arrival of wordless happiness and joy in such spectacular greens and soft blues were. There was nowhere else that held the aliveness of that love, love that needed no explanation, asked no questions. He only wanted to be where those eyes looked, where those wings took him higher and farther every time they flew together, higher each time they were _victorious_ whether it was a flight or a 'fall.
Dad. Mine. Those words were everything here.
Needless to say, T'mhas was riding a bit of a high on his way back to his weyr. The distinctive qualities of a man in a Good Mood shone glaringly bright in him: his fingers snapping along to some barely-there Harper tune that seemed to just live in his head these days. His easy stride, long and light. No need to rush, after all. The corridors up here were much quieter this time of day and with nothing in need of any thought at the moment, with his mind nothing but a vast ocean of calm, he'd even said 'excuse me' to a couple people.
He was feeling good. His dragon was feeling good. That was all the explanation needed.
Until, arrestingly, all movement and thought and feeling disappeared as he froze in the doorway. The longer he gripped the handle, the less any certainty existed about what to feel, what he was even looking at.
He wanted to be angry... didn't he? He felt angry, he thought. But the day had already unfolded unexpectedly, surprisingly, long before his journey home and now various areas of his brain were firing in a frenzy at the bizarre scene before him. Here, in the heart of Dragonsfall, with mind no longer still and body still humming with the satisfaction of his bronze's win, Tam had to decide what he was going to do about _this_.
For a moment they both just stared. One with his shirt collar stretched wildly out of shape and a faint bruise blossoming. The other practically glistening, slick in the mid-slather of oil up his arms and chest.
Last updated on the May 24th 2024