Three of Us
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, Sia
Date Posted: 3rd July 2025
Characters: M'thos, T'mhas, Varethos
Description: T'mhas remembers his old family not being that accepting of his new one.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr, Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 9, day 21 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: M’rhas Weather: Snow (32°F)
The weyr was cold and still, bathed in the lingering low-light of the early morning. Behind the thick inner curtain, their dragons shifted quietly, mindful of each other, but clearly growing eager to fly and cut a start in the day. Each surly gust jostled the curtain at its fastenings, and with the snow gathering it would likely stay that way well into the evening.
Through Ghraisath’s eyes, T'mhas peered outside and felt the sharp flash of cold on his hide.
By the time he appeared in the kitchen, he already had their heavier jackets in hand. M’thos had been up for a little while, his hair combed effortlessly into place. He was halfway through his klah before Tam kissed him good morning. They exchanged a few words while he set about pouring two new mugs, all the while translucent steam climbed and skimmed hot across their faces like dragonbreath. It was quiet, easy. Familiar.
It had been a while since it was just the three of them. Two dads and their son. Tam gently clapped a hand to Varethos’ shoulder as the young man trudged in, and then sank into a chair with his klah. He heard the few mumbled words of good morning between M’thos and the kid, who was still lingering in the margins of not fully awake and barely able to be here. The kid's face was smudged with ink-- he'd fallen asleep studying again.
---flashback to 15 turns ago---
M'thos set up the picnic like a proper outing. Slices of nutbread wrapped in cloth, a container of juice balanced precariously next to two equally precarious cups, and a little bowl of dried berries that 4-turn-old Varethos was more interested in sorting than eating. “This one’s bitter. Daddy eats the bitter ones.”
M’thos smiled faintly and held out a slice of citron, the skin curled off clean. “Well, you’re not your daddy. You don’t have to eat anything you don’t like.”
Varethos took it, mouth already full of something else. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then leaned in close, whispering like they were conspirators in a great and terrible plot: “Is daddy fighting?"
M’thos’s smile dimmed. “No,” he said gently. “He’s just… talking. With his mama and papa. You know how sometimes talking makes people feel a kind of way?"
“Yes. But why?”
"I don't really know, buddy. People that live in a Hold are very different from people that live in a Weyr." M'thos said. "It makes it hard to talk sometimes."
Varethos nodded, momentarily satisfied. He looked up and off into the distance somewhere behind his father and excitedly climbed to his feet. "Daddy! We saved your favorite berries!"
T'mhas forced his hands out of their fists as he approached, trying not to bring all that tension back with him. He didn’t want them to feel this heat despite how it clung to him like thick smoke, and it took concerted effort to unfurrow his brow, more than what such a simple gesture should take. He didn’t want to look hurt, or livid. But he was so livid he almost shook.
The call of ‘Daddy’ pulled his eyes up from the ground and his stride corrected into something less aggressive, less of the burning rage coursing through him, less like the urge to run.
The words had cut him deep. Cruel, clipped, unnecessary. His father had never been one to pull punches, or sugar-coat opinions, but Tam never thought of him as being _stupid_, cold-hearted, or intractable until Torotam said, “Yes, but he’s not really _your_ child.”
His mother had lingered in the doorway after T’mhas stormed out, silent, sad and apologetic. No doubt she’d gone to try and reason with her husband. T’mhas snorted. A waste of breath.
But the sight of M’thos and Varethos curled up in the sun together made his heart leap and he immediately scooped the four-turn-old up in his arms, smoothing a hand over flaxen hair tousled by the warm wind. “You did?” T’mhas enthused, kissing his sticky cheek despite his stubble, despite how often Varethos complained that it prickled and tickled in equal measure. The boy smelled of citrines and grass. “Well, you _know_ how much I love those.” He said softly, holding him close for a moment - just trying to breathe.
He sat beside them, folding a leg under him, stretching the other out. That little face beaming up at him - so sweet, so adoring, so generous with his trust - hurt infinitely more than what his father said. “What have you and Daddy been up to?” T’mhas asked, smoothing a hand over his blond mop again. “Eatin’ _all_ the snacks?” His gaze slid to M’thos, a look of silent gratitude as fierce as his rage.
"Yes." Varethos said honestly and primly, despite the inevitable stickiness that came from being four. "And the pipes." Barely noisemakers, ones that were loud enough to annoy the riders in the neighboring weyrs.
M'thos caught T'mhas' gaze, studying his expression before saying slowly. "Well, that was fun while it lasted."
T’mhas gave a small, dry laugh. “Yeah, which part?” If nothing else, it had been a solid reminder of why he’d left Agate Valley without a second thought. He let himself frown briefly as he drained half a glass of juice. “Think I’ve had my fill of this place for the next six months.”
Varethos made grabby hands and M'thos wordlessly passed him a small piece of bread, carefully covered in just enough jam to increase the overall stickiness of the child, "Maybe V and I can go out to the beach or something instead, next time." He suggested, keeping his voice light. "And you and Merhaskel can go when he's older."
T'mhas’ face darkened momentarily. The idea of accommodating his father's preferences (and prejudices) at the expense of how they conducted their family life didn't sit well with him in the slightest, not this enragingly close to where it'd just happened. The children shouldn’t have to experience a difference in treatment, whether they were aware of it or not. And kids talked, if not now, then when they were older. “Maybe.” He said casually, handing Varethos’ sticky fingers some juice to wash down his bread. “Maybe my mother could come visit us at the Weyr or something. I don’t mind comin’ to get her. She seems to like it there.” He mused, leaning back on his elbows and stretching his other leg out. “Or we could all just go to the beach.”
"If you want." M'thos said. "I know how important family is to you. I don't want to be the one that asks you to give that up. Vare has lots of family at the Weyr already. We don't need to force it."
“Yeah.” T'mhas exhaled softly. It was one thing growing up wanting the man’s approval, but this was another. The rage was too fresh, and this pattern with his father too old.
His big hand took M’thos’ and brought it up to his lips to kiss, holding it there for just a moment. Still, he couldn’t quite let go of the pain over those remarks - what his father felt necessary to note, separate, or categorise whenever he looked at their family.
“I’m not feeling all that generous at the moment. Maybe if Rhas wants to, or if my mother asks.” _Maybe_. Eventually, Tam smiled faintly up at him. “Thanks, Merry.”
"You're welcome." M'thos said. He glanced back towards the home, momentarily uncertain if the public display of affection would be noticed. He was getting used to needing to be subtle, even at the Weyr where their roommate weyr went largely unnoticed and unremarked on. Most folks seemed content to assume that they hadn't set up a bedroom just for Varethos and, eventually, when Merhaskel was old enough to stay with them. "I don't want Varethos hearing that about one of his fathers again."
Varethos, predictably oblivious to the weight in the air, tipped the juice cup dramatically and announced, “I’m a dragon,” before making slurping noises that sounded very little like any dragon M’thos had ever known.
T’mhas let out a belt of laughter at the boy, a hearty sound, deep and rich. Maybe he'd needed that. Then with a sigh, he reluctantly let go of M’thos’ hand. Some of the rage had tapered away with it, even as his hand lingered innocently near the man’s knee. “No.” He agreed solemnly, and smiled at the absolute state of their child - the slurping and dribbling juice going _everywhere_. “He doesn't need to hear it. Or see me punchin' Holdfolk any time soon. It’ll be our luck he’ll start doin’ it.”
Tam nudged Varethos affectionately with the tip of his boot. Even if he tried, he couldn't imagine this kid ever doing anything wrong. “Done bloodin’ that? Need some more?” And he sensed again with quiet, easy certainty that _this_ was his family. This place was just where he came from.
Last updated on the July 15th 2025