There's a Pain Goes On and On

Writers: Halyonix, Sia
Date Posted: 15th July 2025

Characters: K'leriac, S'lahr
Description: S'lahr checks in on K'leriac after the Threadfall
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 6, day 17 of Turn 12
Notes: I'serin slander CW: Dead body, death, grief

S'lahr waited an hour before arriving in the Infirmary. He said nothing, standing at the door, a stone sentinel watching over a rider grieving. Some deaths were like that -- personal in ways that S'lahr didn't understand. But he knew to extend empathy. To wait. So he waited, until K'leriac realized he was there.

K'leriac had initially assumed it was a healer or healer apprentice hovering at the door. He didn't turn, just sat quietly and waited for them to do whatever they needed to do. When they didn't, he eventually turned his red-rimmed eyes to the door.

"What do you want, S'lahr." He asked flatly.

The Wingleader was soft in answering. “Nothing. I am here for you.”

"For me." He repeated. "I should have been up there too. Instead, I got to sit here and watch the injured come in. What in the Red Star happened?"

S’lahr lidded his eyes. “He made the wrong crossover call.”

"I know that." K'leriac snapped. "Why? Was the Threadfall particularly bad? High winds at high altitude? Some kind of injury?"

“A mistake, he said. That was all,” S’lahr answered, rather unhappily. His conversation with I’serin had been brief. The Weyrleader had obviously been furious, though S’lahr didn’t think it was with the Wingleaders who had enacted the order. He’d seen that sort of anger directed at oneself before. “I’ll speak with him again tomorrow. After things have…settled.”

He went over to a pitcher of water and poured a cup. “Here,” he said to K’leriac, basically insisting that the bronzerider drink. S’lahr was better at hard lines and hard calls, not comfort and care. But he was a Wingleader and believed that it was also his responsibility to take care of his riders -- even former ones.

"A mistake." K'leriac repeated derisively. He didn’t take the cup at first. He stared at it like it might accuse him of something. Then he took the cup, muttered, “Thanks,” and drank. Water tasted like nothing.

K’leriac swallowed. The cup in his hands felt too light. He wanted something to do. Something to hit. He wanted to scream until the pain cracked open his ribs and flew out in pieces. "How's the rest of Teal?"

“Some of it is still too soon to tell,” S’lahr answered. He poured his own drink and took a sip. “I’m fairly certain Amellyth will be permanently grounded. Perhaps Labranth too.” Which brought the Wing dangerously close to dipping below the minimum of twelve dragons needed. But until the healers confirmed it, S’lahr couldn’t make plans for that. Honestly, that was tomorrow’s problem.

“I know it won’t make a difference but T’veen saved at least two riders with his sacrifice,” S’lahr said.

"You're right, it doesn't." K'leriac said. He did his own math and his mouth formed a firm line. "What's going to happen if you can't muster the twelve?"

“That’s for him to decide,” S’lahr answered quietly. He took another sip of his water. “It might be nice to step down. I wouldn’t have to deal with so much drama from him and others.”

K'leriac cursed. "Transfer to Dolphin Cove, while you're at it. Lie on a beach and forget this awful place."

That brought a ghost of a smile to the Wingleader’s mouth. “Honestly, that sounds much better than dealing with an inexperienced Weyrleader and the snow. Why haven’t you done that yet?”

"What Weyr wants to take on a grounded rider?" K'leriac asked with a scowl. "I'm not a dragonhealer, nor a Weyrlingmaster. What use do they have for me? The new healer hall at Amber Hills may have ideas to modify Obrianth's straps. Maybe I'll beg for a watchdragon posting there."

S’lahr couldn’t argue against the bitterness in K’leriac’s tone. He didn’t try to reason with him either. “You’ll find a purpose. Somehow,” he said, even though it sounded lame. “You always do.”

"It's harder to do now that I can barely do a gentle guide without almost falling off." K'leriac continued. "Obrianth doesn't deserve this. He's fine. He has too much energy to burn and not enough to do."

The Wingleader had no options to offer here. This was out of his domain. Except… “Are you talking to a mindhealer about it?”

"What? No. What're they going to tell me that's different from what I've told other wingriders?" K'leriac asked. He might've laughed, if it hadn't caught in his throat. "I've already got a full schedule of healers appointments."

“I would add that to your regiment,” S’lahr suggested quietly. His eyes flickered towards T’veen’s still form. “Grief affects all of us in different ways.”

Grief.

K’leriac stared at the sheet-covered form across the room. It hit like wind off a cliffside: cold, punishing, impossible to breathe through.

Grief. That word didn’t touch it. Didn’t come close.

He didn't want to talk to anyone. He didn't care about talking to anyone. It wouldn't bring his leg back. It wouldn't bring T'veen back.

"Yeah." He said instead. Lying. Like they were back at first Fall all over again. "I'm going to stay here with him until someone takes him /between/. Then we'll see."

S’lahr straightened. “My Wing, my duty. You let me know when you’re ready. Isaoth will carry him.”

K’leriac nodded once, slow and heavy. He didn’t look away from the sheet-covered body. There was nothing else to say. No neat way to close the gap between what had been lost and what remained.

"Alright," K’leriac murmured. His voice was hoarse, rubbed raw by everything he wouldn’t let spill out. He shifted slightly in the chair, one hand braced against the edge as if to anchor himself, the other still loosely holding the half-empty cup. “Just give me a little more time.”

S’lahr nodded, once. “Take all of the time you need.” He slipped away quietly, leaving K’leriac alone.

Last updated on the July 29th 2025

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There's a Pain Goes On and On