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Story Listing
Series Listing

Weyrling Training

Writers: Aaron, Corrin, Duskdog, Francesca, Halyonix, Heather, Shawna, Sia
Date Posted: 26th February 2026

Characters: R'vayn, Alyndra, K'thyr, Th'alin, K'valdran, R'kesha, K'leriac, T'valland, B'ren
Description: Native Dragonsfall riders rejoice that one of their own is Weyrleader!
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 12, day 2 of Turn 12

R'vayn

K'thyr

K'valdran

R’vayn had appointed himself the head of the party planning committee the _moment_ he peeled himself away from the random flight moth he’d been grabbed by after Chioneth’s flight. What was her name? Clarthie? Clarasin?

Whatever. He shook his head as he reached out to Cioreth. }:Let the others know. Party at my place to celebrate K’valdran.:{

Cioreth didn’t have to ask who the ‘others’ were as his rider frequently referred to a select group of dragonriders in this manner. Their clutchmates.

Alyndra was curled up in her weyr with a book, enjoying the free time a goldflight tended to give those who weren’t participating. Cioreth’s call, however, was enough to pull her away from her reading. It took only a few minutes to make herself presentable enough for a party with her friends. Snagging a few large bottles of cider from her stash, she headed out to where Valeriath waited impatiently.

The glide to R’vayn’s weyr was so familiar they could have done it with their eyes closed, and it was moments later when she was walking in without knocking, bottles in hand. “I can’t wait to cheers our new Weyrleader. Finally, someone with a good head on their shoulders.” She bumped her shoulder against R’vayn as she passed him, immediately making herself at home.

“Right?” R’vayn gave Alyndra’s backside a pat as she passed by. He was pinning up some signs he’d quickly put together that read ‘WEYRLEADER OF THE CENTURY’ and ‘CONGRATS ON THE SEX’ in his best scribe’s penmanship. There were some colorful streamers as well. **Tell Th’alin to bring something tasty,** he said simultaneously to Cioreth.

“Oy, hands to yourself; I know where they’ve been. How is Clarsi?,” Alyndra said, but she was grinning. “So, what are the odds K’valdran misses his own party?”

--

The brownrider in question was already one step ahead of R’vayn and standing over a large pot of vegetable beef stew in the small kitchen of his weyr. “Taste test,” he offered, which was more of a demand, as he held a spoonful out to K’thyr.

His best friend immediately swallowed the piping hot sample. With a cough as it pleasantly burned its way down, K’thyr answered, “More salt. Just a pinch. But that’ll go good with the chill tonight.” He squeezed Th’alin’s shoulder appreciatively as he passed, gathering up other supplies needed for the party. He helpfully fished out a tureen for Th’alin to pour the stew in whenever it was ready to go. A rising feeling of relief and hope came to K’thyr. _Finally_ a Weyrleader of their own! No more of that inexperienced, closed off I’serin.

If _anyone_ other than K’thyr had said his food needed salt, Th’alin would have rolled his eyes in dismissal, but their decades long friendship had taught him the other brownrider could be trusted - so he tossed in a pinch of salt.

“Done. Let’s get this over to R’vayn’s weyr. I can only imagine what he has planned for the evening.”

--

“Hi,” B’ren called out as he entered R’vayn’s weyr. He brought a tray with several pitchers of non-alcoholic drinks from the Kitchens. These kinds of events always had plenty of alcohol, but he thought it was important to have other options as well. He placed the tray down on a table and looked at the decorations. “Wow.” It was hard to tell from his tone if he was being sarcastic or not.

R’vayn turned, hands palm-side up as he grinned at B’ren. “It’s amazing, am I right?”

“I’m sure K’valdran will appreciate it,” B’ren said diplomatically. “Need help with anything?”

“This where the party’s at?” R’kesha asked as he entered, hefting beer and a couple of bottles of rum, actually grinning lopsidedly for the first time in quite a while. He set the alcohol down on the table, keeping one entire bottle of rum back for himself. “You think he’s even gonna peel himself out of bed to come? I mean, we should party either way, but…”

Right on R’kesha’s heels came Th’alin and K’thyr with the food. “We’ll start the party, and he can show up for desserts,” the quiet brownrider said, answering R’kesha as he glanced around. His lips quirked with amusement when he read the signs written so neatly in R’vayn’s handwriting.

K’thyr, noticing that R’kesha was keeping a bottle near himself, walked over to give R’kesha a big, empathetic hug, the kind that said he didn’t judge R’kesha at all and that he was glad the brownrider was there. “Whether he joins us or not,” K’thyr said as he drew back, though he kept one arm slung around R’kesha’s shoulders as he grinned, “we’ll have ourselves a celebration.”

He ruffled R’kesha’s hair fondly, then went to pour himself a drink. “You want one, Th’al?” he asked, pointing to the bottle tops for his friend to pick a poison.

“Of course he wants one,” R’vayn answered on Th’alin’s behalf. “He drank me under the table at our last dragonpoker night.”

Th’alin lifted his shoulders as a bottle was passed into his hands. “You’re a lightweight.”

T’valland felt a touch overdressed when he arrived. He had been at the Weyr long enough to know what to expect, but somehow, he had still dared to expect more. A mistake. And there was already excess drinking. A pity. This was an important day, an important celebration. They were finally bringing the Weyr back to where it belonged, and he had, for some reason, thought the air of the party might have matched the gravity of what that meant.

“Congratulations, Weyrleader. Oh. Is he not here yet?”

“Not yet,” K’thyr answered. He quickly finished pouring a drink and then went over to T’valland, offering him the same unabashed affection as he did for R’kesha. “New tunic? It looks good on you.”

R’vayn whistled. “Look at you, Tav, all dressed up. Looking sharp, as usual.”

"One of us has to put their best foot forward." K'leriac said as he came in, smacking T'valland gently on the behind with his cane. Aside from the cane and a little awkwardness to his gait, it hardly looked like one foot was a wooden piece jammed into a riding boot. He slid a only somewhat-jostled container of filched treats onto the table next to the booze and poured himself a too-tall drink of rum.

If it had been any of the others, he would have given them a solid, good-natured shove… but T’valland could hardly knock a crippled man over sideways. That did not stop him from scowling, of course. But only for half a second. A very clever quip came to mind, and that merited a smirk!

“If you still had your best foot, I’d’ve put my best boot up your ass for touching mine. You got enough to drink there? I think I might need to pour myself one of those.”

"Don't threaten me with a good time, Tav." K'leriac said. "Take me out to dinner first and we'll talk."

T’valland barked a laugh.

“Then I _definitely_ need to pour myself one of those. You sharing?”

K'leriac fixed him with a long, uncomfortable stare as he looked T'valland up and down and took a long drink. "Nice decorations, R'vayn." He said instead.

“Thank you,” R’vayn said with a raise of his glass. “Maybe I can sneak a few into the Weyrleader’s quarters once I’serin’s shit is out of the way.”

“His stuff should be out soon. I’serin will have lots of volunteers to help him move, I’m sure,” Alyndra said with a false cheerfulness.

“Sign me up for that,” K’thyr said heartily. “The man did nothing but increase my workload in the Infirmary with his inexperience. I’m looking forward to K’valdran showing the Weyr how it’s _supposed_ to be done.”

"Now, now, you told me I was a _delight_ in your infirmary." K'leriac teased.

Swallowing around his words, K’thyr said, “_You_ were! _Other_ patients weren’t. Especially the big dumb ones.” It was his fond way of complaining about dragons who were difficult for various reasons.

Th’alin shoved more soup toward K’thyr. “Quick, take a bite before you put your other foot in your mouth.”

---

K’valdran arrived predictably late to the party. Between the heat of the chase and the Weyrwoman’s own charms, he had been in no rush to leave the flightroom, but nothing and no one lasts forever, so shortly after the third time Karcalanth passed along R’vayn’s teasing summons K’valdran finally strode into the weyr. He grinned, taking in the banners, the familiar faces of his friends. “Any food left? Or have you lot eaten it all?”

“There he is!” K’thyr boomed merrily, arms thrown up in welcome. “Congratulations, _Weyrleader_!” He strode over to embrace K’valdran, adding to the hearty sentiment.

R’vayn lifted his voice and was soon joined with others in singing a rousing chorus of, ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow.’ Since many of the voices had consumed vast amounts of alcohol, the overall noise was slightly out of tune, but full of enthusiastic fervor.

“I can’t promise there’s food left, but here’s a drink,” Alyndra plopped a full glass into K’valdran’s hand just in time for the group to burst into drunken song. “Healer’s orders. Hydration and all that.”

“Of course, Weyrhealer,” K’valdran laughed, taking the glass carefully over K’thyr’s shoulder. He toasted her with the first sip, and then the party as a whole-- causing the song to swell thunderously. “Truely, I have the best friends,” he roared above the din. “And the best Weyr!!!”

Last updated on the April 1st 2026