Reflections

Writers: Iluva, Steel
Date Posted: 22nd August 2026

Characters: R'zen, A'garyn
Description: The junior weyrlings are issued their first set of leathers, and R’zen has ideas for his
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 4, day 8 of Turn 13
Notes: Cursing
Mentioned: A’yan, K'valas, Nazoth, M'sar, O'rock (not by name), K'resh (NPC)

A'garyn

After an afternoon of rigorous ground drilling, Talarcheth now lay contentedly in his wallow. The barracks were in the midst of their cleaning before free time, before curfew, the clang of buckets and rustling of curtains and calling voices echoing down the rows of alcoves where the bronze watched his rider.

Around them the space allocated was already spare. The few belongings were carefully arranged as they had been twice earlier that day, the same as every day, and kept in meticulous order so that he knew where everything was at a moment’s glance. Across A’garyn’s bed, leather was gathered and folded like fallen brown leaves shaped to look like clothing, their edges stiff and lines smooth, shining like water when he tilted his head. A riding helmet sat on its side near his pillow at the head of the bed.

}:Try them on,:{ Talarcheth urged again, tired of the waiting. A’garyn turned back to his desk and spent several minutes trying to focus on his notes.

Outside beyond these walls, this clothing would have kept him warm in ways the scraps he’d had never could. It would have offered real protection from the hostile weather as it swept over the ground and drove heat out of his toes, his hands, his memory. But only the tannery could hone the skins needed for such detailed processing. Only in the Weyr could you get leathers as fine as these. These were destined for skies full of wind and rain, ice and Thread.

Yet, it felt wrong.

It felt, somehow, in a way A'garyn knew but didn't name, like a trap.

Talarcheth could not see how. }:Ibranth,:{ he said suddenly, his head swivelling in the direction of the nearby blue in his own wallow, A’garyn’s cold glare boring into him, }:does Yours like his leathers, or is he being ridiculous, too?:{

Ibranth snorted, and lifted his own head proudly.

}:We are official now.:{ he told Talarcheth with utter certainty. }:Mine! Show off our gear!:{

“We have the same thing as A'garyn.” R'zen pointed out.

}:Precisely.:{ A smug relay of his clutchbrother's words should help. Talarcheth stared at his rider with unwavering certainty, as he always did. He crossed his paws, looking no less expectant. The light caught the brilliant shine of his hide like even that was winking to him, speaking to him, urging him. }:What use is it to pretend otherwise?:{

It was not pretending. A'garyn didn't know how nor wanted to explain that to him. That it was too real to touch. Too real but also too strange. As if putting them on was the same thing as leaving other pieces behind. And like that shedding of old weight was the sort of thing that his brother would want.

A'garyn got up. But rather than the bed he went to his trunk and started sorting everything yet again. Then he went back to his desk, feeling stupid.

When his hands finally met the leather, they felt like a trip back in time. Drenorik was there. And when he put them on, the dark jacket melding to his form, a little boxy in its newness but already there was the feel of how it would settle around him like a shadow, and then looked in the tiny mirror on his desk, he saw Dren there, too. Like a sudden lurch through the air, his stomach clenched. In his dragon’s eyes, there was no one but him, nothing but that one eternal truth, and that had him taking it all off again.

The common room was still mostly empty as the hour wound down. A’garyn found a chair. Talarcheth was stewing, waiting for him to come back, pressing against the thin membrane between their minds.

}:We wear our harnesses with pride.:{ Ibranth agreed, and settled in, watchful, though his tail twitched with _anticipation_ and _pride_.

R’zen, for his part, not _quite_ swaggered into the common room, swiping a meatroll off the sideboard and taking a bite. His own leathers were worn proudly, almost carelessly, one jacket-collar turned the wrong way. “Hey.” He greeted when he spotted A’garyn.

A'garyn saw him but looked up at the greeting as if the edges of his vision had just been restored. A hand fell away from his face and the foot on the chair in front of him dropped to the floor. “Hey,” he said back. Sitting up, something loosened, like just taking in R'zen's satisfaction let the corner of his mouth twitch in spite of his own discomfort. “Looking spiffy.”

“I look _awesome_.” R'zen told him, and grinned, satisfaction and pride clearly recognizable. “Gonna go get Ibranth all shined up tomorrow, too, so we both look awesome.” He added. “What about you?”

A'garyn gave a casual enough shrug. “Everything fits. That's the important thing.” In a few short days their class would all be winged pairs, skyward bound. A day that most of them seemed anxious for. After watching Talarcheth circle the sky for what felt like hours, carving his path and his place with each smooth movement, the sun bouncing off him, that part seemed entirely natural. Uncomplicated. Doing as dragons do. “If it does its job and keeps the wind and rain out for a while, I’ll be happy.”

“Thinking about adding a design to Ibranth’s harness.” R’zen responded, after a moment of consideration. “If I add the same to part of my new jacket, that’d be pretty cool, yeah? Like… another sign that Ibranth and me are a pair.”

“Sure. Why not?” A’garyn said. “If you mean outside of Dragonsfall insignia. Something like… a tunnelsnake? Or-- wait, I got it.” He decided with a snap of his fingers. “A fist.”

“Yeah?” R'zen responded, and eyed him.

“So everyone knows to back the fuck up.”

A slow grin spread across R’zen’s features, interest and approval sparking in his gaze. “I _like_ that.” he said, clearly pleased. “Not too shabby.”

A'garyn smirked, leg resting on the chair in front of him again. He arched a dark brow, studying the other. “You've trained in leatherworking?”

Plenty of weyrlings came in with craft training behind them, some well-established before Impression took them. But R'zen sitting still long enough for it, without the stakes (and consequences) to make him? That, A'garyn had a harder time picturing.

“We made the harnesses for our dragons.” R’zen pointed out. “How much harder could it be? Or I’ll get some daft Candidate to do it. Or maybe A’yan.”

That got a soft snort as A’garyn's eyes flicked over the common room, cursory, automatic. “Good luck. That kid's got that much to do, I doubt he has the time or skill.” The odd time he noticed A’yan he looked like he was smiling his way through a slow drowning. “You just want someone to yell at if it turns out like shit.” That, however, he pictured easily-- A'yan folded over leather, skinny arms working feverishly, some worse-tempered version of R'zen leaning over his shoulder the whole time.

A'garyn shifted to rest his head against the chair back. “Not that you need to invite any more trouble right now.”

R'zen made a face, and shifted his weight, sprawling onto the nearby chair. “Maybe.” He allowed, with another huff. “But I'm not stupid enough to get in _more_ trouble with the Weyrlingstaff.” He added. “A'yan can take care of himself. I have my own goals.”

A pause, and then he huffed again. “Nah. I want it to look _awesome_. So I'll probably go to a leatherworker. Or something.”

Something about the way R'zen said goals gave the other weyrling pause. The only ones he had were simple but difficult: don't die. Don't let K'valas die. Try not to be the reason anyone else here dies.

That felt more than sufficient given where they were headed, what they would have to fight.

Despite Talarcheth's opinion radiating through him as it always did, A’garyn still wasn't sure if he should let himself have more than that. Squinting slightly, he dropped his guard just enough to ask, regarding R'zen with something like curiosity. “What sort of goals?”

“Weyrleader's Wing.” R'zen said, promptly, and with utter _certainty_. “I'll be first pick, right out of Weyrlinghood. And then, someday, I'll be Wingthird. Some blues can do it, so Ibranth and me definitely can.”

“Wingthird.” It wasn't a question, nor skepticism. Nor confusion. A'garyn's muscles tensed with the urge to turn and sweep his gaze across the room again. He heard them anyway, a few more people trickling in, chairs scraping, voices rising, but he just stared, contemplative, at the blue weyrling. R'zen's certainty intrigued him, even if some of it appeared to be bravado. Once their classmates had settled, he lifted a hand and slowly ran the knuckles along his beard, tone unchanged. “Why?”

“Why _not_?” R'zen countered. “I'm smart. I'm fast. Ibranth’s _big_, too. All we gotta do is keep going. Keep pushing. Who cares if we aren't a brown pair? Ibranth could fly circles around a brown probably. He's beat Nazoth, you know.” he added. “But outflying's just the beginning.”

There was another smirk, brief and sharp as a blade. “Yeah, all that'll get your foot in the door,” A’garyn agreed, though that wasn't quite what he'd meant. It was less the qualifications that R'zen had or needed, or a question of his ambition-- that one spoke for itself. “But I’m asking, why do you _want_ it?” He paused, considering. “Just looking for rank?”

R'zen huffed at him in response. “Tch.”

Still… the question was a good one, and he lapsed into thought, scowling faintly.

“... No.” He said, finally. “I mean… not entirely?” Most bigger, older dragons were not just going to roll over and accept them. R’zen _knew_ that. He exhaled, slowly, eyes still narrowed. “It's… it's about _proving_ I can.” He added finally. “Rank's nice, but if you can't _do the job_, why hold it?”

“Why do you think?” A’garyn said incredulously. “Look. Getting it’s one thing. Keeping it, another. But that’s never stopped anyone who wanted it-- and what it lets you get away with-- badly enough. Rank attracts all sorts for all sorts of reasons, not much of it proving something to yourself.” R’zen wanted to belong and make something of himself, make a difference here. But the words came almost on their own, from somewhere A’garyn knew didn’t belong and had to be walled off.

That made him seethe, that made _him_ want power over it.

}:You will.:{ Talarcheth hummed. His warm voice came rippling through A'garyn's head, vibrant, like everything was as simple as deciding it. Clear, like everything one wanted in life was a matter of how much you wanted it, how hard you worked. Like there was such a thing as doing enough in every greyscale circumstance, and things would be bound to work out.

His dragon's certainty came with its own complications, things he was trying not to dwell on right now.

It sat there in the back of his mind, an itch he wasn’t about to scratch. A’garyn sighed and eventually cast a sideways glance at the blue weyrling. “I’m not one to talk. I could be in a Wing with M’sar for all I know.” There was zero approval there, but a lot of other things. “I don't know if your grievance is going anywhere, but mine's not.” But he also wasn't going to let that fly his dragon.

R’zen huffed at him. “Maybe you and me will wind up in the same wing.” he offered up, with a careless sort of half-shrug. “But maybe not, if they wanna spread out the top of the class.” he added. “Dunno. I’m just hoping for the Weyrleader’s wing. Like I said. Rest can come later.”

“If someone's gonna make wingthird, I'd be shocked if it wasn't with that attitude.” Just like trying on the jacket A’garyn felt that familiar lurch seize in his gut, yet he let the upward quirk of his mouth sit a moment. Then looked away.

The room was filling up, and he studied a few of them with half-interest, keeping it brief. He didn't want anything as much as he wanted to stay alive, he didn't trust himself with more than that.

“We'll be out of here soon enough,” he noted with one last scrape of knuckles along his jaw. “If we're in the same wing, drinks after ‘fall. That should be the plan.”

“I'd drink to that.” R'zen said, slyly, before he huffed. “Ibranth’s still gonna wanna chase Talarcheth around, probably. Even if we don't make the same wing.” His gaze swept the room as well, but he made no move to greet any of them. K'resh wasn't among them after all.

“Talarcheth would be mad at him if he didn't.” More of them drifted closer, and A'garyn uncoiled from his chair and waded through the onslaught of newcomers and laughter, their plans of what to do with their next rest day and their predictions for the weather tomorrow, most hoping for sun. Barely hearing them, A’garyn wove across the common room, the ghost of the compliment still sitting somewhere beneath his ribs, unclaimed. He started down the corridor, adding, “See you tomorrow,” over a classmate’s head to R’zen.

Last updated on the October 28th 2026

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Reflections