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Writers: Iluva, Sia
Date Posted: 31st May 2025

Characters: Q'vettan, V'maran
Description: Q'vettan puts his idea into motion
Location: Barrier Lake Weyr
Date: month 6, day 22 of Turn 12
Notes: Immediately follows "BLW: Reassignment"
Mentioned: J'nus, Rasme, N'vanik, R'kede (not by name)

Q'vettan

V'maran

The weyr was quiet, shadows soft and long in the lower amber light. The scent of citrus lingered in the air where Q'vettan worked. His sleeves were rolled up, and the sharp angles of his hands moved with an ease that came from repetition. A little bit of citrus, a lot more whisky, and just enough fellis into one glass to ease an ache that he knew was tended to. The cherries on top were poetic and entirely necessary.

He carried both drinks over to where V'maran rested on the coach, holding out the fellis-laced glass as he circled around and eased into the seat next to him. He didn’t look over right away. Just passed the glass, let his thigh press gently alongside V’maran’s, casual and close. "Here, drink with me."

The bluerider's head lifted off the back of the couch, but that was all. He accepted the drink, letting it rest on the same knee that met Q'vettan's and the mingled scents revealed the drink's secrets first.

“If you just wanted to drink, we could have grabbed ales in the dining hall.” He pointed out, not that he had much desire to sit in the dining hall that evening.

He looked at Q’vettan with something that wasn't a smirk, and it wasn't a quirk of an eyebrow, but it still spoke of amusement and annoyance blended into one. He finally brought the drink up - strong, and therefore good. The flourish the other man added wasn’t so bad after all. “Stress of being Weyrleader getting to you already, huh?”

"We could have done that, but folks wouldn't leave us alone. I'm an important man, you know." Q'vettan said easily. "And perhaps I wanted a little privacy."

}: The world watches, but not here. :{ Tzenketh added.

The drink _was_ good, and he let the sourness of the citrus linger on his tongue before he continued. "Did you hear that N'vanik promoted a brownrider to Wingleader, over at Dolphin Cove?"

“Yeah. Some Weyrleaders might let that go to their heads and say the most important. Glad to see you're safe from all that.” V'maran teased around the lip of his drink, giving Q'vettan's knee a good nudge. His other leg was a felled tree, extended out long and relaxed into the living space and for once just a dull, receding ache asking for attention.

“I'd heard about that. N'vanik's getting bolder in his tenure.” He snorted. “Trading privacy for gossip, more like. Heard the guy he promoted is a solid fellow, though.” V'maran smiled at that, the lines of his cheeks gathering tight. “You’re thinking of doing something like that here?”

"Already have a plan for that. I have a couple brownriders in mind that I hope can rise to the challenge." Q'vettan said, "But the youngest Weyr cannot be content to follow the trends of others. We must be at the forefront of innovation. Making waves. Which is why I want to make you the Wingleader of Cherry Wing."

The Wing itself hadn't had a Wingleader in the way it was currently organized; retired riders had reported to first K'ran and then, during Zaverin's investigation, to Aydhan. They didn't fly Threadfall, there wasn't a need for a full reporting structure, and the Weyrs had been gracious enough to send mostly capable riders when they were first starting out.

“Ha.” V'maran frowned darkly. “That's not funny, ‘Vet.”

Until now it had been strange and unwelcome to have to report to Willow Wing each morning, and to watch as someone else filled his Wingthird position in Ironbark, without the same comfort and clarity that came from working that kind of job for decades, and with a dragon lacking the same catalogued experience and rugged tenacity as Kastegarth.

Until now - when it seemed Q'vettan only invited him here with veiled intention of finally luring him into retirement.

“No great mystery why you didn’t wanna do this in the dining hall.” He said bitterly.

Although - Q’vettan didn’t volley words without reason, didn’t doll out senseless, pointless teasing. He was purposeful, and as V’maran regarded those bright, calculating eyes, his own narrowed under heavy eyebrows, he sensed he was serious. “You’ve lost it.” He finally barked out a laugh.

"Not yet I haven't." Q'vettan protested, though his smile tugged wider, pleased with himself and unbothered by V’maran’s disbelief, "Think about it. Kastegarth won't need to fly a full 'Fall. It'd be mostly administrative work: assigning duties, overseeing records, handling grievances, passing word to the healers and other wingleaders. Most of Cherry is temporarily grounded anyway, recovering from injuries or childbirth or illness, and those that are permanently retired are there from injury, not age. It's not all that different from what you did in Ironbark.”

“Maybe not.” V’maran’s hand ran down his face, an attempt to reset his thoughts as much as it was an admission of his - reluctant - consideration for what Q’vettan was offering. “But even if I am just going to be glorified pencil pusher like you say, who’d accept that? Shards, I don't know if I even would. This is… No. This isn’t what I’m trained for, this doesn’t make sense. I need back in Ironbark, ‘Vet. I’m here to fight Thread til it either kills me or I die - not to sharding babysit.” He ground the words out, just as Kastegarth’s attention came in like a hammer, right over that delicate mental nerve that overshadowed their primal urge, their excitement, that intense grind they’d found together in their rightful place in the wing. Found, and flourished in.

}:You’re not really in fighting shape, though, are you? It’s been so long.:{

**Shut up.**

“Q'vettan,” he grumbled. “I’m not retiring into a Wing full of old farts, the ones no one else wants, the ones who've given up the fight. We’re not. _Not yet_.”

"Old farts." Q'vettan repeated, "Did you hear the part where it's _not_ seniors. Old, retired riders weren't sent here unless they had a craft. Aside from Rasme and J'nus, you might just be the oldest person in the Wing." He said it lightly, teasingly; surely there were older riders, but he wasn't about to let V'maran brush off the duty, either. "And even those permanently retired need more stability, and it'd benefit folks to know they're more than an afterthought from a Weyrsecond more focused on the fighting wings. There's someone focused on their recovery or ensuring that they still get to live active, productive lives at the Weyr." Q'vettan punctuated the last line by gently squeezing V'maran's knee. "That I get to parade you around at functions as the first bluerider Wingleader is just an added bonus."

V’maran’s nostrils flared, a faint fire licking down his bad leg as he shifted suddenly to look the bronzerider full in the face.

He couldn’t believe it, any of it. But, even so, a well was opening in his chest, something wild and unbidden.

“You always did know how to get people’s attention.” V’maran laughed, a hearty, rough sound that hadn’t been used in Turns. “I don't know how much parading you’re gonna do with a cripple-” he drained his glass, a feral smile carving his face as he pulled Q’vettan to him, “but I'll try.”

"We'll get you a walker with little balls on the bottoms." Q'vettan said pleasantly, "Or perhaps a litter for the weyrlings to carry you on."

Last updated on the June 8th 2025

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