Undertow (2/2)

Writers: Iluva
Date Posted: 3rd May 2026

Characters: A'garyn, Drenorik
Description: Aegaryn remembers his last day with his brother
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr, Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 12, day 14 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: K’valas, Dorix (not by name), Sybana
Part 2 of 2. This series follows "He's Mine" and "Not Yours" from Galgaith's hatching, and precedes "Still Water" and "Changing Tides"

A'garyn

-------Flashback 6 turns ago-------

And right there -- in a sudden streak of pale mint that erupted up over the cliffs and so close to them that Aegaryn could make out the sun shining in the fastenings of the harness and, closer still, the silvery traces of a scar on her shoulder. A dragon, a beautiful one. She was suddenly there, obscuring the sun and half the sky. There, and almost terrifying. Pale and yet dark over them, her shadow cutting over land so fast it was like a rogue wave, and the way the air parted for her and opened up was faster than any ship they had known. Her eyes glittered with fierce blue joy. At the last second, she lifted high over them, bugling, and the sound and the suddenness of it all startled Amak. He faltered, rearing up in alarm with a frantic swiping of his hooves.

Aegaryn's breath left him. He scrambled for the reins, drove his heels hard down into the stirrups as they jolted back. Amak’s eyes whited with fear as he snorted, and Aegaryn felt the panic open between them, the fevered blood, and the tell-tale contraction of muscles right before a runner shied and bolted.

But Drenorik, almost sideways in the saddle, caught the reins as Amak whinnied in vehement protest. The runner yanked back, breathing hard, but unable to know what else to do, slowly and reluctantly put his hooves back on the ground.

Drenorik chuckled a little, still holding him. “You okay?”

“I'm fine,” Aegaryn snapped, turning away to catch a breath. Amak shifted uncertainly, calming a little more with his touch. On the dry ground beside him the bottle had been reduced to green shards pulled apart in the friable crust. “Shit.” He exhaled, a hand through his hair. A second time.

Drenorik exhaled, too, as he hauled himself upright. He shaded his eyes and turned to watch the dragon peeling away higher and higher until she was almost part of the sky. “It’s kind of bad timing, seeing as you’re shook up and all, but you should think about coming with me.”

“What?” Aegaryn glared, rolling his shoulders. He was _not_ rattled or shook up or anything else, and it wasn’t like he would have admitted it anyway. “I like being down in the guard. With all the men. Remember?”

Drenorik laughed.

“What? You never thought about it?” There was no judgement or skepticism there, no underlying implication.

"No." And Aegaryn, with a small shrug, admitted, “I like it there. Better than anywhere else, anyway.”

“Never?”

Aegaryn couldn’t believe that he hesitated. “No.”

“Bullshit.” Drenorik bounced his eyebrows like he could suddenly see Aegaryn’s hand in a game of poker. “You don't want to trade these two in for some dragons?”

Aegaryn rubbed Amak affectionately as if to soothe away the insult, murmuring reassurance.

"Ah, come on, Aeg, but then we could go anywhere we want. _Whenever_ we want. When we’re not flaming Thread.” Drenorik stared at him. It was the way he was when he was certain of something, a puzzle he’d located the missing piece for. “We could stir up some _real_ shit for a change.”

The expression on Dren's face never failed to make Aegaryn laugh, even when he didn’t want to. Especially. “It'd probably be the same as here, you know. You're just going to have someone else giving you orders. Only you’re getting acid worms raining on you...”

“It’s the same everywhere.” Drenorik pointed out. “And Thread falls everywhere, too. At least you can fly it. You can actually _kill_ that shit, Aeg. _You_ could put some of that fire somewhere it belongs. I think it'd be great! You and me.” He paused and allowed for the nuance that he himself wasn’t entirely sure of yet, either. “Sure, yeah, the Searchrider said it can be an adjustment for a lot of Candidates, but that’s like most things. And it’s worth it. It’s gotta be. Think about it -- why are the riders always standing around looking so dreamy and far away? That’s not nothing. Besides, you should have seen this dragon. The way it was nudging me...”

“Dren, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be a dragonrider.” Aegaryn’s dark brows drew together as he tried to trace the path of the green himself. He wasn’t all that successful, and his tone was light for a moment. “So, Dren the Dragonman’s off to the Weyr.”

“That’s right.” Drenorik smiled.

Then, almost by itself, it occurred to him -- it’s real. Dren was really going. Going right into the heart of the workings of the Weyr, the thing that kept the sky over them. He would probably flame Thread. He would muster in rank; he would train harder than any rank in the guard; he would become something else.

Aegaryn’s gaze fell back to his brother, frowning. “When?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Drenorik said.

He made an incredulous noise. “That was fast.”

“What can I say? They just had to have me, Aeg.” Dren snorted. “Yeah, I could have gone with the others this morning, but it gives me a chance to pack. Say goodbye to everyone. Oh-- dinner’s tomorrow night, too, and we’re all expected to be there. It’s not optional," he grinned.

Aegaryn made a deeply unamused face at that last bit -- less the joke and more the dull dread and discomfort of those dinners. “I’m glad you’re excited.” He said instead, privately pleased that it came out genuinely.

"Well, it’s not like I’m Rylendren or Alengar and need to be at Father's side.” A small, yet completely unbothered shrug. “I’m not even sure what’s going to happen when I get there. Lots of kids don’t even Impress, and--” Drenorik glanced back in the vague direction of the Hold with grave seriousness rippling over his face. “Aeg, I might actually go insane if I have to stay in Opal Cove Hold forever. You might, too.” His expression didn’t change, there was no joke. “I’m at least going to go there and try it out.”

Aegaryn's gaze didn't follow the motion. He just stared contemplatively at his brother.

Drenorik studied him for a moment, then turned around, leaning back far in the saddle, and squinted at the sky. Then he motioned at the openness above them, following the path where the green had been moments ago. He flicked the tail of a smile at his little brother, fond and cheerful. “That could be me. Yup. I’ll be up there. In the sky. And if you keep your shit up, you’ll be in permanent time-out.”

Aegaryn rolled his eyes. “You sound like Petraf.”

“Thank you.” Drenorik’s smile widened. Then he leaned forward again, stroking Esher’s strong neck. “So…” He still had that unusual air of seriousness there, somewhere under the easy warmth and good humor he always wore. “Planning on staying in timeout forever, then? You’re just… fine with getting all your jollies in some mismatched fights down in the guard?”

Again -- the incident with Warelin. Dren reached a hand over, and belatedly Aegaryn registered it was to examine the red mark emblazoned on his chin. He didn’t get to, because Aegaryn jerked his head back and smacked his hand away for good measure.

“Is that what--” He crushed the words between his teeth, knuckles white on the reins. “... That’s not what happened.”

Dren did not press, not with words. But Aegaryn could feel his eyes on him. The feeling of his brother’s wanting to help, to understand, bit into him. But Aegaryn could only feel his face and the sharp shape of his guilt. Whispers of unvoiced shame. Yet when his brother looked at him like he knew he was, he felt less hesitant about that part of himself. Drenorik had a way of softening the prickly edges, and the softening made it feel like he could see what was underneath and simply let it click into place. It was rare in their family, something ineffable, something entirely him. Aegaryn’s heart wailed against his insides. Still. No way.

“Okay.” And Dren just said that word mildly, simple as that. Aegaryn felt weak with relief at not having to say more. There Dren was, nudging his leg with his boot, reassuringly kind, calm.

But Drenorik wasn’t done. His brother could let one thing go, but not others.

“But come on. Just think about it for a second.” Drenorik ran a hand through his hair this time. Not agitated. Focused. “I don’t want you to miss out on something like this. Next thing you'll be twenty with a little job in the Hold and getting married.”

“Crackdust, Dren.” Aegaryn groaned. He'd almost relaxed but instead was feeling trapped and exposed all over again. Things he never did very well with. “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to be even more insufferable with a dragon?”

That earned a chuckle, at least. “I’m only insufferable because you don’t listen.”

“You _are_ good at doing what you’re told.” Aegaryn agreed with a thin, wolfish smile.

“I’m also not the one who needed to sneak out today.” Dren flashed the same smile right back. “And it’s the same everywhere, Aeg. Someone answers to someone. Tale as old as the ages. You want it to always be Petraf?”

“I… don’t know.” It was embarrassing in its foreignness. All that mattered was being somewhere their father couldn't hover over his shoulder, and he didn't have to suffer his look of disappointment or judgement as closely. Somewhere he could breathe. Just a little, as pathetic as that now sounded. And the guard was that. The space and the roughhousing and the set routine in the guard were entirely that. Dren was offering something else, and Aegaryn was unprepared for how it made him feel now. It tangled up in his thoughts, in his chest.

But it was better, he decided, before having to give thought to it. Not thinking of it meant it didn’t mean anything. It had no hold over him. But thinking of it gave real space to those real thoughts. Gave the prospect power and discernible shape. It opened and kept opening, an enlarging of their world and a new scope of possibilities. That it was Dragonsfall, and Threadfighting and ash seemed secondary somehow. And, either way, Dren would be going. Two days.

Aegaryn's hand swiped across his forehead, irritated and unsettled by it all. He didn't know exactly what he wanted with that. He didn't know what the Weyr was even really about or if Dren really did, and worst of all, most achingly of all, he didn't really know who he was without Dren nearby. “I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean you had to figure it out now.” Drenorik clarified, an eyebrow arching in what was still clearly satisfied amusement. “But you probably wouldn’t have to get Searched or even get a dragon. If that’s not your thing. Like I said, lots of Candidates don’t. But there’s all kinds of work there, Aeg. All kinds of _people_ -- everyone’s a lot friendlier: the girls. The guys. The Guards… the Crafters… the Candidates. Definitely the riders," he chuckled heartily at that last point. He spoke with such ease and confidence in the place, in _him_, that it was difficult not to feel reassured. “So just think about it? The Weyr. They say this sort of thing runs in families, you know.”

Something flickered in Aegaryn’s stomach. Something he didn’t have a name for. Lamely, all he could manage was, “They?”

“Yeah. ‘They’. It's always a ‘they’, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

“Quit picking this apart," Drenorik smiled. “Or-- just, whatever you want to do. You are less of a shit in the guard, but you're still very much a little shit. Petraf can't be the only thing standing between you and Father forever.”

“Crackdust, Dren.” Aegaryn groaned. “Stop.”

“_C’mon_…” He was irresistible and disarming and trying not to actually push, but Aegaryn could feel how strongly he wanted it. He was _excited_ by it. “You and me. _Dragons_.” He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. “Faranth, I can't believe I need to sell you this so hard. You’re really gonna make me say it, aren’t you? I’m gonna miss you, you dimglow.” He paused, just letting it sit between them as he smiled. “So, at least think about it _a_little_, alright?”

Of all the things Drenorik let go, Aegaryn realized it would not be this. He didn’t want him to, either.

“Will you?”

“Yeah. _Okay_. I’ll think about it.” Aegaryn glared hotly, but he knew Dren saw through it. He saw the thoughts formed, already finding roots. Getting drawn into him like mud. “Dren the dragonrider…” It settled more and more into his bones, deep, final. A fond smile curved slowly as he studied Drenorik. Really looked at him. “I can see it.”

“There you go.” His brother looked both relieved and pleased. “_Besides_, you already know you’re going to be so jealous when you come and visit me and my dragon.” Drenorik shot him a smug grin and sat up straight, striking a pose. Hands on his hips, his head high, the sunlight bending around him. He was tall even in the saddle and softly aglow.

Aegaryn snorted, and the snort became a laugh -- bright and loud from the belly, all the affection coming out at once. “Faranth, you’re a prick.”

Drenorik laughed too, shaking his head.

Gaze drifting out toward the sea again, Aegaryn felt the wind and the weight of two days settling over him. “Hey, want to race?”

His brother shot him a conspiratorial look, eyes flashing. “Depends. You feel like losing?”

They tore away over long grass weighted with wind, the tresses bowing under gusts of sea breath and the rush of runner hooves before flying back up straight again.

Just them. The thunder below their feet. Just the billowing grass. Just this.

Last updated on the June 4th 2026

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Undertow (2/2)