In the End

Writers: Clancey
Date Posted: 1st October 2008

Characters: J'darin
Description: J'darin and Hasaarth suffer through Nyith's rising from the ground.
Location: Dolphin Cove Weyr
Date: month 11, day 22 of Turn 4

J'darin

}:She Rises:{ Hasaarth bugled his anguish.

He wanted to chase her. _His_ mate. _His_ queen. He raised his wings, staring at the sky. His wounded right wing did not extend fully yet, though the dragonhealers had promised it would and he would fly again. It hung at an odd angle, not the normally beautiful sweeping arc. And the scar was ropey and ugly, and visible. The bugles continued for several painful minutes, long enough for the bronze's rider to stagger somehow out to his dragon. He didn't even remember how he'd gotten out here, out to Hasaarth. All he had known was he had to go, had to be there with his dragon. Hasaarth was shaking violently with the need to chase, to win his mate again.

Neither J'darin nor his healers had thought about this, when they said 6 days ago that it would be at least two sevendays before the bronze could even attempt to fly. They couldn't leave the Weyr, and so, must watch.

J'darin cried out as he collapsed on his bronze's side, tears stinging his eyes as he felt Hasaarth's need vibrating in time with his own. They could ignore the lust and live through the Flight and they would be fine, but it would hurt. A lot. Since Hasaarth had come of age, he had chased every gold that Rose in the Weyr. Every time. They had never missed a gold flight, either here or at Dragonsfall.

And to miss _this_ one. To be forced to watch from the ground, unable to even be a contender. _This_ one was going to tear at least one of them apart inside. _HE_ was Weyrleader here. Not some other bronze from some other Weyr, or even from Dolphin Cove. They had earned it and they had done well by the people in the Weyr and their Weyrwoman. They had. Hasaarth echoed this with a roar, this one sounding angry instead of lustful. Theyt were young, in the prime of their lives. They should not be on the ground watching.

Sharding, stupid Thread! It took and took and took.

An extended groan echoed from his lips and he clung tighter to the bronze foreleg. This time, both of them were hurting. Neither could comfort the other; they could only share their misery and hope that their bond would be enough.

It would have to be. They had lived through much worse than losing the Weyrleadership. MUCH much worse. His mind responded with reason.
Weyrleaders came and went on the decision of a gold. This was not rare or even unusual. It was the fate of a bronzerider - sometimes you would be Weyrleader, and but for a turn of wing, sometimes you would not. He -knew-
that, in his mind. But the rest of him rebelled quite fiercely. The queens always knew. She would pick the best of the contenders.

That didn't stop the pain.

Dimly, he felt Hasaarth straining again, wanting to fly. His dragon thought that he could cure J'darin's pain by chasing Nyith. He felt his dragon's sureness that he could get into the air. He would fly. Dragons could always do what they thought they could do. And lust, anger, pride, and sadness were cut apart by one very strong emotion.

Fear.

It felt as if ice water had been poured into his veins. Cold, stark, naked fear sent him staggering one-legged to his feet again, leaning on the bronze. He walked carefully around the extended foreleg - well hobbled, not really walked - using Hasaarth for a crutch and tried to get his dragon's head.

**NO NO NO!! YOU CANNOT! WE CANNOT! NO NO NO! IF YOU FLY NOW WE MAY NEVER FLY THREAD AGAIN! NO NO NO!**

Strength J'darin hadn't known he possessed supported the sending, held him there in front of Hasaarth's madly whirling eyes. Pain, lust, anger - they were all there in those beautiful, familiar colors alternating in the facets of his dragon's eyes.

}:I will! I will chase her! She is mine mine mine. She is ours!:{ His one good hand locked like a vise on Hasaarth. His bad, right hand was unbandaged, though the rest of his right arm from the elbow up was still wrapped, and he lay it more gently on warm dragonhide. He couldn't make a fist of any kind yet, or grip anything really. He leaned further, trying to keep from falling in an undignified heap on the ground.

**You. Will. Not.**

It took all he had to send it. All the firmness, all the strength, and absolutely not one bit of doubt, despite that fact that J'darin would have given anything if Hasaarth would rise to chase. And win.

Everything but Hasaarth.

**Don't leave me Hasaarth, please.** He added, the love and the plea there in the words, and the pain. **We will chase her next time. We will have another chance. But only if you stay here, on the ground with me, right now.**

Luckily, even gold flights don't last forever. Nyith chose.

He supposed he finally got through to his dragon. And himself. Hasaarth settled. And J'darin with him.

In the end, it was just something to be borne. Something that they must live through and with, much like the other tragedies that had marked their lives in the last turn or two.

In the end, he was a dragonrider, and this was something all dragonriders must deal with, no matter the color they rode. In the end, they were young, and they would recover, and there was still more than 40 turns of Thread to fight.

He dragged his gaze away from the bodies flashing in the sky above the Weyr, toward the far side of the rim where the angry, pulsing Red Star stood out to his pain-drenched eyes.

There was their reason for being. There was the cause of his pain. There was something he could fight and keep it from causing more pain than it absolutely must.

In the end, he was just a man, lucky enough to belong to the great bronze resting next to him.

In the end, they had each other.

And as always, in the end, that was enough.

Last updated on the October 3rd 2008

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