For Now

Writers: Halyonix
Date Posted: 31st July 2024

Characters: S'yen, Vaile
Description: Syerin begins to think about life beyond Candidacy
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 11, day 25 of Turn 11
Notes: Mentioned W'ser

S'yen

"Well, that's the last of it," he heard his Candidate partner say as the last sack of firestone was scooped up by a weyrling rider to be delivered to the Wings. It was late into Threadfall -- the Wings would be returning soon, but it was more prudent to play it safe and have more firestone than needed versus running out mid-Fall.

"Good," Syerin muttered. He looked over his hand, noting where he had a cut it on the porous rock while shoveling it. "I'm going to get some redwort for this," he said sourly as he turned to leave. He tried to rub most of the dirt and dust off of his hand, and then himself as he noticed more of it everywhere, as he walked towards the Infirmary. Stuffing firestone sacks ranked just above latrine duty in Syerin's mind. He was going to reek for days.

The healers were already working on a few wounded dragons so Syerin made his way surreptitiously towards where the redwort was usually stored, taking care not to get in anyone's way as they hurried about. He splashed the rusty-colored medicine on his wound, grimacing at the sting. He was just turning to leave when a woman with a blonde braid wrapped around her head like a crown barked, "You! Is that the redwort? Bring it here!"

At first, Syerin thought that she had to be talking to someone else, someone who was an _actual_ healer, but her eyes pinned him down. "Hurry!" she barked. Near her was a brown dragon, ichor dripping down his flank from where Thread had caught him. The wound was terrible, massive. The dragon must have taken the full brunt of Thread, maybe even a blast of flame from a Wingmate. It looked awful.

Though bristling at her abrupt command, Syerin obeyed. He handed her the redwort and intended to walk away, go about his own business, but then she said, "You have clean hands?" as she grabbed his hand and looked it over. "Clean enough. It'll do. Press this on his wound," she ordered.

"I'm not...I'm not a healer," Syerin balked.

"I didn't ask if you were," she answered. She thrust the thick wad of bandage material into his hands and pointed at the dragon. "You won't hurt him, just press. We have to stop the bleeding," she explained. She began using redwort liberally around the oozing green edges of the wound, cleaning out the charred bits.

Syerin stood there in confusion. Was she just...ordering him around like this? As though he had volunteered to help? He bristled further. Who did she think she was?!

He was about to leave. About the throw down the bandages. About to yell at her. About to do everything except be there, _helping_, when the dragon's head reared back and a pained scream erupted from its mouth.

Someone could have lanced Syerin right then and there and it wouldn't have felt any different. It always came back to the dragons. He could never escape them. They had made him a Candidate, now it felt like one was begging him to help.

"Why me?" he whispered.

But he moved into action.

He ignored the woman's muttered, "About time," as he pushed the material into the thick of the bleeding. Within moments, it was soaked through and starting to drip down his arms. Gross. He was definitely going to reek for a sevenday now. He made an unhappy sound but didn't move. He heard the woman bark a few more orders to a weyrbrat running by and then there was a clean cloth replacing the dirtied one and the woman was saying, "We'll have to stitch this closed. How good are you with your hands? Deft?"

"If I had a mark for every lover that said so," Syerin muttered.

She gave him a funny look for a moment but then pointed to the first bit of torn hide. "Pinch here. Hold it while I suture him up." And he obeyed. And obeyed on the next task. And the next. Before long, he was starting to understand the process, what task she was going to do next. He grabbed redwort before she asked, handed her the needlethorn to thread the next suture, dabbed numbweed for the pain. Eventually, her barking tone turned to praise. "Good, doing good," she said. And they kept working.

Syerin had no idea how much time had passed when she finally, quietly said, "We're done," and stepped back to view their work. He looked down at himself, covered in firestone, ichor, and worse, and then at the wound that had seemed so terrible and massive before, now covered in mostly neat, clean stitches. "Good job," she said to him. "He'll heal just fine now." Punctuating her words, the big brown let out an exhausted sigh and closed his eyes, finally able to rest just a little bit. "Be careful. We'll make a dragonhealer of you yet," she said with a small quirk to her lips.

Syerin froze as an idea hit him.

Okay, it was gross, the dragonhealing work. But if he _didn't_ Impress, he couldn't just stay at the Weyr, lazily being someone's sex toy. He had to be useful. So even if the dragons spurned him as a Candidate, making him wait Hatching after Hatching, what other options were there? Go to Harper Hall, learn that Craft, maybe get sent to a Hold that would hate him for kissing boys? That seemed like he'd just be going back to his whershit life before.

But if he was useful...

"How do you become a dragonhealer?" he barked.

She gave him another funny look but there was an assessment happening in her eyes. He could see it. Judged by dragons, judged by Weyrfolk, he was always being judged by someone. But if he could prove his usefulness...

"You'll want to talk with W'ser. He's the Weyrdragonhealer," she said eventually. "He'll decide about training." She tilted her head to one side. "But you did well today and Liranth agrees. You might have what it takes." He looked at the exhausted, recovering brown dragon, opening his mouth to ask the obvious question, when she cut him off with, "That's not Liranth." There was a soft rumble behind him. Syerin turned to find himself eye to faceted eye with a green dragon. How did some dragons do that? Move so sharding quietly despite being so big? "That's Liranth," the woman said, amused.

Syerin did dare touch her, as gross as he was, so he nodded his head politely. "Do you have to be a dragonrider to be a dragonhealer?" he asked, suddenly scared that maybe this tiny bud of an idea would be snatched away and he'd be back to wondering what to do when he didn't Impress.

"You don't," she answered. "It helps, sometimes, but you don't have to be." Liranth's head moved slowly away, signaling the close of the conversation even as the woman said, "Talk to W'ser. Liranth's already told Branth to expect you." He memorized the two names quickly. She gave him another funny but somehow proud look and added, "Go get cleaned up first though. You're a mess."

He should have bristled at her words but he didn't. Something was brewing just under his heart, a sprout of hope. He caged it, restrained it before it grew too quickly. No, he was not going to let himself feel hopeful just yet. It could still go terribly wrong. And then...

She turned to leave. "Wait!" he snapped, stopping her. "You...I didn't get your name. You didn't get mine."

The woman tilted her head slightly, that quirk of a smile returning. "Vaile. Liranth's rider."

Covered in ichor, blackdust, and who knew what else, he answered, "Syerin. Candidate. For now."

Her eyes crinkled. "For now."

Last updated on the August 1st 2024

Welcome to Triad Weyrs!

For Now